BY EDGAR ALLAN POE.
“What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, although puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture1.”—Sir Thomas Browne.
he mental features discoursed3 of as the analytical6 are, in themselves, but little susceptible7 of analysis. We appreciate them only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that they are always to their possessor, when inordinately8 possessed9, a source of the liveliest enjoyment10. As the strong man exults11 in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action, so glories the analyst12 in moral activity which disentangles. He derives13 pleasure from even the most trivial occupations bringing his talent into play. He is fond of enigmas14, of conundrums15, of hieroglyphics16; exhibiting in his solutions of each a degree of acumen17 which appears to the ordinary apprehension18 preternatural. His results, brought about by the very soul and essence of method, have, in truth, the whole air of intuition.
The faculty19 of re-solution is possibly much invigorated[8] by mathematical study, and especially by that highest branch of it which, unjustly, and merely on account of its retrograde operations, has been called, as if par22 excellence23, analysis. Yet to calculate is not in itself to analyze24. A chess-player, for example, does the one, without effort at the other. It follows that the game of chess, in its effects upon mental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am not now writing a treatise25, but simply prefacing a somewhat peculiar26 narrative27 by observations very much at random28; I will, therefore, take occasion to assert that the higher powers of the reflective intellect are more decidedly and more usefully tasked by the unostentatious game of draughts31 than by all the elaborate frivolity32 of chess. In this latter, where the pieces have different and bizarre motions, with various and variable values, what is only complex is mistaken (a not unusual error) for what is profound. The attention is here called powerfully into play. If it flag for an instant, an oversight33 is committed, resulting in injury or defeat. The possible moves being not only manifold, but involute, the chances of such oversights34 are multiplied; and in nine cases out of ten, it is the more concentrative rather than the more acute player who conquers. In draughts, on the contrary, where the moves are unique and have but little variation, the probabilities of inadvertence are diminished, and the mere21 attention being left comparatively unemployed36, what advantages are obtained by either party are obtained by superior acumen. To be less abstract: Let us suppose a game of draughts where the pieces are reduced to four kings, and where, of course, no oversight is to be expected. It is obvious that here the victory can be[9] decided29 (the players being at all equal) only by some recherché movement, the result of some strong exertion37 of the intellect. Deprived of ordinary resources, the analyst throws himself into the spirit of his opponent, identifies himself therewith, and not unfrequently sees thus, at a glance, the sole methods (sometimes indeed absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce38 into error or hurry into miscalculation.
Whist has long been noted39 for its influence upon what is termed the calculating power; and men of the highest order of intellect have been known to take an apparently40 unaccountable delight in it, while eschewing41 chess as frivolous42. Beyond doubt there is nothing of a similar nature so greatly tasking the faculty of analysis. The best chess-player in Christendom may be little more than the best player of chess; but proficiency43 in whist implies capacity for success in all these more important undertakings44 where mind struggles with mind. When I say proficiency, I mean that perfection in the game which includes a comprehension of all the sources whence legitimate45 advantage may be derived46. These are not only manifold, but multiform, and lie frequently among recesses47 of thought altogether inaccessible48 to the ordinary understanding. To observe attentively50 is to remember distinctly; and, so far, the concentrative chess-player will do very well at whist; while the rules of Hoyle (themselves based upon the mere mechanism51 of the game) are sufficiently52 and generally comprehensible. Thus to have a retentive53 memory, and to proceed by “the book,” are points commonly regarded as the sum total of good playing. But it is in matters beyond the limits of mere[10] rule that the skill of the analyst is evinced. He makes in silence a host of observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do his companions; and the difference in the extent of the information obtained lies not so much in the validity of the inference as in the quality of the observation. The necessary knowledge is that of what to observe. Our player confines himself not at all; nor, because the game is the object, does he reject deductions54 from things external to the game. He examines the countenance55 of his partner, comparing it carefully with that of each of his opponents. He considers the mode of assorting the cards in each hand; often counting trump56 by trump, and honor by honor, through the glances bestowed57 by their holders59 upon each. He notes every variation of face as the play progresses, gathering60 a fund of thought from the differences in the expression of certainty, of surprise, of triumph, or chagrin61. From the manner of gathering up a trick he judges whether the person taking it can make another in the suit. He recognizes what is played through feint, by the air with which it is thrown upon the table. A casual or inadvertent word; the accidental dropping or turning of a card, with the accompanying anxiety or carelessness in regard to its concealment62; the counting of the tricks, with the order of their arrangement; embarrassment64, hesitation65, eagerness, or trepidation,—all afford, to his apparently intuitive perception, indications of the true state of affairs. The first two or three rounds having been played, he is in full possession of the contents of each hand, and thenceforward puts down his cards with as absolute a precision of purpose as if the rest of the party had turned outward the faces of their own.
[11]
The analytical power should not be confounded with simple ingenuity67; for while the analyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is often remarkably68 incapable69 of analysis. The constructive70 or combining power, by which ingenuity is usually manifested, and to which the phrenologists (I believe erroneously) have assigned a separate organ, supposing it a primitive71 faculty, has been so frequently seen in those whose intellect bordered otherwise upon idiocy72, as to have attracted general observation among writers on morals. Between ingenuity and the analytic5 ability there exists a difference far greater, indeed, than that between the fancy and the imagination, but of a character very strictly73 analogous74. It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic.
The narrative which follows will appear to the reader somewhat in the light of a commentary upon the propositions just advanced.
Residing in Paris during the spring and part of the summer of 18—, I there became acquainted with a Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin. This young gentleman was of an excellent, indeed of an illustrious family, but, by a variety of untoward75 events, had been reduced to such poverty that the energy of his character succumbed76 beneath it, and he ceased to bestir himself in the world, or to care for the retrieval of his fortunes. By courtesy of his creditors77, there still remained in his possession a small remnant of his patrimony78; and, upon the income arising from this, he managed, by means of a rigorous economy, to procure79 the necessaries of life, without troubling himself about its superfluities. Books, indeed,[12] were his sole luxuries, and in Paris these are easily obtained.
Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the Rue66 Montmartre, where the accident of our both being in search of the same very rare and very remarkable80 volume brought us into closer communion. We saw each other again and again. I was deeply interested in the little family history which he detailed81 to me with all that candor82 a Frenchman indulges whenever mere self is the theme. I was astonished, too, at the vast extent of his reading; and, above all, I felt my soul enkindled within me by the wild fervor83 and the vivid freshness of his imagination. Seeking in Paris the objects I then sought, I felt that the society of such a man would be to me a treasure beyond price; and this feeling I frankly84 confided85 to him. It was at length arranged that we should live together during my stay in the city; and as my worldly circumstances were somewhat less embarrassed than his own, I was permitted to be at the expense of renting, and furnishing in a style which suited the rather fantastic gloom of our common temper, a time-eaten and grotesque86 mansion87, long deserted88 through superstitions89 into which we did not inquire, and tottering90 to its fall in a retired91 and desolate92 portion of the Faubourg St. Germain.
Had the routine of our life at this place been known to the world, we should have been regarded as madmen,—although, perhaps, as madmen of a harmless nature. Our seclusion93 was perfect. We admitted no visitors. Indeed, the locality of our retirement94 had been carefully kept a secret from my own former associates; and it had been many years since Dupin had ceased to know[13] or be known in Paris. We existed within ourselves alone.
It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it?) to be enamored of the night for her own sake; and into this bizarrerie, as into all his others, I quietly fell; giving myself up to his wild whims95 with a perfect abandon. The sable96 divinity would not herself dwell with us always; but we could counterfeit97 her presence. At the first dawn of the morning we closed all the massy shutters99 of our old building; lighted a couple of tapers100 which, strongly perfumed, threw out only the ghastliest and feeblest of rays. By the aid of these we then busied our souls in dreams,—reading, writing, or conversing101, until warned by the clock of the advent102 of the true Darkness. Then we sallied forth103 into the streets, arm and arm, continuing the topics of the day, or roaming far and wide until a late hour, seeking, amid the wild lights and shadows of the populous104 city, that infinity105 of mental excitement which quiet observation can afford.
At such times I could not help remarking and admiring (although from his rich ideality I had been prepared to expect it) a peculiar analytic ability in Dupin. He seemed, too, to take an eager delight in its exercise,—if not exactly in its display,—and did not hesitate to confess the pleasure thus derived. He boasted to me, with a low chuckling106 laugh, that most men, in respect to himself, wore windows in their bosoms108, and was wont109 to follow up such assertions by direct and very startling proofs of his intimate knowledge of my own. His manner at these moments was frigid110 and abstract; his eyes were vacant in expression; while his voice, usually a rich tenor,[14] rose into a treble which would have sounded petulantly113 but for the deliberateness and entire distinctness of the enunciation115. Observing him in these moods, I often dwelt meditatively116 upon the old philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself with the fancy of a double Dupin,—the creative and the resolvent.
Let it not be supposed, from what I have just said, that I am detailing any mystery, or penning any romance. What I have described in the Frenchman was merely the result of an excited, or perhaps of a diseased intelligence. But of the character of his remarks at the periods in question an example will best convey the idea.
We were strolling one night down a long dirty street, in the vicinity of the Palais Royal. Being both, apparently, occupied with thought, neither of us had spoken a syllable118 for fifteen minutes at least. All at once Dupin broke forth with these words:—
“He is a very little fellow, that’s true, and would do better for the Théatre des Variétés.”
“There can be no doubt of that,” I replied unwittingly, and not at first observing (so much had I been absorbed in reflection) the extraordinary manner in which the speaker had chimed in with my meditations119. In an instant afterward120 I recollected121 myself, and my astonishment122 was profound.
“Dupin,” said I, gravely, “this is beyond my comprehension. I do not hesitate to say that I am amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses. How was it possible you should know I was thinking of—” Here I paused, to ascertain123 beyond a doubt whether he really knew of whom I thought.
[15]
—“of Chantilly,” said he; “why do you pause? You were remarking to yourself that his diminutive124 figure unfitted him for tragedy.”
This was precisely125 what had formed the subject of my reflections. Chantilly was a quondam cobbler of the Rue St. Denis, who, becoming stage-mad, had attempted the r?le of Xerxes, in Crébillon’s tragedy so called, and been notoriously Pasquinaded for his pains.
“Tell me, for Heaven’s sake,” I exclaimed, “the method—if method there is—by which you have been enabled to fathom126 my soul in this matter.” In fact, I was even more startled than I would have been willing to express.
“It was the fruiterer,” replied my friend, “who brought you to the conclusion that the mender of soles was not of sufficient height for Xerxes et id genus omne.”
“The fruiterer!—you astonish me,—I know no fruiterer whomsoever.”
“The man who ran up against you as we entered the street: it may have been fifteen minutes ago.”
I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer, carrying upon his head a large basket of apples, had nearly thrown me down, by accident, as we passed from the Rue C—— into the thoroughfare where we stood; but what this had to do with Chantilly I could not possibly understand.
There was not a particle of charlatanerie about Dupin. “I will explain,” he said, “and that you may comprehend all clearly, we will first retrace127 the course of your meditations, from the moment in which I spoke117 to you until that of the rencontre with the fruiterer in[16] question. The larger links of the chain run thus,—Chantilly, Orion, Dr. Nichols, Epicurus, stereotomy, the street stones, the fruiterer.”
There are few persons who have not, at some period of their lives, amused themselves in retracing128 the steps by which particular conclusions of their own minds have been attained129. The occupation is often full of interest; and he who attempts it for the first time is astonished by the apparently illimitable distance and incoherence between the starting-point and the goal. What, then, must have been my amazement131 when I heard the Frenchman speak what he had just spoken, and when I could not help acknowledging that he had spoken the truth! He continued:—
“We had been talking of horses, if I remember aright, just before leaving the Rue C——. This was the last subject we discussed. As we crossed into this street, a fruiterer, with a large basket upon his head, brushing quickly past us, thrust you upon a pile of paving-stones collected at a spot where the causeway is undergoing repair. You stepped upon one of the loose fragments, slipped, slightly strained your ankle, appeared vexed132 or sulky, muttered a few words, turned to look at the pile, and then proceeded in silence. I was not particularly attentive49 to what you did; but observation has become with me, of late, a species of necessity.
“You kept your eyes upon the ground,—glancing, with a petulant114 expression, at the holes and ruts in the pavement (so that I saw you were still thinking of the stones), until we reached the little alley133 called Lamartine, which has been paved, by way of experiment, with[17] the overlapping134 and riveted135 blocks. Here your countenance brightened up, and perceiving your lips move, I could not doubt that you murmured the word ‘stereotomy,’ a term very affectedly136 applied137 to this species of pavement. I knew that you could not say to yourself ‘stereotomy,’ without being brought to think of atomies, and thus of the theories of Epicurus; and since, when we discussed this subject not very long ago, I mentioned to you how singularly, yet with how little notice, the vague guesses of that noble Greek had met with confirmation138 in the late nebular cosmogony, I felt that you could not avoid casting your eyes upward to the great nebula139 in Orion, and I certainly expected that you would do so. You did look up; and I was now assured that I had correctly followed your steps. But in that bitter tirade140 upon Chantilly, which appeared in yesterday’s Musée, the satirist141, making some disgraceful allusions142 to the cobbler’s change of name upon assuming the buskin, quoted a Latin line about which we have often conversed143. I mean the line,
‘Perdidit antiquum litera prima sonum.’
I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, formerly145 written Urion; and, from certain pungencies connected with this explanation, I was aware that you could not have forgotten it. It was clear, therefore, that you would not fail to combine the two ideas of Orion and Chantilly. That you did combine them I saw by the character of the smile which passed over your lips. You thought of the poor cobbler’s immolation146. So far, you had been stooping in your gait; but now I saw you[18] draw yourself up to your full height. I was then sure that you reflected upon the diminutive figure of Chantilly. At this point I interrupted your meditations to remark that as, in fact, he was a very little fellow,—that Chantilly,—he would do better at the Théatre des Variétés.”
Not long after this, we were looking over an evening edition of the Gazette des Tribunaux, when the following paragraphs arrested our attention:—
“Extraordinary Murders.—This morning, about three o’clock, the inhabitants of the Quartier St. Roch were aroused from sleep by a succession of terrific shrieks147, issuing, apparently, from the fourth story of a house in the Rue Morgue, known to be in the sole occupancy of one Madame L’Espanaye, and her daughter, Mademoiselle Camille L’Espanaye. After some delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt to procure admission in the usual manner, the gateway148 was broken in with a crow-bar, and eight or ten of the neighbors entered, accompanied by two gendarmes149. By this time the cries had ceased; but, as the party rushed up the first flight of stairs, two or more rough voices, in angry contention151, were distinguished152, and seemed to proceed from the upper part of the house. As the second landing was reached, these sounds, also, had ceased, and everything remained perfectly153 quiet. The party spread themselves, and hurried from room to room. Upon arriving at a large back chamber154 in the fourth story (the door of which, being found locked, with the key inside, was forced open), a spectacle presented itself which struck every one present not less with horror than with astonishment.
[19]
“The apartment was in the wildest disorder155,—the furniture broken and thrown about in all directions. There was only one bedstead; and from this the bed had been removed, and thrown into the middle of the floor. On a chair lay a razor besmeared with blood. On the hearth156 were two or three long and thick tresses of gray human hair, also dabbled157 in blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by the roots. Upon the floor were found four Napoleons, an ear-ring of topaz, three large silver spoons, three smaller of métal d’Alger, and two bags, containing nearly four thousand francs in gold. The drawers of a bureau, which stood in one corner, were open, and had been, apparently, rifled, although many articles still remained in them. A small iron safe was discovered under the bed (not under the bedstead). It was open, with the key still in the door. It had no contents beyond a few old letters, and other papers of little consequence.
“Of Madame L’Espanaye no traces were here seen; but an unusual quantity of soot158 being observed in the fireplace, a search was made in the chimney, and (horrible to relate!) the corpse159 of the daughter, head downward, was dragged therefrom, it having been thus forced up the narrow aperture160 for a considerable distance. The body was quite warm. Upon examining it, many excoriations were perceived, no doubt occasioned by the violence with which it had been thrust up and disengaged. Upon the face were many severe scratches, and upon the throat dark bruises162 and deep indentations of finger-nails, as if the deceased had been throttled163 to death.
“After a thorough investigation164 of every portion of[20] the house without further discovery, the party made its way into a small paved yard in the rear of the building, where lay the corpse of the old lady, with her throat so entirely165 cut that, upon an attempt to raise her, the head fell off. The body, as well as the head, was fearfully mutilated, the former so much so as scarcely to retain any semblance166 of humanity.
“To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we believe, the slightest clew.”
The next day’s paper had these additional particulars:—
“The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue.—Many individuals have been examined in relation to this most extraordinary and frightful167 affair” [the word affaire has not yet, in France, that levity168 of import which it conveys with us], “but nothing whatever has transpired169 to throw light upon it. We give below all the material testimony170 elicited171.
“Pauline Dubourg, laundress, deposes172 that she has known both the deceased for three years, having washed for them during that period. The old lady and her daughter seemed on good terms,—very affectionate towards each other. They were excellent pay. Could not speak in regard to their mode or means of living. Believed that Madame L. told fortunes for a living. Was reputed to have money put by. Never met any persons in the house when she called for the clothes or took them home. Was sure that they had no servant in employ. There appeared to be no furniture in any part of the building, except in the fourth story.
“Pierre Moreau, tobacconist, deposes that he has[21] been in the habit of selling small quantities of tobacco and snuff to Madame L’Espanaye for nearly four years. Was born in the neighborhood, and has always resided there. The deceased and her daughter had occupied the house in which the corpses173 were found for more than six years. It was formerly occupied by a jeweller, who under-let the upper rooms to various persons. The house was the property of Madame L. She became dissatisfied with the abuse of the premises174 by her tenant175, and moved into them herself, refusing to let any portion. The old lady was childish. Witness had seen the daughter some five or six times during the six years. The two lived an exceedingly retired life,—were reputed to have money. Had heard it said among the neighbors that Madame L. told fortunes; did not believe it. Had never seen any person enter the door except the old lady and her daughter, a porter once or twice, and a physician some eight or ten times.
“Many other persons, neighbors, gave evidence to the same effect. No one was spoken of as frequenting the house. It was not known whether there were any living connections of Madame L. and her daughter. The shutters of the front windows were seldom opened. Those in the rear were always closed, with the exception of the large back room, fourth story. The house was a good house, not very old.
“Isidore Musèt, gendarme150, deposes that he was called to the house about three o’clock in the morning, and found some twenty or thirty persons at the gateway, endeavoring to gain admittance. Forced it open, at length, with a bayonet,—not with a crow-bar. Had but[22] little difficulty in getting it open, on account of its being a double or folding gate, and bolted neither at bottom nor top. The shrieks were continued until the gate was forced, and then suddenly ceased. They seemed to be screams of some person (or persons) in great agony; were loud and drawn176 out, not short and quick. Witness led the way up stairs. Upon reaching the first landing, heard two voices in loud and angry contention; the one a gruff voice, the other much shriller,—a very strange voice. Could distinguish some words of the former, which was that of a Frenchman. Was positive that it was not a woman’s voice. Could distinguish the words sacré and diable. The shrill177 voice was that of a foreigner. Could not be sure whether it was the voice of a man or of a woman. Could not make out what was said, but believed the language to be Spanish. The state of the room and of the bodies was described by this witness as we described them yesterday.
“Henri Duval, a neighbor, and by trade a silversmith, deposes that he was one of the party who first entered the house. Corroborates178 the testimony of Musèt in general. As soon as they forced an entrance, they reclosed the door to keep out the crowd, which collected very fast, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The shrill voice, this witness thinks, was that of an Italian. Was certain it was not French. Could not be sure that it was a man’s voice. It might have been a woman’s. Was not acquainted with the Italian language. Could not distinguish the words, but was convinced by the intonation179 that the speaker was an Italian. Knew Madame L. and her daughter. Had conversed[23] with both frequently. Was sure that the shrill voice was not that of either of the deceased.
“—— Odenheimer, restaurateur. This witness volunteered his testimony. Not speaking French, was examined through an interpreter. Is a native of Amsterdam. Was passing the house at the time of the shrieks. They lasted for several minutes,—probably ten. They were long and loud, very awful and distressing180. Was one of those who entered the building. Corroborated181 the previous evidence in every respect but one. Was sure that the shrill voice was that of a man,—of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish the words uttered. They were loud and quick, unequal, spoken apparently in fear as well as in anger. The voice was harsh,—not so much shrill as harsh. Could not call it a shrill voice. The gruff voice said repeatedly, sacré, diable, and once mon Dieu.
“Jules Mignaud, banker, of the firm of Mignaud et Fils, Rue Deloraine. Is the elder Mignaud. Madame L’Espanaye had some property. Had opened an account with his banking-house in the spring of the year —— (eight years previously182). Made frequent deposits in small sums. Had checked for nothing until the third day before her death, when she took out in person the sum of 4,000 francs. This sum was paid in gold, and a clerk sent home with the money.
“Adolphe Le Bon, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, deposes that on the day in question, about noon, he accompanied Madame L’Espanaye to her residence with the 4,000 francs, put up in two bags. Upon the door being opened, Mademoiselle L. appeared, and took from his[24] hands one of the bags, while the old lady relieved him of the other. He then bowed and departed. Did not see any person in the street at the time. It is a by-street, very lonely.
“William Bird, tailor, deposes that he was one of the party who entered the house. Is an Englishman. Has lived in Paris two years. Was one of the first to ascend183 the stairs. Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could make out several words, but cannot now remember all. Heard distinctly sacré and mon Dieu. There was a sound at the moment as if of several persons struggling,—a scraping and scuffling sound. The shrill voice was very loud,—louder than the gruff one. Is sure that it was not the voice of an Englishman. Appeared to be that of a German. Might have been a woman’s voice. Does not understand German.
“Four of the above-named witnesses, being recalled, deposed184 that the door of the chamber in which was found the body of Mademoiselle L. was locked on the inside when the party reached it. Everything was perfectly silent,—no groans185 or noises of any kind. Upon forcing the door no person was seen. The windows, both of the back and front room, were down, and firmly fastened from within. A door between the two rooms was closed, but not locked. The door leading from the front room into the passage was locked, with the key on the inside. A small room in the front of the house, on the fourth story, at the head of the passage, was open, the door being ajar. This room was crowded with old beds, boxes, and so forth. These were carefully removed[25] and searched. There was not an inch of any portion of the house which was not carefully searched. Sweeps were sent up and down the chimneys. The house was a four-story one, with garrets (mansardes). A trap-door on the roof was nailed down very securely,—did not appear to have been opened for years. The time elapsing between the hearing of the voices in contention and the breaking open of the room door was variously stated by the witnesses. Some made it as short as three minutes, some as long as five. The door was opened with difficulty.
“Alfonzo Garcio, undertaker, deposes that he resides in the Rue Morgue. Is a native of Spain. Was one of the party who entered the house. Did not proceed up stairs. Is nervous, and was apprehensive186 of the consequences of agitation187. Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish what was said. The shrill voice was that of an Englishman,—is sure of this. Does not understand the English language, but judges by the intonation.
“Alberto Montani, confectioner, deposes that he was among the first to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in question. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Distinguished several words. The speaker appeared to be expostulating. Could not make out the words of the shrill voice. Spoke quick and unevenly188. Thinks it the voice of a Russian. Corroborates the general testimony. Is an Italian. Never conversed with a native of Russia.
“Several witnesses, recalled, here testified that the chimneys of all the rooms on the fourth story were too narrow to admit the passage of a human being. By[26] ‘sweeps’ were meant cylindrical189 sweeping-brushes, such as are employed by those who clean chimneys. These brushes were passed up and down every flue in the house. There is no back passage by which any one could have descended190 while the party proceeded up stairs. The body of Mademoiselle L’Espanaye was so firmly wedged in the chimney that it could not be got down until four or five of the party united their strength.
“Paul Dumas, physician, deposes that he was called to view the bodies about daybreak. They were both then lying on the sacking of the bedstead in the chamber where Mademoiselle L. was found. The corpse of the young lady was much bruised191 and excoriated192. The fact that it had been thrust up the chimney would sufficiently account for these appearances. The throat was greatly chafed193. There were several deep scratches just below the chin, together with a series of livid spots which were evidently the impression of fingers. The face was fearfully discolored, and the eyeballs protruded194. The tongue had been partially195 bitten through. A large bruise161 was discovered upon the pit of the stomach, produced, apparently, by the pressure of a knee. In the opinion of M. Dumas, Mademoiselle L’Espanaye had been throttled to death by some person or persons unknown. The corpse of the mother was horribly mutilated. All the bones of the right leg and arm were more or less shattered. The left tibia much splintered, as well as all the ribs196 of the left side. Whole body dreadfully bruised and discolored. It was not possible to say how the injuries had been inflicted197. A heavy club of wood, or a broad bar of iron, a chair, any large, heavy, and obtuse198 weapon, would have produced[27] such results, if wielded199 by the hands of a very powerful man. No woman could have inflicted the blows with any weapon. The head of the deceased, when seen by witness, was entirely separated from the body, and was also greatly shattered. The throat had evidently been cut with some very sharp instrument,—probably with a razor.
“Alexandre Etienne, surgeon, was called with M. Dumas to view the bodies. Corroborated the testimony, and the opinions of M. Dumas.
“Nothing further of importance was elicited, although several other persons were examined. A murder so mysterious, and so perplexing in all its particulars, was never before committed in Paris,—if indeed a murder has been committed at all. The police are entirely at fault,—an unusual occurrence in affairs of this nature. There is not, however, the shadow of a clew apparent.”
The evening edition of the paper stated that the greatest excitement still continued in the Quartier St. Roch; that the premises in question had been carefully researched, and fresh examinations of witnesses instituted, but all to no purpose. A postscript200, however, mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been arrested and imprisoned201, although nothing appeared to criminate him, beyond the facts already detailed.
Dupin seemed singularly interested in the progress of this affair,—at least so I judged from his manner, for he made no comments. It was only after the announcement that Le Bon had been imprisoned, that he asked me my opinion respecting the murders.
I could merely agree with all Paris in considering them[28] an insoluble mystery. I saw no means by which it would be possible to trace the murderer.
“We must not judge of the means,” said Dupin, “by this shell of an examination. The Parisian police, so much extolled202 for acumen, are cunning, but no more. There is no method in their proceedings203, beyond the method of the moment. They make a vast parade of measures; but, not unfrequently, these are so ill adapted to the objects proposed, as to put us in mind of Monsieur Jourdain’s calling for his robe-de-chambre—pour mieux entendre la musique. The results attained by them are not unfrequently surprising, but, for the most part, are brought about by simple diligence and activity. When these qualities are unavailing, their schemes fail. Vidocq, for example, was a good guesser and a persevering204 man. But, without educated thought, he erred205 continually by the very intensity206 of his investigations207. He impaired208 his vision by holding the object too close. He might see, perhaps, one or two points with unusual clearness, but in so doing he necessarily lost sight of the matter as a whole. Thus there is such a thing as being too profound. Truth is not always in a well. In fact, as regards the more important knowledge, I do believe that she is invariably superficial. The depth lies in the valleys where we seek her, and not upon the mountain-tops where she is found. The modes and sources of this kind of error are well typified in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies. To look at a star by glances, to view it in a sidelong way, by turning toward it the exterior209 portions of the retina (more susceptible of feeble impressions of light than the interior), is to behold210 the star distinctly,[29] is to have the best appreciation211 of its lustre212,—a lustre which grows dim just in proportion as we turn our vision fully30 upon it. A greater number of rays actually fall upon the eye in the latter case, but in the former there is the more refined capacity for comprehension. By undue213 profundity214 we perplex and enfeeble thought; and it is possible to make even Venus herself vanish from the firmament215 by a scrutiny216 too sustained, too concentrated, or too direct.
“As for these murders, let us enter into some examinations for ourselves, before we make up an opinion respecting them. An inquiry217 will afford us amusement” [I thought this an odd term, so applied, but said nothing], “and, besides, Le Bon once rendered me a service for which I am not ungrateful. We will go and see the premises with our own eyes. I know G——, the Prefect of Police, and shall have no difficulty in obtaining the necessary permission.”
The permission was obtained, and we proceeded at once to the Rue Morgue. This is one of those miserable218 thoroughfares which intervene between the Rue Richelieu and the Rue St. Roch. It was late in the afternoon when we reached it, as this quarter is at a great distance from that in which we resided. The house was readily found; for there were still many persons gazing up at the closed shutters, with an objectless curiosity, from the opposite side of the way. It was an ordinary Parisian house, with a gateway, on one side of which was a glazed219 watch-box, with a sliding panel in the window, indicating a loge de concierge220. Before going in, we walked up the street, turned down an alley, and then, again turning, passed[30] in the rear of the building,—Dupin, meanwhile, examining the whole neighborhood, as well as the house, with a minuteness of attention for which I could see no possible object.
Retracing our steps, we came again to the front of the dwelling221, rang, and, having shown our credentials222, were admitted by the agents in charge. We went up stairs,—into the chamber where the body of Mademoiselle L’Espanaye had been found, and where both the deceased still lay. The disorders223 of the room had, as usual, been suffered to exist. I saw nothing beyond what had been stated in the Gazette des Tribunaux. Dupin scrutinized224 everything,—not excepting the bodies of the victims. We then went into the other rooms, and into the yard; a gendarme accompanying us throughout. The examination occupied us until dark, when we took our departure. On our way home my companion stepped in for a moment at the office of one of the daily papers.
I have said that the whims of my friend were manifold, and that Je les ménagais,—for this phrase there is no English equivalent. It was his humor, now, to decline all conversation on the subject of the murder, until about noon the next day. He then asked me, suddenly, if I had observed anything peculiar at the scene of the atrocity225.
There was something in his manner of emphasizing the word “peculiar” which caused me to shudder226, without knowing why.
“No, nothing peculiar,” I said; “nothing more, at least, than we both saw stated in the paper.”
“The Gazette,” he replied, “has not entered, I[31] fear, into the unusual horror of the thing. But dismiss the idle opinions of this print. It appears to me that this mystery is considered insoluble, for the very reason which should cause it to be regarded as easy of solution,—I mean for the outré character of its features. The police are confounded by the seeming absence of motive227,—not for the murder itself,—but for the atrocity of the murder. They are puzzled, too, by the seeming impossibility of reconciling the voices heard in contention, with the facts that no one was discovered up stairs but the assassinated228 Mademoiselle L’Espanaye, and that there were no means of egress229 without the notice of the party ascending230. The wild disorder of the room; the corpse thrust, with the head downward, up the chimney; the frightful mutilation of the body of the old lady,—these considerations, with those just mentioned, and others which I need not mention, have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by putting completely at fault the boasted acumen of the government agents. They have fallen into the gross but common error of confounding the unusual with the abstruse231. But it is by these deviations232 from the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels its way, if at all, in its search for the true. In investigations such as we are now pursuing, it should not be so much asked ‘what has occurred,’ as ‘what has occurred that has never occurred before.’ In fact, the facility with which I shall arrive, or have arrived, at the solution of this mystery, is in the direct ratio of its apparent insolubility in the eyes of the police.”
I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.
“I am now awaiting,” continued he, looking toward[32] the door of our apartment,—“I am now awaiting a person who, although perhaps not the perpetrator of these butcheries, must have been in some measure implicated234 in their perpetration. Of the worst portion of the crimes committed, it is probable that he is innocent. I hope that I am right in this supposition; for upon it I build my expectation of reading the entire riddle235. I look for the man here—in this room—every moment. It is true that he may not arrive; but the probability is that he will. Should he come, it will be necessary to detain him. Here are pistols; and we both know how to use them when occasion demands their use.”
I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did, or believing what I heard, while Dupin went on, very much as if in a soliloquy. I have already spoken of his abstract manner at such times. His discourse4 was addressed to myself; but his voice, although by no means loud, had that intonation which is commonly employed in speaking to some one at a great distance. His eyes, vacant in expression, regarded only the wall.
“That the voices heard in contention,” he said, “by the party upon the stairs, were not the voices of the women themselves, was fully proved by the evidence. This relieves us of all doubt upon the question whether the old lady could have first destroyed the daughter, and afterward have committed suicide. I speak of this point chiefly for the sake of method; for the strength of Madame L’Espanaye would have been utterly236 unequal to the task of thrusting her daughter’s corpse up the chimney as it was found; and the nature of the wounds upon her own person entirely precludes237 the idea of self-destruction.[33] Murder, then, has been committed by some third party; and the voices of this third party were those heard in contention. Let me now advert35, not to the whole testimony respecting these voices, but to what was peculiar in that testimony. Did you observe anything peculiar about it?”
I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in supposing the gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, there was much disagreement in regard to the shrill, or, as one individual termed it, the harsh voice.
“That was the evidence itself,” said Dupin, “but it was not the peculiarity238 of the evidence. You have observed nothing distinctive239. Yet there was something to be observed. The witnesses, as you remark, agreed about the gruff voice; they were here unanimous. But in regard to the shrill voice, the peculiarity is, not that they disagreed, but that, while an Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Hollander, and a Frenchman attempted to describe it, each one spoke of it as that of a foreigner. Each is sure that it was not the voice of one of his own countrymen. Each likens it, not to the voice of an individual of any nation with whose language he is conversant240, but the converse144. The Frenchman supposes it the voice of a Spaniard, and ‘might have distinguished some words had he been acquainted with the Spanish.’ The Dutchman maintains it to have been that of a Frenchman; but we find it stated that, ‘not understanding French, this witness was examined through an interpreter.’ The Englishman thinks it the voice of a German, and ‘does not understand German.’ The Spaniard ‘is sure’ that it was that of an Englishman, but[34] ‘judges by the intonation’ altogether, ‘as he has no knowledge of the English.’ The Italian believes it the voice of a Russian, but ‘has never conversed with a native of Russia.’ A second Frenchman differs, moreover, with the first, and is positive that the voice was that of an Italian; but, not being cognizant of that tongue, is, like the Spaniard, ‘convinced by the intonation.’ Now, how strangely unusual must that voice have really been, about which such testimony as this could have been elicited!—in whose tones, even, denizens241 of the five great divisions of Europe could recognize nothing familiar! You will say that it might have been the voice of an Asiatic, of an African. Neither Asiatics nor Africans abound242 in Paris; but, without denying the inference, I will now merely call your attention to three points. The voice is termed by one witness ‘harsh rather than shrill.’ It is represented by two others to have been ‘quick and unequal.’ No words—no sounds resembling words—were by any witness mentioned as distinguishable.
“I know not,” continued Dupin, “what impression I may have made, so far, upon your own understanding; but I do not hesitate to say that legitimate deductions even from this portion of the testimony—the portion respecting the gruff and shrill voices—are in themselves sufficient to engender243 a suspicion which should give direction to all further progress in the investigation of the mystery. I said ‘legitimate deductions’; but my meaning is not thus fully expressed. I designed to imply that the deductions are the sole proper ones, and that the suspicion arises inevitably244 from them as the single result. What the suspicion is, however, I will not say[35] just yet. I merely wish you to bear in mind that, with myself it was sufficiently forcible to give a definite form—a certain tendency—to my inquiries245 in the chamber.
“Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this chamber. What shall we first seek here? The means of egress employed by the murderers. It is not too much to say that neither of us believes in preternatural events. Madame and Mademoiselle L’Espanaye were not destroyed by spirits. The doers of the deed were material, and escaped materially. Then how? Fortunately, there is but one mode of reasoning upon the point, and that mode must lead us to a definite decision. Let us examine, each by each, the possible means of egress. It is clear that the assassins were in the room where Mademoiselle L’Espanaye was found, or at least in the room adjoining, when the party ascended246 the stairs. It is then only from these two apartments that we have to seek issues. The police have laid bare the floors, the ceilings, and the masonry247 of the walls, in every direction. No secret issues could have escaped their vigilance. But, not trusting to their eyes, I examined with my own. There were, then, no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms into the passage were securely locked, with the keys inside. Let us turn to the chimneys. These, although of ordinary width for some eight or ten feet above the hearths248, will not admit, throughout their extent, the body of a large cat. The impossibility of egress, by means already stated, being thus absolute, we are reduced to the windows. Through those of the front room no one could have escaped without notice from the crowd in the street. The murderers must have passed,[36] then, through those of the back room. Now, brought to this conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it is not our part, as reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities. It is only left for us to prove that these apparent ‘impossibilities’ are, in reality, not such.
“There are two windows in the chamber. One of them is unobstructed by furniture, and is wholly visible. The lower portion of the other is hidden from view by the head of the unwieldy bedstead which is thrust close up against it. The former was found securely fastened from within. It resisted the utmost force of those who endeavored to raise it. A large gimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame to the left, and a very stout249 nail was found fitted therein, nearly to the head. Upon examining the other window, a similar nail was seen similarly fitted in it; and a vigorous attempt to raise this sash failed also. The police were now entirely satisfied that egress had not been in these directions. And, therefore, it was thought a matter of supererogation to withdraw the nails and open the windows.
“My own examination was somewhat more particular, and was so for the reason I have just given,—because here it was, I knew, that all apparent impossibilities must be proved to be not such in reality.
“I proceeded to think thus,—à posteriori. The murderers did escape from one of these windows. This being so, they could not have re-fastened the sashes from the inside, as they were found fastened,—the consideration which put a stop, through its obviousness, to the scrutiny of the police in this quarter. Yet the sashes were fastened. They must, then, have the power of fastening[37] themselves. There was no escape from this conclusion. I stepped to the unobstructed casement250, withdrew the nail with some difficulty, and attempted to raise the sash. It resisted all my efforts, as I had anticipated. A concealed251 spring must, I now knew, exist; and this corroboration252 of my idea convinced me that my premises, at least, were correct, however mysterious still appeared the circumstances attending the nails. A careful search soon brought to light the hidden spring. I pressed it, and, satisfied with the discovery, forbore to upraise the sash.
“I now replaced the nail and regarded it attentively. A person passing out through this window might have reclosed it, and the spring would have caught,—but the nail could not have been replaced. The conclusion was plain and again narrowed in the field of my investigations. The assassins must have escaped through the other window. Supposing, then, the springs upon each sash to be the same, as was probable, there must be found a difference between the nails, or at least between the modes of their fixture253. Getting upon the sacking of the bedstead, I looked over the head-board minutely at the second casement. Passing my hand down behind the board, I readily discovered and pressed the spring, which was, as I had supposed, identical in character with its neighbor. I now looked at the nail. It was as stout as the other, and apparently fitted in the same manner,—driven in nearly up to the head.
“You will say that I was puzzled; but, if you think so, you must have misunderstood the nature of the inductions255. To use a sporting phrase, I had not been[38] once ‘at fault.’ The scent256 had never for an instant been lost. There was no flaw in any link of the chain. I had traced the secret to its ultimate result,—and that result was the nail. It had, I say, in every respect, the appearance of its fellow in the other window; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusive as it might seem to be) when compared with the consideration that here, at this point, terminated the clew. ‘There must be something wrong,’ I said, ‘about the nail.’ I touched it; and the head, with about a quarter of an inch of the shank, came off in my fingers. The rest of the shank was in the gimlet-hole, where it had been broken off. The fracture was an old one (for its edges were incrusted with rust), and had apparently been accomplished257 by the blow of a hammer, which had partially imbedded, in the top of the bottom sash, the head portion of the nail. I now carefully replaced this head portion in the indentation whence I had taken it, and the resemblance to a perfect nail was complete,—the fissure258 was invisible. Pressing the spring, I gently raised the sash for a few inches; the head went up with it, remaining firm in its bed. I closed the window, and the semblance of the whole nail was again perfect.
“The riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The assassin had escaped through the window which looked upon the bed. Dropping of its own accord upon his exit (or perhaps purposely closed), it had become fastened by the spring; and it was the retention259 of this spring which had been mistaken by the police for that of the nail,—further inquiry being thus considered unnecessary.
“The next question is that of the mode of descent.[39] Upon this point I had been satisfied in my walk with you around the building. About five feet and a half from the casement in question runs a lightning-rod. From this rod it would have been impossible for any one to reach the window itself, to say nothing of entering it. I observed, however, that the shutters of the fourth story were of the peculiar kind called by Parisian carpenters ferrades,—a kind rarely employed at the present day, but frequently seen upon very old mansions260 at Lyons and Bordeaux. They are in the form of an ordinary door (a single, not a folding door), except that the lower half is latticed or worked in open trellis, thus affording an excellent hold for the hands. In the present instance these shutters are fully three feet and a half broad. When we saw them from the rear of the house, they were both about half open; that is to say, they stood off at right angles from the wall. It is probable that the police, as well as myself, examined the back of the tenement261; but, if so, in looking at these ferrades in the line of their breadth (as they must have done), they did not perceive this great breadth itself, or, at all events, failed to take it into due consideration. In fact, having once satisfied themselves that no egress could have been made in this quarter, they would naturally bestow58 here a very cursory262 examination. It was clear to me, however, that the shutter98 belonging to the window at the head of the bed would, if swung fully back to the wall, reach to within two feet of the lightning-rod. It was also evident that, by exertion of a very unusual degree of activity and courage, an entrance into the window, from the rod, might have been thus effected. By[40] reaching to the distance of two feet and a half (we now suppose the shutter open to its whole extent) a robber might have taken a firm grasp upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then, his hold upon the rod, placing his feet securely against the wall, and springing boldly from it, he might have swung the shutter so as to close it, and, if we imagine the window open at the time, might even have swung himself into the room.
“I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have spoken of a very unusual degree of activity as requisite263 to success in so hazardous264 and so difficult a feat2. It is my design to show you, first, that the thing might possibly have been accomplished; but, secondly265 and chiefly, I wish to impress upon your understanding the very extraordinary, the almost preternatural character of that agility266 which could have accomplished it.
“You will say, no doubt, using the language of the law, that, ‘to make out my case,’ I should rather undervalue than insist upon a full estimation of the activity required in this matter. This may be the practice in law, but it is not the usage of reason. My ultimate object is only the truth. My immediate267 purpose is to lead you to place in juxtaposition268 that very unusual activity of which I have just spoken, with that very peculiar shrill (or harsh) and unequal voice, about whose nationality no two persons could be found to agree, and in whose utterance269 no syllabification could be detected.”
At these words a vague and half-formed conception of the meaning of Dupin flitted over my mind. I seemed to be upon the verge270 of comprehension, without power to comprehend,—as men, at times, find themselves upon[41] the brink271 of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember. My friend went on with his discourse.
“You will see,” he said, “that I have shifted the question from the mode of egress to that of ingress. It was my design to convey the idea that both were effected in the same manner, at the same point. Let us now revert272 to the interior of the room. Let us survey the appearances here. The drawers of the bureau, it is said, had been rifled, although many articles of apparel still remained within them. The conclusion here is absurd. It is a mere guess,—a very silly one,—and no more. How are we to know that the articles found in the drawers were not all these drawers had originally contained? Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter lived an exceedingly retired life,—saw no company,—seldom went out,—had little use for numerous changes of habiliment. Those found were at least of as good quality as any likely to be possessed by these ladies. If a thief had taken any, why did he not take the best, why did he not take all? In a word, why did he abandon four thousand francs in gold to encumber273 himself with a bundle of linen274? The gold was abandoned. Nearly the whole sum mentioned by Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was discovered, in bags, upon the floor. I wish you, therefore, to discard from your thoughts the blundering idea of motive, engendered275 in the brains of the police by that portion of the evidence which speaks of money delivered at the door of the house. Coincidences ten times as remarkable as this (the delivery of the money, and murder committed within three days upon the party receiving it) happen to all of us every hour of our lives,[42] without attracting even momentary276 notice. Coincidences, in general, are great stumbling-blocks in the way of that class of thinkers who have been educated to know nothing of the theory of probabilities,—that theory to which the most glorious objects of human research are indebted for the most glorious of illustrations. In the present instance, had the gold been gone, the fact of its delivery three days before would have formed something more than a coincidence. It would have been corroborative277 of this idea of motive. But, under the real circumstances of the case, if we are to suppose gold the motive of this outrage278, we must also imagine the perpetrator so vacillating an idiot as to have abandoned his gold and his motive together.
“Keeping now steadily279 in mind the points to which I have drawn your attention,—that peculiar voice, that unusual agility, and that startling absence of motive in a murder so singularly atrocious as this,—let us glance at the butchery itself. Here is a woman strangled to death by manual strength, and thrust up a chimney, head downward. Ordinary assassins employ no such modes of murder as this. Least of all do they thus dispose of the murdered. In the manner of thrusting the corpse up the chimney, you will admit that there was something excessively outré; something altogether irreconcilable280 with our common notions of human action, even when we suppose the actors the most depraved of men. Think, too, how great must have been that strength which could have thrust the body up such an aperture so forcibly that the united vigor20 of several persons was found barely sufficient to drag it down!
[43]
“Turn now to other indications of the employment of a vigor most marvellous. On the hearth were thick tresses—very thick tresses—of gray human hair. These had been torn out by the roots. You are aware of the great force necessary in tearing thus from the head even twenty or thirty hairs together. You saw the locks in question as well as myself. Their roots (a hideous281 sight!) were clotted282 with fragments of the flesh of the scalp,—sure token of the prodigious283 power which had been exerted in uprooting284 perhaps half a million of hairs at a time. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut, but the head absolutely severed285 from the body; the instrument was a mere razor. I wish you also to look at the brutal286 ferocity of these deeds. Of the bruises upon the body of Madame L’Espanaye I do not speak. Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy287 coadjutor Monsieur Etienne, have pronounced that they were inflicted by some obtuse instrument, and so far these gentlemen are very correct. The obtuse instrument was clearly the stone pavement in the yard, upon which the victim had fallen from the window which looked in upon the bed. This idea, however simple it may now seem, escaped the police, for the same reason that the breadth of the shutters escaped them,—because, by the affair of the nails, their perceptions had been hermetically sealed against the possibility of the windows having ever been opened at all.
“If now, in addition to all these things, you have properly reflected upon the odd disorder of the chamber, we have gone so far as to combine the ideas of an agility astounding288, a strength superhuman, a ferocity brutal, a[44] butchery without motive, a grotesquerie in horror absolutely alien from humanity, and a voice foreign in tone to the ears of men of many nations, and devoid289 of all distinct or intelligible290 syllabification. What result, then, has ensued? What impression have I made upon your fancy?”
I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me the question. “A madman,” I said, “has done this deed; some raving291 maniac292, escaped from a neighboring Maison de Santé.”
“In some respects,” he replied, “your idea is not irrelevant293. But the voices of madmen, even in their wildest paroxysms, are never found to tally294 with that peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of some nation, and their language, however incoherent in its words, has always the coherence130 of syllabification. Besides, the hair of a madman is not such as I now hold in my hand. I disentangled this little tuft from the rigidly295 clutched fingers of Madame L’Espanaye. Tell me what you can make of it.”
“Dupin,” I said, completely unnerved, “this hair is most unusual; this is no human hair.”
“I have not asserted that it is,” said he; “but, before we decide this point, I wish you to glance at the little sketch296 I have here traced upon this paper. It is a fac-simile drawing of what has been described in one portion of the testimony as ‘dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger-nails,’ upon the throat of Mademoiselle L’Espanaye, and in another (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne) as a ‘series of livid spots, evidently the impression of fingers.’
[45]
“You will perceive,” continued my friend, spreading out the paper upon the table before us, “that this drawing gives the idea of a firm and fixed297 hold. There is no slipping apparent. Each finger has retained, possibly until the death of the victim, the fearful grasp by which it originally embedded298 itself. Attempt now to place all your fingers, at the same time, in the respective impressions as you see them.”
I made the attempt in vain.
“We are possibly not giving this matter a fair trial,” he said. “The paper is spread out upon a plane surface; but the human throat is cylindrical. Here is a billet of wood, the circumference299 of which is about that of the throat. Wrap the drawing around it, and try the experiment again.”
I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious than before. “This,” I said, “is the mark of no human hand.”
“Read now,” replied Dupin, “this passage from Cuvier.”
It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive account of the large fulvous Ourang-Outang of the East Indian Islands. The gigantic stature300, the prodigious strength and activity, the wild ferocity, and the imitative propensities301 of these mammalia are sufficiently well known to all. I understood the full horrors of the murder at once.
“The description of the digits,” said I, as I made an end of reading, “is in exact accordance with this drawing. I see that no animal but an Ourang-Outang of the species here mentioned could have impressed the indentations as you have traced them. This tuft of tawny302[46] hair, too, is identical in character with that of the beast of Cuvier. But I cannot possibly comprehend the particulars of this frightful mystery. Besides, there were two voices heard in contention, and one of them was unquestionably the voice of a Frenchman.”
“True; and you will remember an expression attributed almost unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice,—the expression mon Dieu! This, under the circumstances, has been justly characterized by one of the witnesses (Montani, the confectioner) as an expression of remonstrance303 or expostulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I have mainly built my hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A Frenchman was cognizant of the murder. It is possible, indeed it is far more than probable, that he was innocent of all participation304 in the bloody305 transactions which took place. The Ourang-Outang may have escaped from him. He may have traced it to the chamber; but, under the agitating306 circumstances which ensued, he could never have recaptured it. It is still at large. I will not pursue these guesses,—for I have no right to call them more,—since the shades of reflection upon which they are based are scarcely of sufficient depth to be appreciable307 by my own intellect, and since I could not pretend to make them intelligible to the understanding of another. We will call them guesses, then, and speak of them as such. If the Frenchman in question is indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this atrocity, this advertisement, which I left last night, upon our return home, at the office of Le Monde (a paper devoted308 to the shipping309 interest, and much sought by sailors), will bring him to our residence.”
[47]
He handed me a paper, and I read thus:—
Caught.—In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of the —— inst. (the morning of the murder), a very large, tawny Ourang-Outang of the Bornese species. The owner (who is ascertained310 to be a sailor belonging to a Maltese vessel311) may have the animal again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and paying a few charges arising from its capture and keeping. Call at No. ——, Rue ——, Faubourg St. Germain,—au troisième.
“How was it possible,” I asked, “that you should know the man to be a sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel?”
“I do not know it,” said Dupin. “I am not sure of it. Here, however, is a small piece of ribbon, which from its form, and from its greasy312 appearance, has evidently been used in tying the hair in one of those long queues of which sailors are so fond. Moreover, this knot is one which few besides sailors can tie, and is peculiar to the Maltese. I picked the ribbon up at the foot of the lightning-rod. It could not have belonged to either of the deceased. Now if, after all, I am wrong in my induction254 from this ribbon, that the Frenchman was a sailor belonging to a Maltese vessel, still I can have done no harm in saying what I did in the advertisement. If I am in error, he will merely suppose that I have been misled by some circumstance into which he will not take the trouble to inquire. But if I am right, a great point is gained. Cognizant although innocent of the murder, the Frenchman will naturally hesitate about replying to the advertisement,—about demanding the[48] Ourang-Outang. He will reason thus: ‘I am innocent; I am poor; my Ourang-Outang is of great value,—to one in my circumstances a fortune of itself,—why should I lose it through idle apprehensions313 of danger? Here it is, within my grasp. It was found in the Bois de Boulogne,—at a vast distance from the scene of that butchery. How can it ever be suspected that a brute314 beast should have done the deed? The police are at fault,—they have failed to procure the slightest clew. Should they even trace the animal, it would be impossible to prove me cognizant of the murder, or to implicate233 me in guilt315 on account of that cognizance. Above all, I am known. The advertiser designates me as the possessor of the beast. I am not sure to what limit his knowledge may extend. Should I avoid claiming a property of so great value, which it is known that I possess, it will render the animal, at least, liable to suspicion. It is not my policy to attract attention either to myself or to the beast. I will answer the advertisement, get the Ourang-Outang, and keep it close until this matter has blown over.’”
At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs.
“Be ready,” said Dupin, “with your pistols, but neither use them nor show them until at a signal from myself.”
The front door of the house had been left open, and the visitor had entered, without ringing, and advanced several steps upon the staircase. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we heard him descending316. Dupin was moving quickly to the door, when we again heard him coming up. He did not turn back a second[49] time, but stepped up with decision, and rapped at the door of our chamber.
A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently,—a tall, stout, and muscular-looking person, with a certain daredevil expression of countenance, not altogether unprepossessing. His face, greatly sunburnt, was more than half hidden by whisker and mustachio. He had with him a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise unarmed. He bowed awkwardly, and bade us “good evening,” in French accents, which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still sufficiently indicative of a Parisian origin.
“Sit down, my friend,” said Dupin. “I suppose you have called about the Ourang-Outang. Upon my word, I almost envy you the possession of him,—a remarkably fine, and no doubt a very valuable animal. How old do you suppose him to be?”
The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a man relieved of some intolerable burden, and then replied, in an assured tone,—
“I have no way of telling, but he can’t be more than four or five years old. Have you got him here?”
“O no; we had no conveniences for keeping him here. He is at a livery stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. You can get him in the morning. Of course you are prepared to identify the property?”
“To be sure I am, sir.”
“I shall be sorry to part with him,” said Dupin.
“I don’t mean that you should be at all this trouble[50] for nothing, sir,” said the man. “Couldn’t expect it. Am very willing to pay a reward for the finding of the animal,—that is to say, anything in reason.”
“Well,” replied my friend, “that is all very fair, to be sure. Let me think!—what should I have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall be this. You shall give me all the information in your power about these murders in the Rue Morgue.”
Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly. Just as quietly, too, he walked toward the door, locked it, and put the key into his pocket. He then drew a pistol from his bosom107 and placed it, without the least flurry, upon the table.
The sailor’s face flushed up as if he were struggling with suffocation318. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel; but the next moment he fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with the countenance of death itself. He spoke not a word. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart.
“My friend,” said Dupin, in a kind tone, “you are alarming yourself unnecessarily,—you are indeed. We mean you no harm whatever. I pledge you the honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that we intend you no injury. I perfectly well know that you are innocent of the atrocities319 in the Rue Morgue. It will not do, however, to deny that you are in some measure implicated in them. From what I have already said, you must know that I have had means of information about this matter,—means of which you could never have dreamed. Now the thing stands thus. You have done nothing which you could have avoided,—nothing, certainly,[51] which renders you culpable320. You were not even guilty of robbery, when you might have robbed with impunity321. You have nothing to conceal63. You have no reason for concealment. On the other hand, you are bound by every principle of honor to confess all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned, charged with that crime of which you can point out the perpetrator.”
The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure, while Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness of bearing was all gone.
“So help me God,” said he, after a brief pause, “I will tell you all I know about this affair; but I do not expect you to believe one half I say,—I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I am innocent, and I will make a clean breast if I die for it.”
What he stated was, in substance, this. He had lately made a voyage to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of which he formed one, landed at Borneo, and passed into the interior on an excursion of pleasure. He and a companion had captured the Ourang-Outang. This companion dying, the animal fell into his own exclusive possession. After great trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his captive during the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodging322 it safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract toward himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbors, he kept it carefully secluded323, until such time as it should recover from a wound in the foot, received from a splinter on board ship. His ultimate design was to sell it.
Returning home from some sailors’ frolic on the night,[52] or rather in the morning, of the murder, he found the beast occupying his own bedroom, into which it had broken from a closet adjoining, where it had been, as was thought, securely confined. Razor in hand and fully lathered324, it was sitting before a looking-glass, attempting the operation of shaving, in which it had no doubt previously watched its master through the keyhole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious325, and so well able to use it, the man for some moments was at a loss what to do. He had been accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even in its fiercest moods, by the use of the whip, and to this he now resorted. Upon sight of it, the Ourang-Outang sprang at once through the door of the chamber, down the stairs, and thence, through a window, unfortunately open, into the street.
The Frenchman followed in despair, the ape, razor still in hand, occasionally stopping to look back and gesticulate at its pursuer, until the latter had nearly come up with it. It then again made off. In this manner the chase continued for a long time. The streets were profoundly quiet, as it was nearly three o’clock in the morning. In passing down an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive326’s attention was arrested by a light gleaming from the open window of Madame L’Espanaye’s chamber, in the fourth story of her house. Rushing to the building, it perceived the lightning-rod, clambered up with inconceivable agility, grasped the shutter, which was thrown fully back against the wall, and, by its means, swung itself directly upon the head-board of the bed. The whole feat did not occupy a[53] minute. The shutter was kicked open again by the Ourang-Outang as it entered the room.
The sailor, in the mean time, was both rejoiced and perplexed327. He had strong hopes of now recapturing the brute, as it could scarcely escape from the trap into which it had ventured, except by the rod, where it might be intercepted328 as it came down. On the other hand, there was much cause for anxiety as to what it might do in the house. This latter reflection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A lightning-rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor; but, when he had arrived as high as the window, which lay far to his left, his career was stopped; the most that he could accomplish was to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of the interior of the room. At this glimpse he nearly fell from his hold through excess of horror. Now it was that those hideous shrieks arose upon the night, which had startled from slumber329 the inmates330 of the Rue Morgue. Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter, habited in their night-clothes, had apparently been occupied in arranging some papers in the iron chest already mentioned, which had been wheeled into the middle of the room. It was open, and its contents lay beside it on the floor. The victims must have been sitting with their backs toward the window; and, from the time elapsing between the ingress of the beast and the screams, it seems probable that it was not immediately perceived. The flapping-to of the shutter would naturally have been attributed to the wind.
As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had seized Madame L’Espanaye by the hair (which was loose, as[54] she had been combing it) and was flourishing the razor about her face, in imitation of the motions of a barber. The daughter lay prostrate331 and motionless; she had swooned. The screams and struggles of the old lady (during which the hair was torn from her head) had the effect of changing the probably pacific purposes of the Ourang-Outang into those of wrath332. With one determined333 sweep of its muscular arm it nearly severed her head from her body. The sight of blood inflamed334 its anger into frenzy335. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire from its eyes, it flew upon the body of the girl, and embedded its fearful talons336 in her throat, retaining its grasp until she expired. Its wandering and wild glances fell at this moment upon the head of the bed, over which the face of its master, rigid111 with horror, was just discernible. The fury of the beast, which no doubt bore still in mind the dreaded337 whip, was instantly converted into fear. Conscious of having deserved punishment, it seemed desirous of concealing338 its bloody deeds, and skipped about the chamber in an agony of nervous agitation, throwing down and breaking the furniture as it moved, and dragging the bed from the bedstead. In conclusion, it seized first the corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up the chimney, as it was found; then that of the old lady, which it immediately hurled339 through the window headlong.
As the ape approached the casement with its mutilated burden, the sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rather gliding340 than clambering down it, hurried at once home,—dreading the consequences of the butchery, and gladly abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude341 about the fate[55] of the Ourang-Outang. The words heard by the party upon the staircase were the Frenchman’s exclamations342 of horror and affright, commingled343 with the fiendish jabberings of the brute.
I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-Outang must have escaped from the chamber, by the rod, just before the breaking of the door. It must have closed the window as it passed through it. It was subsequently caught by the owner himself, who obtained for it a very large sum at the Jardin des Plantes. Le Bon was instantly released, upon our narration344 of the circumstances (with some comments from Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This functionary345, however well disposed to my friend, could not altogether conceal his chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and was fain to indulge in a sarcasm346 or two, about the propriety347 of every person’s minding his own business.
“Let him talk,” said Dupin, who had not thought it necessary to reply. “Let him discourse; it will ease his conscience. I am satisfied with having defeated him in his own castle. Nevertheless, that he failed in the solution of this mystery is by no means that matter for wonder which he supposes it; for, in truth, our friend the Prefect is somewhat too cunning to be profound. In his wisdom is no stamen. It is all head and no body, like the pictures of the goddess Laverna; or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a codfish. But he is a good creature after all. I like him especially for one master stroke of cant112, by which he has attained his reputation for ingenuity. I mean the way he has de nier ce qui est, et d’expliquer ce qui n’est pas.”
点击收听单词发音
1 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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2 feat | |
n.功绩;武艺,技艺;adj.灵巧的,漂亮的,合适的 | |
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3 discoursed | |
演说(discourse的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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4 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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5 analytic | |
adj.分析的,用分析方法的 | |
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6 analytical | |
adj.分析的;用分析法的 | |
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7 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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8 inordinately | |
adv.无度地,非常地 | |
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9 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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10 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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11 exults | |
狂喜,欢跃( exult的第三人称单数 ) | |
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12 analyst | |
n.分析家,化验员;心理分析学家 | |
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13 derives | |
v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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14 enigmas | |
n.难于理解的问题、人、物、情况等,奥秘( enigma的名词复数 ) | |
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15 conundrums | |
n.谜,猜不透的难题,难答的问题( conundrum的名词复数 ) | |
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16 hieroglyphics | |
n.pl.象形文字 | |
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17 acumen | |
n.敏锐,聪明 | |
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18 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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19 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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20 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
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21 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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22 par | |
n.标准,票面价值,平均数量;adj.票面的,平常的,标准的 | |
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23 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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24 analyze | |
vt.分析,解析 (=analyse) | |
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25 treatise | |
n.专著;(专题)论文 | |
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26 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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27 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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28 random | |
adj.随机的;任意的;n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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29 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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30 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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31 draughts | |
n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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32 frivolity | |
n.轻松的乐事,兴高采烈;轻浮的举止 | |
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33 oversight | |
n.勘漏,失察,疏忽 | |
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34 oversights | |
n.疏忽( oversight的名词复数 );忽略;失察;负责 | |
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35 advert | |
vi.注意,留意,言及;n.广告 | |
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36 unemployed | |
adj.失业的,没有工作的;未动用的,闲置的 | |
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37 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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38 seduce | |
vt.勾引,诱奸,诱惑,引诱 | |
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39 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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40 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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41 eschewing | |
v.(尤指为道德或实际理由而)习惯性避开,回避( eschew的现在分词 ) | |
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42 frivolous | |
adj.轻薄的;轻率的 | |
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43 proficiency | |
n.精通,熟练,精练 | |
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44 undertakings | |
企业( undertaking的名词复数 ); 保证; 殡仪业; 任务 | |
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45 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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46 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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47 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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48 inaccessible | |
adj.达不到的,难接近的 | |
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49 attentive | |
adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
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50 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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51 mechanism | |
n.机械装置;机构,结构 | |
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52 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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53 retentive | |
v.保留的,有记忆的;adv.有记性地,记性强地;n.保持力 | |
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54 deductions | |
扣除( deduction的名词复数 ); 结论; 扣除的量; 推演 | |
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55 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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56 trump | |
n.王牌,法宝;v.打出王牌,吹喇叭 | |
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57 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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59 holders | |
支持物( holder的名词复数 ); 持有者; (支票等)持有人; 支托(或握持)…之物 | |
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60 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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61 chagrin | |
n.懊恼;气愤;委屈 | |
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62 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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63 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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64 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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65 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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66 rue | |
n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
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67 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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68 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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69 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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70 constructive | |
adj.建设的,建设性的 | |
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71 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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72 idiocy | |
n.愚蠢 | |
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73 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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74 analogous | |
adj.相似的;类似的 | |
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75 untoward | |
adj.不利的,不幸的,困难重重的 | |
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76 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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77 creditors | |
n.债权人,债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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78 patrimony | |
n.世袭财产,继承物 | |
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79 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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80 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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81 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
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82 candor | |
n.坦白,率真 | |
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83 fervor | |
n.热诚;热心;炽热 | |
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84 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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85 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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86 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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87 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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88 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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89 superstitions | |
迷信,迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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90 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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91 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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92 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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93 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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94 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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95 WHIMS | |
虚妄,禅病 | |
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96 sable | |
n.黑貂;adj.黑色的 | |
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97 counterfeit | |
vt.伪造,仿造;adj.伪造的,假冒的 | |
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98 shutter | |
n.百叶窗;(照相机)快门;关闭装置 | |
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99 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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100 tapers | |
(长形物体的)逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 ); 微弱的光; 极细的蜡烛 | |
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101 conversing | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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102 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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103 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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104 populous | |
adj.人口稠密的,人口众多的 | |
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105 infinity | |
n.无限,无穷,大量 | |
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106 chuckling | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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107 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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108 bosoms | |
胸部( bosom的名词复数 ); 胸怀; 女衣胸部(或胸襟); 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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109 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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110 frigid | |
adj.寒冷的,凛冽的;冷淡的;拘禁的 | |
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111 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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112 cant | |
n.斜穿,黑话,猛扔 | |
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113 petulantly | |
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114 petulant | |
adj.性急的,暴躁的 | |
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115 enunciation | |
n.清晰的发音;表明,宣言;口齿 | |
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116 meditatively | |
adv.冥想地 | |
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117 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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118 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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119 meditations | |
默想( meditation的名词复数 ); 默念; 沉思; 冥想 | |
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120 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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121 recollected | |
adj.冷静的;镇定的;被回忆起的;沉思默想的v.记起,想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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123 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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124 diminutive | |
adj.小巧可爱的,小的 | |
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125 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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126 fathom | |
v.领悟,彻底了解 | |
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127 retrace | |
v.折回;追溯,探源 | |
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128 retracing | |
v.折回( retrace的现在分词 );回忆;回顾;追溯 | |
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129 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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130 coherence | |
n.紧凑;连贯;一致性 | |
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131 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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132 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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133 alley | |
n.小巷,胡同;小径,小路 | |
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134 overlapping | |
adj./n.交迭(的) | |
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135 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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136 affectedly | |
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137 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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138 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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139 nebula | |
n.星云,喷雾剂 | |
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140 tirade | |
n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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141 satirist | |
n.讽刺诗作者,讽刺家,爱挖苦别人的人 | |
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142 allusions | |
暗指,间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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143 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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144 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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145 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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146 immolation | |
n.牺牲品 | |
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147 shrieks | |
n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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148 gateway | |
n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
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149 gendarmes | |
n.宪兵,警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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150 gendarme | |
n.宪兵 | |
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151 contention | |
n.争论,争辩,论战;论点,主张 | |
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152 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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153 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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154 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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155 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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156 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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157 dabbled | |
v.涉猎( dabble的过去式和过去分词 );涉足;浅尝;少量投资 | |
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158 soot | |
n.煤烟,烟尘;vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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159 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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160 aperture | |
n.孔,隙,窄的缺口 | |
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161 bruise | |
n.青肿,挫伤;伤痕;vt.打青;挫伤 | |
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162 bruises | |
n.瘀伤,伤痕,擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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163 throttled | |
v.扼杀( throttle的过去式和过去分词 );勒死;使窒息;压制 | |
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164 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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165 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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166 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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167 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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168 levity | |
n.轻率,轻浮,不稳定,多变 | |
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169 transpired | |
(事实,秘密等)被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 ); 泄露; 显露; 发生 | |
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170 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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171 elicited | |
引出,探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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172 deposes | |
v.罢免( depose的第三人称单数 );(在法庭上)宣誓作证 | |
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173 corpses | |
n.死尸,尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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174 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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175 tenant | |
n.承租人;房客;佃户;v.租借,租用 | |
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176 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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177 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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178 corroborates | |
v.证实,支持(某种说法、信仰、理论等)( corroborate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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179 intonation | |
n.语调,声调;发声 | |
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180 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
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181 corroborated | |
v.证实,支持(某种说法、信仰、理论等)( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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182 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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183 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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184 deposed | |
v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 );(在法庭上)宣誓作证 | |
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185 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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186 apprehensive | |
adj.担心的,恐惧的,善于领会的 | |
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187 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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188 unevenly | |
adv.不均匀的 | |
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189 cylindrical | |
adj.圆筒形的 | |
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190 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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191 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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192 excoriated | |
v.擦伤( excoriate的过去式和过去分词 );擦破(皮肤);剥(皮);严厉指责 | |
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193 chafed | |
v.擦热(尤指皮肤)( chafe的过去式 );擦痛;发怒;惹怒 | |
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194 protruded | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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195 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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196 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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197 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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198 obtuse | |
adj.钝的;愚钝的 | |
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199 wielded | |
手持着使用(武器、工具等)( wield的过去式和过去分词 ); 具有; 运用(权力); 施加(影响) | |
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200 postscript | |
n.附言,又及;(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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201 imprisoned | |
下狱,监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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202 extolled | |
v.赞颂,赞扬,赞美( extol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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203 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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204 persevering | |
a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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205 erred | |
犯错误,做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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206 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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207 investigations | |
(正式的)调查( investigation的名词复数 ); 侦查; 科学研究; 学术研究 | |
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208 impaired | |
adj.受损的;出毛病的;有(身体或智力)缺陷的v.损害,削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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209 exterior | |
adj.外部的,外在的;表面的 | |
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210 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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211 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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212 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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213 undue | |
adj.过分的;不适当的;未到期的 | |
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214 profundity | |
n.渊博;深奥,深刻 | |
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215 firmament | |
n.苍穹;最高层 | |
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216 scrutiny | |
n.详细检查,仔细观察 | |
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217 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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218 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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219 glazed | |
adj.光滑的,像玻璃的;上过釉的;呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式);上釉于,上光;(目光)变得呆滞无神 | |
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220 concierge | |
n.管理员;门房 | |
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221 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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222 credentials | |
n.证明,资格,证明书,证件 | |
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223 disorders | |
n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 );凌乱;骚乱;(身心、机能)失调 | |
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224 scrutinized | |
v.仔细检查,详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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225 atrocity | |
n.残暴,暴行 | |
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226 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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227 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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228 assassinated | |
v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 );中伤;诋毁;破坏 | |
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229 egress | |
n.出去;出口 | |
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230 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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231 abstruse | |
adj.深奥的,难解的 | |
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232 deviations | |
背离,偏离( deviation的名词复数 ); 离经叛道的行为 | |
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233 implicate | |
vt.使牵连其中,涉嫌 | |
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234 implicated | |
adj.密切关联的;牵涉其中的 | |
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235 riddle | |
n.谜,谜语,粗筛;vt.解谜,给…出谜,筛,检查,鉴定,非难,充满于;vi.出谜 | |
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236 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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237 precludes | |
v.阻止( preclude的第三人称单数 );排除;妨碍;使…行不通 | |
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238 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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239 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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240 conversant | |
adj.亲近的,有交情的,熟悉的 | |
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241 denizens | |
n.居民,住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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242 abound | |
vi.大量存在;(in,with)充满,富于 | |
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243 engender | |
v.产生,引起 | |
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244 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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245 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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246 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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247 masonry | |
n.砖土建筑;砖石 | |
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248 hearths | |
壁炉前的地板,炉床,壁炉边( hearth的名词复数 ) | |
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250 casement | |
n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
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251 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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252 corroboration | |
n.进一步的证实,进一步的证据 | |
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253 fixture | |
n.固定设备;预定日期;比赛时间;定期存款 | |
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254 induction | |
n.感应,感应现象 | |
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255 inductions | |
归纳(法)( induction的名词复数 ); (电或磁的)感应; 就职; 吸入 | |
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256 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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257 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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258 fissure | |
n.裂缝;裂伤 | |
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259 retention | |
n.保留,保持,保持力,记忆力 | |
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260 mansions | |
n.宅第,公馆,大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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261 tenement | |
n.公寓;房屋 | |
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262 cursory | |
adj.粗略的;草率的;匆促的 | |
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263 requisite | |
adj.需要的,必不可少的;n.必需品 | |
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264 hazardous | |
adj.(有)危险的,冒险的;碰运气的 | |
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265 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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266 agility | |
n.敏捷,活泼 | |
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267 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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268 juxtaposition | |
n.毗邻,并置,并列 | |
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269 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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270 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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271 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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272 revert | |
v.恢复,复归,回到 | |
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273 encumber | |
v.阻碍行动,妨碍,堆满 | |
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274 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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275 engendered | |
v.产生(某形势或状况),造成,引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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276 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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277 corroborative | |
adj.确证(性)的,确凿的 | |
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278 outrage | |
n.暴行,侮辱,愤怒;vt.凌辱,激怒 | |
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279 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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280 irreconcilable | |
adj.(指人)难和解的,势不两立的 | |
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281 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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282 clotted | |
adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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283 prodigious | |
adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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284 uprooting | |
n.倒根,挖除伐根v.把(某物)连根拔起( uproot的现在分词 );根除;赶走;把…赶出家园 | |
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285 severed | |
v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
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286 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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287 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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288 astounding | |
adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊,使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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289 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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290 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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291 raving | |
adj.说胡话的;疯狂的,怒吼的;非常漂亮的;令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话;疯话adv.胡言乱语地;疯狂地 | |
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292 maniac | |
n.精神癫狂的人;疯子 | |
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293 irrelevant | |
adj.不恰当的,无关系的,不相干的 | |
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294 tally | |
n.计数器,记分,一致,测量;vt.计算,记录,使一致;vi.计算,记分,一致 | |
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295 rigidly | |
adv.刻板地,僵化地 | |
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296 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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297 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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298 embedded | |
a.扎牢的 | |
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299 circumference | |
n.圆周,周长,圆周线 | |
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300 stature | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
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301 propensities | |
n.倾向,习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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302 tawny | |
adj.茶色的,黄褐色的;n.黄褐色 | |
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303 remonstrance | |
n抗议,抱怨 | |
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304 participation | |
n.参与,参加,分享 | |
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305 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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306 agitating | |
搅动( agitate的现在分词 ); 激怒; 使焦虑不安; (尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而)激烈争论 | |
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307 appreciable | |
adj.明显的,可见的,可估量的,可觉察的 | |
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308 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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309 shipping | |
n.船运(发货,运输,乘船) | |
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310 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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311 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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312 greasy | |
adj. 多脂的,油脂的 | |
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313 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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314 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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315 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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316 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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317 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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318 suffocation | |
n.窒息 | |
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319 atrocities | |
n.邪恶,暴行( atrocity的名词复数 );滔天大罪 | |
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320 culpable | |
adj.有罪的,该受谴责的 | |
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321 impunity | |
n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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322 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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323 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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324 lathered | |
v.(指肥皂)形成泡沫( lather的过去式和过去分词 );用皂沫覆盖;狠狠地打 | |
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325 ferocious | |
adj.凶猛的,残暴的,极度的,十分强烈的 | |
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326 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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327 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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328 intercepted | |
拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 ); 截住; 截击; 拦阻 | |
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329 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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330 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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331 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
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332 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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333 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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334 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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335 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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336 talons | |
n.(尤指猛禽的)爪( talon的名词复数 );(如爪般的)手指;爪状物;锁簧尖状突出部 | |
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337 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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338 concealing | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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339 hurled | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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340 gliding | |
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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341 solicitude | |
n.焦虑 | |
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342 exclamations | |
n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 );感叹;感叹语;感叹词 | |
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343 commingled | |
v.混合,掺和,合并( commingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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344 narration | |
n.讲述,叙述;故事;记叙体 | |
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345 functionary | |
n.官员;公职人员 | |
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346 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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347 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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