"Dear Frank,—Surely you are not going to spend a third Christmas at Heidelberg! We want you with us in good old England. My marriage with Daphne is fixed1 for Christmas Day, and I shall not regard the ceremony as valid2 unless you are my best man. So come—come—COME! No time to say more. You can guess how busy I am. Write or wire by return.— Yours,
"George."
Such was the letter received by me, Frank Willard, student in Odenwald College, Heidelberg, on the first day of the last month of the year. The writer of the letter was my brother, a captain in the—something. I take a pride in not remembering the number of the regiment3, for I am a man of peace and hate war and all connected therewith, excepting, of course, my soldier-brother, though my affection for him had somewhat waned4 of late years, for a reason that will soon appear.
The letter was accompanied by a portrait of George, an exquisite5 little painting in oils, representing him in full-dress uniform. A glance at the mirror showed how much I suffered by comparison. He looked every inch[Pg 2] a hero. I looked—well, no matter. In the lottery6 of love the prizes are not always drawn7 by the handsome. The Daphne referred to was our cousin, a maiden8 with raven9 hair, dark blue eyes, and a face as lovely as a Naiad's.
Her father, Gerald Leslie, was a wealthy city merchant, who, after the death of our parents, became the guardian10 of George and myself, bestowing12 on us a warmth of affection and a wealth of pocket-money that made the transference to his roof seem rather desirable than otherwise, my own father having been of a somewhat cold and undemonstrative temperament13. However, de mortuis nil14 nisi bonum.
My first impulse on reading the above letter was to pen a refusal to the invitation.
"What!" it may be said. "Refuse to be present at your brother's wedding? Refuse to return home to old England at Christmas-tide?—a season dear to every Englishman from its sacred and festive15 associations. 'Breathes there the man with soul so dead,' etc."
Exactly. My soul was dead, both to the joys of Christmas and of Daphne's wedding. Four words will explain the reason: I myself loved Daphne. And I had told her so, only to find that she had given her heart to my brother George.
I am not going to fill this chapter with the ravings of disappointed love. Suffice it to say that in my despair I left England, determined16 to see Daphne no more, and betook myself to the university of Heidelberg with the hope of finding oblivion in study.
Greek choruses, strophes, antistrophes, and epodes, are, however, all very well in their way, but they are a sorry substitute for love. At any rate, they did not make me forget Daphne. Her sweet face continued to haunt me, and, in the despairing and romantic mood of[Pg 3] a Manfred, I spent many a night on the mountains around Heidelberg, watching the stars rise, and brooding over my unrequited love.
Thus my brother's letter was far from being a source of pleasure to me, though it was kindly17 meant on his part (for he was ignorant, so I subsequently learned, of my own love for Daphne). His invitation, translated into the language of my thoughts simply meant, "Come and be more unhappy than you are!"
Deep down in my heart I had cherished the belief that something unforeseen would happen to break off George's engagement. The sands of that hope were now fast running out. The 25th of the month would remove Daphne from me forever.
For several days I fought with my despair, but at last I resolved to be present at the wedding.
"I may as well play the stoic18," I muttered, "and accept the inevitable19. Perhaps the fact of seeing Daphne actually married to another will cure me of this folly20."
Curiosity, also, to see how Daphne would behave on the occasion was an additional motive21 for going; and, poor fool that I was, I thought of the trembling handclasp, the blush, and the sweet glance that a woman seldom fails to bestow11 on the man who has once expressed his love for her.
Christmas Eve, midnight, found me on board the packet-boat steaming out of Calais Harbour. The sea was singularly smooth, and there was in the air that which gave promise of a heavy fall of snow ere long. Wrapped in my cloak, I leaned over the side of the vessel22, listening to the silver carillon of the church-bells pealing23 forth24 from every steeple and belfry in the town the glad tidings that the sweet and solemn morn of the Nativity had dawned. Faintly and more faintly the[Pg 4] chimes sounded over the wide expanse of glimmering25 sea, till they were finally lost in the distance.
At first my thoughts were gloomy. To play the stoic is never a very pleasant task. Yet I was not totally abandoned to despair. A ray of hope played over my mind, and, as the distance that separated me from Daphne diminished, this hope gradually became stronger and stronger. Nil desperandum should be my motto. The wedding had not taken place yet; weddings have been broken off at the very altar: why should not hers be? Foolish though it may seem, I began to nurse the pleasing idea that Fate might yet transfer Daphne to my arms. As if my wish had become a certainty, I trod the deck of the Channel steamer with exultant26 step, refusing to go below, although the wintry flakes27 were falling now in steady earnest. Such is the power of hope over the human mind; or is it something more than a poetic28 fiction that coming events cast their shadows before?
I was roused at length from dreamland by the sight of Dover Harbour looming29 through the snow-dotted gloom of night.
At the pier30-head a lantern shone, and among the persons assembled beneath its light a soldierly-looking figure in a long grey coat was visible. It was my brother George. His presence on the pier seemed, in my excited state of mind, a confirmation31 of the daring hope I had begun to entertain.
"The dear fellow!" I murmured. "He has come down expressly to meet me, and to resign Daphne to me."
As our vessel drew alongside the pier I waved my hand to him, but at this greeting he instantly vanished. This was certainly a surprise. Why did he not await my landing?
[Pg 5]
I was the first to quit the steamer, and, emerging from the inspection32 of the Revenue officials, I looked eagerly around for my brother. He was not to be seen on any part of the pier.
Was I mistaken as to the identity? The figure, the face, the very carriage—all seemed to be his. Stay! Was this an ocular illusion! Had my mind been dwelling33 so earnestly on my brother as to stamp on the retina of my eye an image that had no corresponding objective reality outside myself? Would this account for the peculiar34 manner in which the figure had vanished?
I would soon put this theory to the test. If George had come by train from London, the servants at the station would surely retain some remembrance of him. If others had seen the figure in the grey cloak, it would be a proof that my sense of sight had not deceived me. I entered the station and sought knowledge from the first porter I met, a tired-looking youth, with a sprig of holly35 stuck in his buttonhole, who gaped36 vacantly at my questions till the glitter of a silver coin imparted a certain degree of briskness37 to his faculties38.
"A military-looking gent, sir? Yes, there was one on the platform a few minutes ago."
"Describe him," said I bluntly, as my fellow passengers from the boat began to crowd into the station. "What was he like?"
I was desirous of drawing a description of the "military-looking gent" from the porter's unassisted memory rather than of suggesting personal details, to which, in his half-sleepy state and in his desire to get rid of me, he would doubtless subscribe39 assent40.
"Well, sir, he wasn't very tall—at least, not for a soldier; but then Bonaparte wasn't——"
"Oh, hang Bonaparte! Go on," I said snappishly,[Pg 6] for I was cold, hungry, and tired—conditions that do not tend to improve one's temper.
"He was wearing a long grey cloak and had a travelling-bag with him, marked with the letters "G.W." I noticed the bag particularly, because it came open as he was stepping from the carriage. My! didn't he shut it sharp! quick as lightning, as if he didn't want any one to see what was inside. I offered to carry it for him, and he told me——"
"What?"
"To go to the devil!"
"You didn't go, I see," said I, attempting to be facetious41. "Well, go on. What about the man's face?"
"Face? He looked rather white and excited; perhaps because he was in a passion with the carriage-door; it didn't open easily. He had a dark scar on his temple, and——"
"Left or right temple?"
"Left."
George had a dark scar on his left temple, the relic42 of a fall from a cliff at Upsala. His initials too were "G.W." Good! The figure on the pier was not an illusion, then. The porter's words convinced me that the man he had seen was my brother.
"How long is it since he was here?" I inquired.
"How long?" repeated the official, jerking his head backwards43 to get a glimpse of the Station clock. "Only ten minutes since. He came down by the express from Charing44 Cross. It was a few minutes late owing to the snow."
"Do you know if he had a return ticket?"
"That I can't say."
"What's the next train to London?"
"One just on the move now, sir. The next in two[Pg 7] hours' time. Better travel by this one. The next is sure to be a slow one, this snowstorm is so heavy. Going by this one, sir?" he continued, swinging open a carriage-door as he saw my hesitation45. "Only a minute to spare."
"I—I don't know yet. Hold my portmanteau for a moment."
I quickly ran the whole length of the departing train, but the grey coat was not in any of the carriages. This train was the one I should have travelled by, its departure being timed for the arrival of the Continental46 boat; but I now resolved to delay my journey till the next, in order to travel in company with my brother, for George must return by the latter train, otherwise he would be barely in time to meet the wedding-party in the Church at half-past nine. I returned to the porter, who was surveying me with a curiosity, the reason of which soon became evident, and said:
"I shall travel by the next train. Take charge of my portmanteau until then."
"Why, the military cove49!" returned the youth. "It's no go; I can see you're a 'tec with half an eye."
I suppose the half-eye that had discovered so much was his right one, for he proceeded to diminish it by screwing it up into a wink50 expressive51 of the penetration52 of its owner.
"The gentleman whom you think capable of forgery and murder is my brother, Captain Willard, of the—the never you mind; and if you give me any of your[Pg 8] insolence53, I'll report you to the authorities," I said, wrathfully.
The porter, who had evidently been drinking, was a little taken aback, to judge by his ejaculation of "Oh lor!" and as I walked off with my grandest air, I heard him mutter:
"His brother! yes, and like him, too! The one sends me to the devil, and the other threatens to report me to the station-master. Oh, they're brothers, sure enough! By your leave, there!"
A multitude of questions came surging over my mind. What was George doing at Dover only a few hours before his wedding? Obviously his purpose was not to meet me, since he had avoided me. Why? Could it be that for some strange reason he was deserting Daphne on her bridal morning?—a thought that caused my pulses to throb55 quickly. Was it shame, or guilt56, that had kept him from facing me? Oh, if I could but find him, and learn the truth from his lips!
"On the platform ten minutes ago."
Absurd as the idea may seem, I resolved to walk the streets of Dover during the next two hours, on the chance of meeting him.
The weather was of the character that popular fancy rather than historic fact has ascribed to the Yuletides of bygone days under the name of "an old-fashioned Christmas." The snow was lying several inches deep in the streets, deadening the sound of my footfalls. The big flakes, still falling, blinded my vision with their whirling eddies57. Not a soul was to be seen out of doors. Not a sound was to be heard save the sea splashing faintly against the harbour walls. The town lay draped in white, a city of the dead. Not knowing in what direction to proceed, I walked[Pg 9] on as chance directed, without seeing the person I was in quest of. Presently, as I was turning a corner, a figure, white as a ghost from head to foot, came into sight, startling me for the moment. It was a constable58, and I questioned him.
"I saw a man in a grey cloak go by just three minutes ago."
"Carrying bag marked 'G.W.'?"
"Carrying a bag, sir," he replied, with marked emphasis on what the grammarians were wont59 to call the indefinite article. "I didn't notice any letters on it. If you hurry you'll catch him up. He went that way," pointing with his hand. "Is anything the matter? Can I be of assistance?"
"I don't understand you," I returned sharply, wondering whether he, too, like the railway-porter, thought that my brother was a fugitive60 from justice.
"No offence, sir, but your friend seems to need looking after. He is either mad or dying. His eyes burned like live coals, and his face was as white as this snow here. I called out 'A rough night, sir!' but he glided61 on, looking neither to right nor left, and taking no notice of me."
These words increased my misgivings62. I thanked the constable and, declining his proffered63 services, rushed on in the direction indicated by him. A line of footprints in the snow served to guide me, and following their course, I presently found myself in a street whose semi-detached villas64 were fronted with quiet unpretentious gardens separated from the pavement by stone balustrades.
There he was! Half-way down the street, standing65 beneath the light of a gas-lamp, was a cloaked man apparently66 taking a survey of a house facing the lamp, while shaking the snow from himself. I hurried forward to greet him, my feet making no sound on the soft snow.
[Pg 10]
"George!" I cried eagerly and breathlessly when within a few paces of him. "George!"
The figure turned to meet, but not to greet me. It was my brother's face I saw, but so haggard and disfigured by lines of pain as to be scarcely recognisable. His eyes frightened me as they gleamed in the lamplight; so glassy, so unnatural67 was their stare.
The figure turned to meet
With dread68 at my heart I tried to clasp his hand, but he waved me back with a gesture suggestive of surprise, despair, terror, shame, grief—any or all of these might have prompted the singular motion of his arm. If I had come upon him in the very act of murder, he could not have shown greater agitation69. The fingers of his left hand relaxed their grip, and the valise they were holding dropped silently upon the snow. His action said more plainly than words: "Go back! go back! There is that happening of which you must know nothing."
To my mind there could be but one cause of his emotion, a cause as awful to me as to him, and it burst from my lips in a hoarse70 cry.
"Good heavens, George! Surely—surely Daphne isn't dead?"
There was no reply. The laxity of his limbs and his reclining attitude against the iron column showed that he had scarcely strength to stand. Then a sudden gust71 of wind blew aside both his cloak and his coat, exposing his white vest to view. And there upon that vest, plain to be seen, was a red stain large and round! For one moment only was it visible in the fitful light of the gas-lamp; the next, the folds of his cloak enveloping72 him again, concealed73 it from view.
[Pg 11]
"What is the matter? Why don't you speak?" I cried, and overcoming the vague terror that had possessed74 me, I stepped forward.
But before I could touch him, he gave a swift glance around, apparently seeking some way of escape, and suddenly snatching up the valise, he darted75 through the gate-way opposite him. Hurrying up the garden-path, he ascended76 a flight of steps, and while I was still gazing after him in amazement77, he disappeared within the portico78 that gave entrance to the house.
Here was a strange affair. George, on his wedding-morn in a town far distant from his bride, trying to avoid me, his brother, after having invited me to be his best man! A second explanation of his conduct occurred to me and found its way to my tongue.
"He is mad!" and I hesitated to follow. It is not an infrequent thing for the insane to think their dearest friends their foes79. And this thought begot80 another, more fearful still to me;
To be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.
His wild air and the red stain on his breast might well be testimony81 to some tragedy; in a fit of insane jealousy82 he had killed Daphne! Paralyzed by the idea I leaned, as he had leaned before me, against the lamp-post, with the words, "Daphne dead!" ringing in my ears.
I broke from the spell of terror imposed on me by my own fancy, and prepared to follow my brother. Putting aside the fears for my own safety with the thought that in case of an attack my cries would summon the inmates83 of the neighbouring houses to my aid, I cautiously groped my way to the dark portico, not without a dread that his wild figure might spring out[Pg 12] upon me; but, on mounting the snowy steps I discovered that the portico was empty, and the front door of the house securely shut.
I had heard no noise of knocking—no sound of the opening or closing of a door; and yet, if George had not passed the threshold, where was he? This was the second time the figure had eluded84 me. Was it after all an apparition85?
The improbability of seeing my brother in such a place and at such an hour, his obstinate86 silence to my appeals, his weird87 aspect, the mysterious manner in which he had vanished, seemed to favour this hypothesis. Was this his wraith88 sent to apprise89 me of his death? The next moment I was smiling at the idea. A being that is merely a figment of the brain cannot be credited with the power of making footprints in snow, yet deep footprints there were leading up the steps, and terminating at the threshold of the door; footprints newly-formed, whose shape and size assured me were not my own.
I drew back to take a survey of the house in which George had evidently taken refuge. A brief inspection of the dwelling failed to afford any clue as to the character of the occupants. The blinds were drawn at every window, and, as might be expected at so early an hour, no light was anywhere visible. I knocked at the door once, twice, thrice. There was no reply. Then, seizing the knocker with a vigorous grasp, I executed a cannonade with it, loud enough to rouse not the inmates of that house only, but those of the whole street. At length my summons met with recognition from within. The door slowly opened. Fully54 expecting to meet my brother, his eyes aglow90 with passion, I drew back with arms upraised to protect myself from his rush, but nothing more terrible[Pg 13] met my gaze than a venerable old man with silver hair, who shivered visibly as the cold wind drifted the snow into the passage. The lamp that he carried in his left hand, while he shielded it from the draught91 with his right, shone full on his face, which had such an air of quiet dignity that I felt quite ashamed of myself for having knocked so loudly. The disorder92 of his dress told me that he had but just risen from his bed.
The contrast between his grave demeanour and my excited bearing would have amused the spectator, had any been present. It struck me as a reversal of positions. I had expected to see a madman; he certainly took me for one, standing there as I did, breathless and silent in the wild snowy night, with my arms extended in front of me.
Too surprised to speak, I looked along the length of the passage as far as the kitchen, and then glanced up the staircase, but could not see George, nor any trace of him.
"Well, sir, may I ask why you rouse me thus in the dead of night?"
My eager impatience93 gave me no time for apology.
"I want my brother," I cried brusquely. "He came in here, I think."
"Your brother!" exclaimed the old man in a tone of surprise, that, if not genuine, was certainly well feigned94. "Young man, you have been too long at the taverns95 this morning. There is no one in this house but myself."
It was difficult to refuse belief to this statement, for the old man had so grave and reverend an air that he might have stood for an image of Truth—of Truth in these later days, I mean, when, as is well known, he has become a little old and antiquated96.
[Pg 14]
"You are mistaken," I replied, after listening vainly for some sound to proceed from within that might disprove his words. "Some one entered here only a minute or two ago, unknown, it may be, to you. These footprints are not mine."
But on looking downwards97 I found that a snow-wreath had drifted over the pavement, effectually covering the footsteps of myself as well as those of the refugee.
The old man smiled at my perplexity—a smile that was annoying, for it implied that he regarded me as a sad wine-bibber.
"Who is your brother?"
"Captain George Willard, of the—the——"
And then I stopped. I could perhaps have given him the titles of C?sar's ancient legions, but of the name of my brother's modern regiment I was totally ignorant.
"I really don't know the name of the regiment." The old man smiled again, as well he might. "He's in India now—that is to say, he is when he's there, you know," I stammered98, conscious that I was blundering terribly.
"Captain Willard? I have never heard the name before. He is not here. You have mistaken the house."
"Would you allow me to search the place?" I asked. "It is a bold request for a stranger to make, especially at this unearthly hour, and nothing but the certainty that my brother has concealed himself within induces me to make it. You see, he's a madman, and might do you harm." I thought this last would move him, but it only made matters worse. "I am certain I saw him enter this house. I am willing to pay you for your trouble if—if——"
I paused diffidently, for his reverend air did not [Pg 15]harmonise well with the taking of a bribe99. The old man's voice now assumed a tone of asperity100. He was evidently getting tired of shivering half-dressed in the cold night air, and no wonder.
"I shall certainly not allow you to search the house. Your brother is not here. This door was double-locked when I went to bed. You heard me unlock it. How could he enter without the key. I must bid you good-night, for I see it's no use arguing with you in your present state of mind."
And, without more ado, the door was closed and locked, and I could hear the footsteps of the old man receding101 along the passage and ascending102 the stairs.
点击收听单词发音
1 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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2 valid | |
adj.有确实根据的;有效的;正当的,合法的 | |
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3 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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4 waned | |
v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 );(月)亏;变小;变暗淡 | |
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5 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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6 lottery | |
n.抽彩;碰运气的事,难于算计的事 | |
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7 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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8 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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9 raven | |
n.渡鸟,乌鸦;adj.乌亮的 | |
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10 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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11 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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12 bestowing | |
砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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13 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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14 nil | |
n.无,全无,零 | |
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15 festive | |
adj.欢宴的,节日的 | |
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16 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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17 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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18 stoic | |
n.坚忍克己之人,禁欲主义者 | |
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19 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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20 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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21 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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22 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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23 pealing | |
v.(使)(钟等)鸣响,(雷等)发出隆隆声( peal的现在分词 ) | |
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24 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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25 glimmering | |
n.微光,隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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26 exultant | |
adj.欢腾的,狂欢的,大喜的 | |
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27 flakes | |
小薄片( flake的名词复数 ); (尤指)碎片; 雪花; 古怪的人 | |
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28 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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29 looming | |
n.上现蜃景(光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼)v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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30 pier | |
n.码头;桥墩,桥柱;[建]窗间壁,支柱 | |
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31 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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32 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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33 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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34 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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35 holly | |
n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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36 gaped | |
v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 );张开,张大 | |
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37 briskness | |
n.敏捷,活泼 | |
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38 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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39 subscribe | |
vi.(to)订阅,订购;同意;vt.捐助,赞助 | |
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40 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
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41 facetious | |
adj.轻浮的,好开玩笑的 | |
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42 relic | |
n.神圣的遗物,遗迹,纪念物 | |
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43 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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44 charing | |
n.炭化v.把…烧成炭,把…烧焦( char的现在分词 );烧成炭,烧焦;做杂役女佣 | |
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45 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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46 continental | |
adj.大陆的,大陆性的,欧洲大陆的 | |
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47 forgery | |
n.伪造的文件等,赝品,伪造(行为) | |
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48 astounded | |
v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词);愕然;愕;惊讶 | |
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49 cove | |
n.小海湾,小峡谷 | |
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50 wink | |
n.眨眼,使眼色,瞬间;v.眨眼,使眼色,闪烁 | |
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51 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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52 penetration | |
n.穿透,穿人,渗透 | |
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53 insolence | |
n.傲慢;无礼;厚颜;傲慢的态度 | |
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54 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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55 throb | |
v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
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56 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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57 eddies | |
(水、烟等的)漩涡,涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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58 constable | |
n.(英国)警察,警官 | |
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59 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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60 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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61 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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62 misgivings | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕;疑虑,担心,恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 );疑惧 | |
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63 proffered | |
v.提供,贡献,提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64 villas | |
别墅,公馆( villa的名词复数 ); (城郊)住宅 | |
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65 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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66 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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67 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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68 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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69 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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70 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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71 gust | |
n.阵风,突然一阵(雨、烟等),(感情的)迸发 | |
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72 enveloping | |
v.包围,笼罩,包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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73 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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74 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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75 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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76 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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78 portico | |
n.柱廊,门廊 | |
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79 foes | |
敌人,仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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80 begot | |
v.为…之生父( beget的过去式 );产生,引起 | |
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81 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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82 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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83 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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84 eluded | |
v.(尤指机敏地)避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 );逃避;躲避;使达不到 | |
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85 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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86 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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87 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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88 wraith | |
n.幽灵;骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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89 apprise | |
vt.通知,告知 | |
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90 aglow | |
adj.发亮的;发红的;adv.发亮地 | |
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91 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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92 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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93 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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94 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
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95 taverns | |
n.小旅馆,客栈,酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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96 antiquated | |
adj.陈旧的,过时的 | |
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97 downwards | |
adj./adv.向下的(地),下行的(地) | |
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98 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99 bribe | |
n.贿赂;v.向…行贿,买通 | |
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100 asperity | |
n.粗鲁,艰苦 | |
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101 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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102 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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