"Fair shepherdess," he implored1, "for heaven's sake, let us not cut short the pastorelle thus abruptly2."
"And what manner of beast may that be, pray?"
"'Tis a conventional form of verse, my dear, which we at present strikingly illustrate3. The plan of a pastorelle is simplicity's self: a gentleman, which I may fairly claim to be, in some fair rural scene—such as this—comes suddenly upon a rustic4 maiden5 of surpassing beauty. He naturally falls in love with her, and they say all manner of fine things to each other."
She considered him for a while before speaking. It thrilled him to see the odd tenderness that was in her face. "You always think of saying and writing fine things, do you not, sir?"
"My dear," he answered, gravely, "I believe that I was undoubtedly6 guilty of such folly7 until you came. I wish I could make you understand how your coming has changed everything."
His hand detained her very gently. "Faith, but I fear not, for already my old hallucinations seem to me incredible. Why, yesterday I thought it the most desirable of human lots to be a great poet"—the gentleman laughed in self-mockery. "I positively9 did. I labored10 every day toward becoming one. I lived among books, esteemed11 that I was doing something of genuine importance as I gravely tinkered with alliteration13 and metaphor14 and antithesis15 and judicious16 paraphrases17 of the ancients. I put up with life solely18 because it afforded material for versification; and, in reality, believed the destruction of Troy was providentially ordained19 lest Homer lack subject matter for an epic20. And as for loving, I thought people fell in love in order to exchange witty21 rhymes."
His hand detained her, very gently.… Indeed, it seemed to him he could never tire of noting her excellencies. Perhaps it was that splendid light poise22 of her head he chiefly loved; he thought so at least, just now. Or was it the wonder of her walk, which made all other women he had ever known appear to mince23 and hobble, like rusty24 toys? Something there was assuredly about this slim brown girl which recalled an untamed and harmless woodland creature; and it was that, he knew, which most poignantly25 moved him, even though he could not name it. Perhaps it was her bright kind eyes, which seemed to mirror the tranquillity27 of forests.…
"Oh," he said, with acerbity29, "oh, I don't doubt that any number of beef-gorging squires30 and leering, long-legged Oxford31 dandies——" He broke off here, and laughed contemptuously. "Well, you are beautiful, and they have eyes as keen as mine. And I do not blame you, my dear, for believing my designs to be no more commendable32 than theirs—no, not at all."
But his mood was spoiled, and his tetchy vanity hurt, by the thought of stout33 well-set fellows having wooed this girl; and he permitted her to go without protest.
Yet he sat alone for a while upon the fallen tree-trunk, humming a contented34 little tune35. Never in his life had he been happier. He did not venture to suppose that any creature so adorable could love such a sickly hunchback, such a gargoyle36 of a man, as he was; but that Sarah was fond of him, he knew. There would be no trouble in arranging with her father for their marriage, most certainly; and he meant to attend to that matter this very morning, and within ten minutes. So Mr. Alexander Pope was meanwhile arranging in his mind a suitable wording for his declaration of marital37 aspirations38.
Thus John Gay found him presently and roused him from phrase-spinning. "And what shall we do this morning, Alexander?" Gay was always demanding, like a spoiled child, to be amused.
Pope told him what his own plans were, speaking quite simply, but with his countenance39 radiant. Gay took off his hat and wiped his forehead, for the day was warm. He did not say anything at all.
"Well——?" Mr. Pope asked, after a pause.
Mr. Gay was dubious40. "I had never thought that you would marry," he said. "And—why, hang it, Alexander! to grow enamored of a milkmaid is well enough for the hero of a poem, but in a poet it hints at injudicious composition."
Mr. Pope gesticulated with thin hands and seemed upon the verge41 of eloquence42. Then he spoke43 unanswerably. "But I love her," he said.
John Gay's reply was a subdued44 whistle. He, in common with the other guests of Lord Harcourt, at Nuneham Courtney, had wondered what would be the outcome of Mr. Alexander Pope's intimacy45 with Sarah Drew. A month earlier the poet had sprained46 his ankle upon Amshot Heath, and this young woman had found him lying there, entirely47 helpless, as she returned from her evening milking. Being hale of person, she had managed to get the little hunchback to her home unaided. And since then Pope had often been seen with her.
This much was common knowledge. That Mr. Pope proposed to marry the heroine of his misadventure afforded a fair mark for raillery, no doubt, but Gay, in common with the run of educated England in 1718, did not aspire48 to be facetious49 at Pope's expense. The luxury was too costly50. Offend the dwarf51 in any fashion, and were you the proudest duke at Court or the most inconsiderable rhymester in Petticoat Lane, it made no difference; there was no crime too heinous52 for "the great Mr. Pope's" next verses to charge you with, and, worst of all, there was no misdoing so out of character that his adroit53 malignancy could not make it seem plausible54.
Now, after another pause, Pope said, "I must be going now. Will you not wish me luck?"
"Why, Alexander—why, hang it!" was Mr. Gay's observation, "I believe that you are human after all, and not just a book in breeches."
He thereby55 voiced a commentary patently uncalled-for, as Mr. Pope afterward56 reflected. Mr. Pope was then treading toward the home of old Frederick Drew. It was a gray morning in late July.
"I love her," Pope had said. The fact was undeniable; yet an expression of it necessarily halts. Pope knew, as every man must do who dares conserve57 his energies to annotate58 the drama of life rather than play a part in it, the nature of that loneliness which this conservation breeds. Such persons may hope to win a posthumous59 esteem12 in the library, but it is at the bleak60 cost of making life a wistful transaction with foreigners. In such enforced aloofness61 Sarah Drew had come to him—strong, beautiful, young, good and vital, all that he was not—and had serenely62 befriended "the great Mr. Pope," whom she viewed as a queer decrepit63 little gentleman of whom within a week she was unfeignedly fond.
"I love her," Pope had said. Eh, yes, no doubt; and what, he fiercely demanded of himself, was he—a crippled scribbler, a bungling64 artisan of phrases—that he should dare to love this splendid and deep-bosomed goddess? Something of youth awoke, possessing him—something of that high ardor65 which, as he cloudily remembered now, had once controlled a boy who dreamed in Windsor Forest and with the lightest of hearts planned to achieve the impossible. For what is more difficult of attainment66 than to achieve the perfected phrase, so worded that to alter a syllable67 of its wording would be little short of sacrilege?
"What whimwhams!" decreed the great Mr. Pope, aloud. "Verse-making is at best only the affair of idle men who write in their closets and of idle men who read there. And as for him who polishes phrases, whatever be his fate in poetry, it is ten to one but he must give up all the reasonable aims of life for it."
No, he would have no more of loneliness. Henceforward Alexander Pope would be human—like the others. To write perfectly68 was much; but it was not everything. Living was capable of furnishing even more than the raw material of a couplet. It might, for instance, yield content.
For instance, if you loved, and married, and begot69, and died, with the seriousness of a person who believes he is performing an action of real importance, and conceded that the perfection of any art, whether it be that of verse-making or of rope-dancing, is at best a by-product70 of life's conduct; at worst, you probably would not be lonely. No; you would be at one with all other fat-witted people, and there was no greater blessing71 conceivable.
Pope muttered, and produced his notebook, and wrote tentatively.
Wrote Mr. Pope:
Is not to act or think beyond mankind;
No powers of body or of soul to share
But what his nature and his state can bear.
"His state!" yes, undeniably, two sibilants collided here. "His wit?"—no, that would be flat-footed awkwardness in the management of your vowel-sounds; the lengthened73 "a" was almost requisite74.… Pope was fretting75 over the imbroglio76 when he absent-mindedly glanced up to perceive that his Sarah, not irrevocably offended, was being embraced by a certain John Hughes—who was a stalwart, florid personable individual, no doubt, but, after all, only an unlettered farmer.
The dwarf gave a hard, wringing77 motion of his hands. The diamond-Lord Bolingbroke's gift—which ornamented78 Pope's left hand cut into the flesh of his little finger, so cruel was the gesture; and this little finger was bleeding as Pope tripped forward, smiling. A gentleman does not incommode the public by obtruding79 the ugliness of a personal wound.
"Do I intrude80?" he queried81. "Ah, well! I also have dwelt in Arcadia." It was bitter to comprehend that he had never done so.
The lovers were visibly annoyed; yet, if an interruption of their pleasant commerce was decreed to be, it could not possibly have sprung, as they soon found, from a more sympathetic source.
These were not subtle persons. Pope had the truth from them within ten minutes. They loved each other; but John Hughes was penniless, and old Frederick Drew was, in consequence, obdurate82.
"And, besides, he thinks you mean to marry her!" said John Hughes.
"My dear man, he pardonably forgets that the utmost reach of my designs in common reason would be to have her as my kept mistress for a month or two," drawled Mr. Pope. "As concerns yourself, my good fellow, the case is somewhat different. Why, it is a veritable romance—an affair of Daphne and Corydon—although, to be unpardonably candid83, the plot of your romance, my young Arcadians, is not the most original conceivable. I think that the denouement84 need not baffle our imaginations."
The dwarf went toward Sarah Drew. The chary85 sunlight had found the gold in her hair, and its glint was brightly visible to him. "My dear—" he said. His thin long fingers touched her capable hand. It was a sort of caress—half-timid. "My dear, I owe my life to you. My body is at most a flimsy abortion86 such as a night's exposure would have made more tranquil26 than it is just now. Yes, it was you who found a caricature of the sort of man that Mr. Hughes here is, disabled, helpless, and—for reasons which doubtless seemed to you sufficient—contrived that this unsightly parody88 continue in existence. I am not lovable, my dear. I am only a hunchback, as you can see. My aspirations and my sickly imaginings merit only the derision of a candid clean-souled being such as you are." His finger-tips touched the back of her hand again. "I think there was never a maker89 of enduring verse who did not at one period or another long to exchange an assured immortality90 for a sturdier pair of shoulders. I think—I think that I am prone91 to speak at random," Pope said, with his half-drowsy smile. "Yet, none the less, an honest man, as our kinsmen92 in Adam average, is bound to pay his equitable93 debts."
She said, "I do not understand."
"I have perpetrated certain jingles94," Pope returned. "I had not comprehended until to-day they are the only children I shall leave behind me. Eh, and what would you make of them, my dear, could ingenuity95 contrive87 a torture dire96 enough to force you into reading them!… Misguided people have paid me for contriving97 these jingles. So that I have money enough to buy you from your father just as I would purchase one of his heifers. Yes, at the very least I have money, and I have earned it. I will send your big-thewed adorer—I believe that Hughes is the name?—L500 of it this afternoon. That sum, I gather, will be sufficient to remove your father's objection to your marriage with Mr. Hughes."
Pope could not but admire himself tremendously. Moreover, in such matters no woman is blind. Tears came into Sarah's huge brown eyes. This tenderhearted girl was not thinking of John Hughes now. Pope noted98 the fact with the pettiest exultation99. "Oh, you—you are good." Sarah Drew spoke as with difficulty.
"No adjective, my dear, was ever applied100 with less discrimination. It is merely that you have rendered no inconsiderable service to posterity101, and merit a reward."
She would have added more, no doubt, since compassion103 is garrulous104, had not Pope's scratched hand dismissed a display of emotion as not entirely in consonance with the rules of the game.
"My dear, therein you have signally honored me. There remains105 only to offer you my appreciation106 of your benevolence107 toward a sickly monster, and to entreat108 for my late intrusion—however unintentional—that forgiveness which you would not deny, I think, to any other impertinent insect."
"Oh, but we have no words to thank you, sir——!" Thus Hughes began.
"Then don't attempt it, my good fellow. For phrase-spinning, as I can assure you, is the most profitless of all pursuits." Whereupon Pope bowed low, wheeled, walked away. Yes, he was wounded past sufferance; it seemed to him he must die of it. Life was a farce109, and Destiny an overseer who hiccoughed mandates110. Well, all that even Destiny could find to gloat over, he reflected, was the tranquil figure of a smallish gentleman switching at the grass-blades with his cane111 as he sauntered under darkening skies.
For a storm was coming on, and the first big drops of it were splattering the terrace when Mr. Pope entered Lord Harcourt's mansion112.
Pope went straight to his own rooms. As he came in there was a vivid flash of lightning, followed instantaneously by a crashing, splitting noise, like that of universes ripped asunder113. He did not honor the high uproar114 with attention. This dwarf was not afraid of anything except the commission of an error in taste.
Then, too, there were letters for him, laid ready on the writing-table. Nothing of much importance he found there.—Here, though, was a rather diverting letter from Eustace Budgell, that poor fool, abjectly115 thanking Mr. Pope for his advice concerning how best to answer the atrocious calumnies116 on Budgell then appearing in The Grub-Street Journal,—and reposing117, drolly118 enough, next the proof-sheets of an anonymous119 letter Pope had prepared for the forthcoming issue of that publication, wherein he sprightlily told how Budgell had poisoned Dr. Tindal, after forging his will. For even if Budgell had not in point of fact been guilty of these particular peccadilloes120, he had quite certainly committed the crime of speaking lightly of Mr. Pope, as "a little envious121 animal," some seven years ago; and it was for this grave indiscretion that Pope was dexterously122 goading123 the man into insanity124, and eventually drove him to suicide.…
The storm made the room dark and reading difficult. Still, this was an even more amusing letter, from the all-powerful Duchess of Marlborough. In as civil terms as her sick rage could muster125, the frightened woman offered Mr. Pope L1,000 to suppress his verbal portrait of her, in the character of Atossa, from his Moral Essays; and Pope straightway decided126 to accept the bribe127, and afterward to print his verses unchanged. For the hag, as he reflected, very greatly needed to be taught that in this world there was at least one person who did not quail128 before her tantrums. There would be, moreover, even an elementary justice in thus robbing her who had robbed England at large. And, besides, her name was Sarah.…
Pope lighted four candles and set them before the long French mirror. He stood appraising129 his many curious deformities while the storm raged. He stood sidelong, peering over his left shoulder, in order to see the outline of his crooked130 back. Nowhere in England, he reflected, was there a person more pitiable and more repellent outwardly.
"And, oh, it would be droll," Pope said, aloud, "if our exteriors131 were ever altogether parodies132. But time keeps a diary in our faces, and writes a monstrously133 plain hand. Now, if you take the first letter of Mr. Alexander Pope's Christian134 name, and the first and last letters of his surname, you have A. P. E.," Pope quoted, genially135. "I begin to think that Dennis was right. What conceivable woman would not prefer a well-set man of five-and-twenty to such a withered136 abortion? And what does it matter, after all, that a hunchback has dared to desire a shapely brown-haired woman?"
Pope came more near to the mirror. "Make answer, you who have dared to imagine that a goddess was ever drawn137 to descend138 into womanhood except by kisses, brawn139 and a clean heart."
Another peal140 of thunder bellowed141. The storm was growing furious. "Yet I have had a marvelous dream. Now I awaken142. I must go on in the old round. As long as my wits preserve their agility143 I must be able to amuse, to flatter and, at need, to intimidate144 the patrons of that ape in the mirror, so that they will not dare refuse me the market-value of my antics. And Sarah Drew has declined an alliance such as this in favor of a fresh-colored complexion145 and a pair of straight shoulders!"
Pope thought a while. "And a clean heart! She bargained royally, giving love for nothing less than love. The man is rustic, illiterate146; he never heard of Aristotle, he would be at a loss to distinguish between a trochee and a Titian, and if you mentioned Boileau to him would probably imagine you were talking of cookery. But he loves her. He would forfeit147 eternity148 to save her a toothache. And, chief of all, she can make this robust149 baby happy, and she alone can make him happy. And so, she gives, gives royally—she gives, God bless her!"
Rain, sullen150 rain, was battering151 the window. "And you—you hunchback in the mirror, you maker of neat rhymes—pray, what had you to offer? A coach-and-six, of course, and pin-money and furbelows and in the end a mausoleum with unimpeachable152 Latin on it! And—paté sur paté—an unswerving devotion which she would share on almost equal terms with the Collected Works of Alexander Pope. And so she chose—chose brawn and a clean heart."
The dwarf turned, staggered, fell upon his bed. "God, make a man of me, make me a good brave man. I loved her—oh, such as I am, You know that I loved her! You know that I desire her happiness above all things. Ah, no, for You know that I do not at bottom. I want to hurt, to wound all living creatures, because they know how to be happy, and I do not know how. Ah, God, and why did You decree that I should never be an obtuse153 and comely154 animal such as this John Hughes is? I am so tired of being 'the great Mr. Pope,' and I want only the common joys of life."
The hunchback wept. It would be too curious to anatomize the writhings of his proud little spirit.
Now some one tapped upon the door. It was John Gay. He was bidden to enter, and, complying, found Mr. Pope yawning over the latest of Tonson's publications.
Gay's face was singularly portentous155. "My friend," Gay blurted156 out, "I bring news which will horrify157 you. Believe me, I would never have mustered158 the pluck to bring it did I not love you. I cannot let you hear it first in public and unprepared, as, otherwise, you would have to do."
"Do I not know you have the kindest heart in all the world? Why, so outrageous159 are your amiable160 defects that they would be the public derision of your enemies if you had any," Pope returned.
The other poet evinced an awkward comminglement of consternation161 and pity. "It appears that when this storm arose—why, Mistress Drew was with a young man of the neighborhood—a John Hewet——" Gay was speaking with unaccustomed rapidity.
"Hughes, I think," Pope interrupted, equably.
"Perhaps—I am not sure. They sought shelter under a haycock. You will remember that first crash of thunder, as if the heavens were in demolishment? My friend, the reapers162 who had been laboring163 in the fields—who had been driven to such protection as the trees or hedges afforded——"
"Get on!" a shrill164 voice cried; "for God's love, man, get on!" Mr. Pope had risen. This pallid165 shaken wisp was not in appearance the great Mr. Pope whose ingenuity had enabled Homeric warriors166 to excel in the genteel.
"They first saw a little smoke.… They found this Hughes with one arm about the neck of Mistress Drew, and the other held over her face, as if to screen her from the lightning. They were both"—and here Gay hesitated. "They were both dead," he amended167.
Pope turned abruptly. Nakedness is of necessity uncouth168, he held, whether it be the body or the soul that is unveiled. Mr. Pope went toward a window which he opened, and he stood thus looking out for a brief while.
"So she is dead," he said. "It is very strange. So many rare felicities of curve and color, so much of purity and kindliness169 and valor170 and mirth, extinguished as one snuffs a candle! Well! I am sorry she is dead, for the child had a talent for living and got such joy out of it.… Hers was a lovely happy life, but it was sterile171. Already nothing remains of her but dead flesh which must be huddled172 out of sight. I shall not perish thus entirely, I believe. Men will remember me. Truly a mighty173 foundation for pride! when the utmost I can hope for is but to be read in one island, and to be thrown aside at the end of one age. Indeed, I am not even sure of that much. I print, and print, and print. And when I collect my verses into books, I am altogether uncertain whether to took upon myself as a man building a monument, or burying the dead. It sometimes seems to me that each publication is but a solemn funeral of many wasted years. For I have given all to the verse-making. Granted that the sacrifice avails to rescue my name from oblivion, what will it profit me when I am dead and care no more for men's opinions than Sarah Drew cares now for what I say of her? But then she never cared. She loved John Hughes. And she was right."
He made an end of speaking, still peering out of the window with considerate narrowed eyes.
The storm was over. In the beech-tree opposite a wren174 was raising optimistic outcry. The sun had won his way through a black-bellied shred175 of cloud; upon the terrace below, a dripping Venus and a Perseus were glistening176 as with white fire. Past these, drenched177 gardens, the natural wildness of which was judiciously178 restrained with walks, ponds, grottoes, statuary and other rural elegancies, displayed the intermingled brilliancies of diamonds and emeralds, and glittered as with pearls and rubies179 where tempest-battered roses were reviving in assertiveness180.
"I think the storm is over," Mr. Pope remarked. "It is strange how violent are these convulsions of nature.… But nature is a treacherous181 blowsy jade182, who respects nobody. A gentleman can but shrug183 under her onslaughts, and henceforward civilly avoid them. It is a consolation184 to reflect that they pass quickly."
He turned as in defiance185. "Yes, yes! It hurts. But I envy them. Yes, even I, that ugly spiteful hornet of a man! 'the great Mr. Pope,' who will be dining with the proudest people in England within the hour and gloating over their deference186! For they presume to make a little free with God occasionally, John, but never with me. And I envy these dead young fools.… You see, they loved each other, John. I left them, not an hour ago, the happiest of living creatures. I looked back once. I pretended to have dropped my handkerchief. I imagine they were talking of their wedding-clothes, for this broad-shouldered Hughes was matching poppies and field-flowers to her complexion. It was a scene out of Theocritus. I think Heaven was so well pleased by the tableau187 that Heaven hastily resumed possession of its enactors in order to prevent any after-happenings from belittling188 that perfect instant."
"Egad, and matrimony might easily have proved an anti-climax," Gay considered.
"Yes; oh, it is only Love that is blind, and not the lover necessarily. I know. I suppose I always knew at the bottom of my heart. This hamadryad was destined189 in the outcome to dwindle190 into a village housewife, she would have taken a lively interest in the number of eggs the hens were laying, she would even have assured her children, precisely191 in the way her father spoke of John Hughes, that young people ordinarily have foolish fancies which their rational elders agree to disregard. But as it is, no Eastern queen—not Semele herself—left earth more nobly—"
Pope broke off short. He produced his notebook, which he never went without, and wrote frowningly, with many erasures. "H'm, yes," he said; and he read aloud:
"When Eastern lovers feed the funeral fire,
On the same pile the faithful fair expire;
And blasted both that it might neither wound.
Sent His own lightning and the victims seized."
Then Pope made a grimace195. "No; the analogy is trim enough, but the lines lack fervor196. It is deplorable how much easier it is to express any emotion other than that of which one is actually conscious." Pope had torn the paper half-through before he reflected that it would help to fill a printed page. He put it in his pocket. "But, come now, I am writing to Lady Mary this afternoon. You know how she loves oddities. Between us—with prose as the medium, of course, since verse should, after all, confine itself to the commemoration of heroes and royal persons—I believe we might make of this occurrence a neat and moving pastorelle—I should say, pastoral, of course, but my wits are wool-gathering."
Mr. Gay had the kindest heart in the universe. Yet he, also, had dreamed of the perfected phrase, so worded that to alter a syllable of its wording would be little short of sacrilege. Eyes kindling197, he took up a pen. "Yes, yes, I understand. Egad, it is an admirable subject. But, then, I don't believe I ever saw these lovers——?"
"John was a well-set man of about five-and-twenty," replied Mr. Pope; "and Sarah was a brown woman of eighteen years, three months and fourteen days."
Then these two dipped their pens and set about a moving composition, which has to-day its proper rating among Mr. Pope's Complete Works.
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abruptly
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illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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maiden
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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folly
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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positively
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labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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esteemed
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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alliteration
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metaphor
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antithesis
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judicious
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paraphrases
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solely
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ordained
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witty
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poise
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24
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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25
poignantly
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26
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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27
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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28
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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29
acerbity
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| n.涩，酸，刻薄 | |
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30
squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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31
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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32
commendable
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| adj.值得称赞的 | |
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34
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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35
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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36
gargoyle
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| n.笕嘴 | |
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37
marital
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| adj.婚姻的，夫妻的 | |
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38
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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39
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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40
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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41
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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42
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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43
spoke
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|
| 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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44
subdued
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|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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45
intimacy
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|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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46
sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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47
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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48
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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49
facetious
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|
| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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50
costly
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|
| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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51
dwarf
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|
| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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52
heinous
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| adj.可憎的，十恶不赦的 | |
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53
adroit
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|
| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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54
plausible
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|
| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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55
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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56
afterward
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|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
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57
conserve
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|
| vt.保存，保护，节约，节省，守恒，不灭 | |
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58
annotate
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| v.注解 | |
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59
posthumous
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|
| adj.遗腹的；父亡后出生的；死后的，身后的 | |
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60
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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61
aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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62
serenely
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|
| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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63
decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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64
bungling
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|
| adj.笨拙的，粗劣的v.搞糟，完不成( bungle的现在分词 )；笨手笨脚地做；失败；完不成 | |
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65
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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66
attainment
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|
| n.达到，到达；［常pl.］成就，造诣 | |
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67
syllable
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|
| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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68
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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69
begot
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去式 )；产生，引起 | |
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70
by-product
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| n.副产品，附带产生的结果 | |
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71
blessing
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|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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72
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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73
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
requisite
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|
| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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75
fretting
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|
| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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76
imbroglio
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|
| n.纷乱，纠葛，纷扰，一团糟 | |
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77
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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78
ornamented
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|
| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
obtruding
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|
| v.强行向前，强行，强迫( obtrude的现在分词 ) | |
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80
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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81
queried
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|
| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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82
obdurate
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|
| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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83
candid
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|
| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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84
denouement
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|
| n.结尾，结局 | |
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85
chary
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，细心的 | |
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86
abortion
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|
| n.流产，堕胎 | |
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87
contrive
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|
| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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88
parody
|
|
| n.打油诗文，诙谐的改编诗文，拙劣的模仿；v.拙劣模仿，作模仿诗文 | |
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89
maker
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|
| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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90
immortality
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|
| n.不死，不朽 | |
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91
prone
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|
| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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92
kinsmen
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|
| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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93
equitable
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|
| adj.公平的；公正的 | |
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94
jingles
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|
| 叮当声( jingle的名词复数 )； 节拍十分规则的简单诗歌 | |
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95
ingenuity
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|
| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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96
dire
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|
| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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97
contriving
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|
| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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98
noted
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|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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99
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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100
applied
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|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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101
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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102
sobbed
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|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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103
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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104
garrulous
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|
| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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105
remains
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|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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106
appreciation
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|
| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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107
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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108
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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109
farce
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|
| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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110
mandates
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| 托管（mandate的第三人称单数形式） | |
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111
cane
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|
| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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112
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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113
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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114
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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115
abjectly
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| 凄惨地； 绝望地； 糟透地； 悲惨地 | |
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116
calumnies
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| n.诬蔑，诽谤，中伤（的话）( calumny的名词复数 ) | |
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117
reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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118
drolly
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| adv.古里古怪地；滑稽地；幽默地；诙谐地 | |
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119
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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120
peccadilloes
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| n.轻罪，小过失( peccadillo的名词复数 ) | |
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121
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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122
dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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123
goading
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| v.刺激( goad的现在分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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124
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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125
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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126
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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127
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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128
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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129
appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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130
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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131
exteriors
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| n.外面( exterior的名词复数 )；外貌；户外景色图 | |
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132
parodies
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| n.拙劣的模仿( parody的名词复数 )；恶搞；滑稽的模仿诗文；表面上模仿得笨拙但充满了机智用来嘲弄别人作品的作品v.滑稽地模仿，拙劣地模仿( parody的第三人称单数 ) | |
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133
monstrously
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134
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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135
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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136
withered
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|
| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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137
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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138
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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139
brawn
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| n.体力 | |
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140
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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141
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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142
awaken
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|
| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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143
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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144
intimidate
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| vt.恐吓，威胁 | |
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145
complexion
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|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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146
illiterate
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|
| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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147
forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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148
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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149
robust
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|
| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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150
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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151
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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152
unimpeachable
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|
| adj.无可指责的；adv.无可怀疑地 | |
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153
obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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154
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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155
portentous
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|
| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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156
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157
horrify
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| vt.使恐怖，使恐惧，使惊骇 | |
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158
mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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159
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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160
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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161
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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162
reapers
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| n.收割者，收获者( reaper的名词复数 )；收割机 | |
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163
laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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164
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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165
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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166
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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167
Amended
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| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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168
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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169
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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170
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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171
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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172
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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173
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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174
wren
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| n.鹪鹩；英国皇家海军女子服务队成员 | |
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175
shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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176
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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177
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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178
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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179
rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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180
assertiveness
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| n.过分自信 | |
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181
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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182
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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183
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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184
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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185
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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186
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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187
tableau
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| n.画面，活人画（舞台上活人扮的静态画面） | |
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188
belittling
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| 使显得微小，轻视，贬低( belittle的现在分词 ) | |
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189
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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190
dwindle
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| v.逐渐变小（或减少） | |
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191
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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192
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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193
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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194
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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195
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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196
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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197
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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