The twilight1 border between sleep and waking was a Roman one this morning; splashing fountains and arched, narrow streets, the golden lavish2 city of blossoms and age-soft stone. Sometimes in this semi-consciousness he sojourned again in Paris, or war German rubble3, or Swiss skiing and a snow hotel. Sometimes, also, in a fallow Georgia field at hunting dawn. Rome it was this morning in the yearless region of dreams.
John Ferris awoke in a room in a New York hotel. He had the feeling that something unpleasant was awaiting him -- what it was, he did not know. The feeling, submerged by matinal necessities, lingered even after he had dressed and gone downstairs. It was a cloudless autumn day and the pale sunlight sliced between the pastel skyscrapers4. Ferris went into the next-door drugstore and sat at the end booth next to the window glass that overlooked the sidewalk. He ordered an American breakfast with scrambled5 eggs and sausage.
Ferris had come from Paris to his father's funeral which had taken place the week before in his home town in Georgia. The shock of death had made him aware of youth already passed. His hair was receding6 and the veins7 in his now naked temples were pulsing and prominent and his body was spare except for an incipient8 belly9 bulge10. Ferris had loved his father and the bond between them had once been extraordinarily11 close -- but the years had somehow unraveled this filial devotion; the death, expected for a long time, had left him with an unforeseen dismay. He had stayed as long as possible to be near his mother and brothers at home. His plane for Paris was to leave the next morning.
Ferris pulled out his address book to verify a number. He turned the pages with growing attentiveness12. Names and addresses from New York, the capitals of Europe, a few faint ones from his home state in the South. Faded, printed names, sprawled13 drunken ones. Betty Wills: a random14 love, married now. Charlie Williams: wounded in the Hurtgen Forest, unheard of since. Grand old Williams -- did he live or die? Don Walker: a B.T.O. in television, getting rich. Henry Green: hit the skids15 after the war, in a sanitarium now, they say. Cozie Hall: he had heard that she was dead. Heedless, laughing Cozie -- it was strange to think that she too, silly girl, could die. As Ferris closed the address book, he suffered a sense of hazard, transience, almost of fear.
It was then that his body jerked suddenly. He was staring out of the window when there, on the sidewalk, passing by, was his ex-wife. Elizabeth passed quite close to him, walking slowly. He could not understand the wild quiver of his heart, nor the following sense of recklessness and grace that lingered after she was gone.
Quickly Ferris paid his check and rushed out to the sidewalk. Elizabeth stood on the corner waiting to cross Fifth Avenue. He hurried toward her meaning to speak, but the lights changed and she crossed the street before he reached her. Ferris followed. On the other side he could easily have overtaken her, but he found himself lagging unaccountably. Her fair brown hair was plainly rolled, and as he watched her Ferris recalled that once his father had remarked that Elizabeth had a "beautiful carriage." She turned at the next corner and Ferris followed, although by now his intention to overtake her had disappeared. Ferris questioned the bodily disturbance16 that the sight of Elizabeth aroused in him, the dampness of his hands, the hard heart-strokes.
It was eight years since Ferris had last seen his ex-wife. He knew that long ago she had married again. And there were children. During recent years he had seldom thought of her. But at first, after the divorce, the loss had almost destroyed him. Then after the anodyne17 of time, he had loved again, and then again. Jeannine, she was now. Certainly his love for his ex-wife was long since past. So why the unhinged body, the shaken mind? He knew only that his clouded heart was oddly dissonant18 with the sunny, candid19 autumn day. Ferris wheeled suddenly and, walking with long strides, almost running, hurried back to the hotel.
Ferris poured himself a drink, although it was not yet eleven o'clock. He sprawled out in an armchair like a man exhausted20, nursing his glass of bourbon and water. He had a full day ahead of him as he was leaving by plane the next morning for Paris. He checked over his obligations: take luggage to Air France, lunch with his boss, buy shoes and an overcoat. And something -- wasn't there something else? Ferris finished his drink and opened the telephone directory.
His decision to call his ex-wife was impulsive21. The number was under Bailey, the husband's name, and he called before he had much time for self-debate. He and Elizabeth had exchanged cards at Christmastime, and Ferris had sent a carving22 set when he received the announcement of her wedding. There was no reason not to call. But as he waited, listening to the ring at the other end, misgiving23 fretted24 him.
Elizabeth answered; her familiar voice was a fresh shock to him. Twice he had to repeat his name, but when he was identified, she sounded glad. He explained he was only in town for that day. They had a theater engagement, she said -- but she wondered if he would come by for an early dinner. Ferris said he would be delighted.
As he went from one engagement to another, he was still bothered at odd moments by the feeling that something necessary was forgotten. Ferris bathed and changed in the late afternoon, often thinking about Jeannine: he would be with her the following night "Jeannine," he would say, "I happened to run into my ex-wife when I was in New York. Had dinner with her. And her husband, of course. It was strange seeing her after all these years."
Elizabeth lived in the East Fifties, and as Ferris taxied uptown he glimpsed at intersections25 the lingering sunset, but by the time he reached his destination it was already autumn dark. The place was a building with a marquee and a doorman, and the apartment was on the seventh floor.
"Come in, Mr. Ferris."
Braced26 for Elizabeth or even the unimagined husband, Ferris was astonished by the freckled27 red-haired child; he had known of the children, but his mind had failed somehow to acknowledge them. Surprise made him step back awkwardly.
"This is our apartment," the child said politely. "Aren't you Mr. Ferris? I'm Billy. Come in."
In the living room beyond the hall, the husband provided another surprise; he too had not been acknowledged emotionally. Bailey was a lumbering28 red-haired man with a deliberate manner. He rose and extended a welcoming hand.
"I'm Bill Bailey. Glad to see you. Elizabeth will be in, in a minute. She's finishing dressing29."
The last words struck a gliding30 series of vibrations31, memories of the other years. Fair Elizabeth, rosy32 and naked before her bath. Half-dressed before the mirror of her dressing table, brushing her fine, chestnut33 hair. Sweet, casual intimacy34, the soft-fleshed loveliness indisputably possessed35. Ferris shrank from the unbidden memories and compelled himself to meet Bill Bailey's gaze.
"Billy, will you please bring that tray of drinks from the kitchen table?
The child obeyed promptly36, and when he was gone Ferris remarked conversationally37, "Fine boy you have there."
"We think so."
Flat silence until the child returned with a tray of glasses and a cocktail38 shaker of Martinis. With the priming drinks they pumped up conversation: Russia, they spoke39 of, and the New York rain-making, and the apartment situation in Manhattan and Paris.
"Mr. Ferris is flying all the way across the ocean tomorrow," Bailey said to the little boy who was perched on the arm of his chair, quiet and well behaved. "I bet you would like to be a stowaway40 in his suitcase."
Billy pushed back his limp bangs. "I want to fly in an airplane and be a newspaperman like Mr. Ferris." He added with sudden assurance, "That's what I would like to do when I am big."
Bailey said, "I thought you wanted to be a doctor."
"I do!" said Billy. "I would like to be both. I want to be a atom-bomb scientist too."
Elizabeth came in carrying in her arms a baby girl.
"Oh, John!" she said. She settled the baby in the father's lap. "It's grand to see you. I'm awfully41 glad you could come."
The little girl sat demurely42 on Bailey's knees. She wore a pale pink crêpe de Chine frock, smocked around the yoke43 with rose, and a matching silk hair ribbon tying back her pale soft curls. Her skin was summer tanned and her brown eyes flecked with gold and laughing. When she reached up and fingered her father's horn-rimmed glasses, he took them off and let her look through them a moment. "How's my old Candy?"
Elizabeth was very beautiful, more beautiful perhaps than he had ever realized. Her straight clean hair was shining. Her face was softer, glowing and serene44. It was a madonna loveliness, dependent on the family ambiance.
"You've hardly changed at all," Elizabeth said, "but it has been a long time."
"Eight years." His hand touched his thinning hair self-consciously while further amenities45 were exchanged.
Ferris felt himself suddenly a spectator -- an interloper among these Baileys. Why had he come? He suffered. His own life seemed so solitary46, a fragile column supporting nothing amidst the wreckage47 of the years. He felt he could not bear much longer to stay in the family room.
He glanced at his watch. "You're going to the theater?"
"It's a shame," Elizabeth said, "but we've had this engagement for more than a month. But surely, John, you'll be staying home one of these days before long. You're not going to be an expatriate, are you?"
"Expatriate," Ferris repeated. "I don't much like the word."
"What's a better word?" she asked.
He thought for a moment. "Sojourner48 might do."
Ferris glanced again at his watch, and again Elizabeth apologized. "If only we had known ahead of time --"
"I just had this day in town. I came home unexpectedly. You see, Papa died last week."
"Papa Ferris is dead?"
"Yes, at Johns-Hopkins. He had been sick there nearly a year. The funeral was down home in Georgia."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, John. Papa Ferris was always one of my favorite people."
The little boy moved from behind the chair so that he could look into his mother's face. He asked, "Who is dead?"
Ferris was oblivious49 to apprehension50; he was thinking of his father's death. He saw again the outstretched body on the quilted silk within the coffin51. The corpse52 flesh was bizarrely rouged53 and the familiar hands lay massive and joined above a spread of funeral roses. The memory closed and Ferris awakened54 to Elizabeth's calm voice.
"Mr. Ferris' father, Billy. A really grand person. Somebody you didn't know."
"But why did you call him Papa Ferris?"
Bailey and Elizabeth exchanged a trapped look. It was Bailey who answered the questioning child. "A long time ago," he said, "your mother and Mr. Ferris were once married. Before you were born -- a long time ago."
"Mr. Ferris?"
The little boy stared at Ferris, amazed and unbelieving. And Ferris' eyes, as he returned the gaze, were somehow unbelieving too. Was it indeed true that at one time he had called this stranger, Elizabeth, Little Butterduck during nights of love, that they had lived together, shared perhaps a thousand days and nights and -- finally -- endured in the misery55 of sudden solitude56 the fiber57 by fiber (jealousy, alcohol and money quarrels) destruction of the fabric58 of married love.
Bailey said to the children, "It's somebody's supper-time. Come on now."
"But Daddy! Mama and Mr. Ferris -- I --"
Billy's everlasting59 eyes -- perplexed60 and with a glimmer61 of hostility62 -- reminded Ferris of the gaze of another child. It was the young son of Jeannine -- a boy of seven with a shadowed little face and knobby knees whom Ferris avoided and usually forgot.
"Quick march!" Bailey gently turned Billy toward the door. "Say good night now, son."
"Good night, Mr. Ferris." He added resentfully, "I thought I was staying up for the cake."
"You can come in afterward63 for the cake," Elizabeth said. "Run along now with Daddy for your supper."
Ferris and Elizabeth were alone. The weight of the situation descended64 on those first moments of silence. Ferris asked permission to pour himself another drink and Elizabeth set the cocktail shaker on the table at his side. He looked at the grand piano and noticed the music on the rack.
"Do you still play as beautifully as you used to?"
"I still enjoy it."
"Please play, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth arose immediately. Her readiness to perform when asked had always been one of her amiabilities; she never hung back, apologized. Now as she approached the piano there was the added readiness of relief.
She began with a Bach prelude65 and fugue. The prelude was as gaily66 iridescent67 as a prism in a morning room. The first voice of the fugue, an announcement pure and solitary, was repeated intermingling with a second voice, and again repeated within an elaborated frame, the multiple music, horizontal and serene, flowed with unhurried majesty68. The principal melody was woven with two other voices, embellished69 with countless70 ingenuities71 -- now dominant72, again submerged, it had the sublimity73 of a single thing that does not fear surrender to the whole. Toward the end, the density74 of the material gathered for the last enriched insistence75 on the dominant first motif76 and with a chorded final statement the fugue ended. Ferris rested his head on the chair back and closed his eyes. In the following silence a clear, high voice came from the room down the hall.
"Daddy, how could Mama and Mr. Ferris --" A door was closed.
The piano began again -- what was this music? Unplaced, familiar, the limpid77 melody had lain a long while dormant78 in his heart. Now it spoke to him of another time, another place -- it was the music Elizabeth used to play. The delicate air summoned a wilderness79 of memory. Ferris was lost in the riot of past longings80, conflicts, ambivalent82 desires. Strange that the music, catalyst83 for this tumultuous anarchy84, was so serene and dear. The singing melody was broken off by the appearance of the maid.
"Miz Bailey, dinner is out on the table now."
Even after Ferris was seated at the table between his host and hostess, the unfinished music still overcast85 his mood. He was a little drunk.
"L'improvisation86 de la vie humaine," he said. "There's nothing that makes you so aware of the improvisation of human existence as a song unfinished. Or an old address book."
"Address book?" repeated Bailey. Then he stopped, noncommittal and polite.
"You're still the same old boy, Johnny," Elizabeth said with a trace of the old tenderness.
It was a Southern dinner that evening, and the dishes were his old favorites. They had fried chicken and corn pudding and rich, glazed87 candied sweet potatoes. During the meal Elizabeth kept alive a conversation when the silences were overlong. And it came about that Ferris was led to speak of Jeannine.
"I first knew Jeannine last autumn -- about this time of the year -- in Italy. She's a singer and she had an engagement in Rome. I expect we will be married soon."
The words seemed so true, inevitable88, that Ferris did not at first acknowledge to himself the lie. He and Jeannine had never in that year spoken of marriage. And indeed, she was still married -- to a White Russian moneychanger in Paris from whom she had been separated for five years. But it was too late to correct the lie. Already Elizabeth was saying: "This really makes me glad to know. Congratulations, Johnny."
He tried to make amends89 with truth. "The Roman autumn is so beautiful. Balmy and blossoming." He added, "Jeannine has a little boy of six. A curious trilingual little fellow. We go to the Tuileries sometimes."
A lie again. He had taken the boy once to the gardens. The sallow foreign child in shorts that bared his spindly legs had sailed his boat in the concrete pond and ridden the pony90. The child had wanted to go in to the puppet show. But there was not time, for Ferris had an engagement at the Scribe Hotel. He had promised they would go to the guignol another afternoon. Only once had he taken Valentin to the Tuileries.
There was a stir. The maid brought in a white-frosted cake with pink candles. The children entered in their night clothes. Ferris still did not understand.
"Happy birthday, John," Elizabeth said. "Blow out the candles."
Ferris recognized his birthday date. The candles blew out lingeringly and there was the smell of burning wax. Ferris was thirty-eight years old. The veins in his temples darkened and pulsed visibly.
"It's time you started for the theater."
Ferris thanked Elizabeth for the birthday dinner and said the appropriate good-byes. The whole family saw him to the door.
A high, thin moon shone above the jagged, dark skyscrapers. The streets were windy, cold. Ferris hurried to Third Avenue and hailed a cab. He gazed at the nocturnal city with the deliberate attentiveness of departure and perhaps farewell. He was alone. He longed for flighttime and the coming journey.
The next day he looked down on the city from the air, burnished91 in sunlight, toylike, precise. Then America was left behind and there was only the Atlantic and the distant European shore. The ocean was milky92 pale and placid93 beneath the clouds. Ferris dozed94 most of the day. Toward dark he was thinking of Elizabeth and the visit of the previous evening. He thought of Elizabeth among her family with longing81, gentle envy and inexplicable95 regret. He sought the melody, the unfinished air, that had so moved him. The cadence96, some unrelated tones, were all that remained; the melody itself evaded97 him. He had found instead the first voice of the fugue that Elizabeth had played -- it came to him, inverted98 mockingly and in a minor99 key. Suspended above the ocean the anxieties of transience and solitude no longer troubled him and he thought of his father's death with equanimity100. During the dinner hour the plane reached the shore of France.
At midnight Ferris was in a taxi crossing Paris. It was a clouded night and mist wreathed the lights of the Place de la Concorde. The midnight bistros gleamed on the wet pavements. As always after a transocean flight the change of continents was too sudden. New York at morning, this midnight Paris. Ferris glimpsed the disorder101 of his life: the succession of cities, of transitory loves; and time, the sinister102 glissando of the years, time always.
"Vite! Vite!" he called in terror. "Dépêchez-vous."
Valentin opened the door to him. The little boy wore pajamas103 and an outgrown104 red robe. His grey eyes were shadowed and, as Ferris passed into the flat, they flickered105 momentarily.
"J'attends Maman."
Jeannine was singing in a night dub106. She would not be home before another hour. Valentin returned to a drawing, squatting107 with his crayons over the paper on the floor. Ferris looked down at the drawing -- it was a banjo player with notes and wavy108 lines inside a comic-strip balloon.
"We will go again to the Tuileries."
The child looked up and Ferris drew him closer to his knees. The melody, the unfinished music that Elizabeth had played, came to him suddenly. Unsought, the load of memory jettisoned109 -- this time bringing only recognition and sudden joy.
"Monsieur Jean," the child said, "did you see him?"
Confused, Ferris thought only of another child -- the freckled, family-loved boy. "See who, Valentin?"
"Your dead papa in Georgia." The child added, "Was he okay?"
Ferris spoke with rapid urgency: "We will go often to the Tuileries. Ride the pony and we will go into the guignol. We will see the puppet show and never be in a hurry any more."
"Monsieur Jean," Valentin said. "The guignol is now closed."
Again, the terror the acknowledgment of wasted years and death. Valentin, responsive and confident, still nestled in his arms. His cheek touched the soft cheek and felt the brush of the delicate eyelashes. With inner desperation he pressed the child close -- as though an emotion as protean110 as his love could dominate the pulse of time.
收听单词发音 |
1
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
lavish
|
|
| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
rubble
|
|
| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
skyscrapers
|
|
| n.摩天大楼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
scrambled
|
|
| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
incipient
|
|
| adj.起初的，发端的，初期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
belly
|
|
| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
bulge
|
|
| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
extraordinarily
|
|
| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
attentiveness
|
|
| [医]注意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
sprawled
|
|
| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
random
|
|
| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
skids
|
|
| n.滑向一侧( skid的名词复数 )；滑道；滚道；制轮器v.（通常指车辆） 侧滑( skid的第三人称单数 )；打滑；滑行；（住在）贫民区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
disturbance
|
|
| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
anodyne
|
|
| n.解除痛苦的东西，止痛剂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
dissonant
|
|
| adj.不和谐的；不悦耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
candid
|
|
| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
impulsive
|
|
| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
carving
|
|
| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
misgiving
|
|
| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
fretted
|
|
| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
intersections
|
|
| n.横断( intersection的名词复数 )；交叉；交叉点；交集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
braced
|
|
| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
freckled
|
|
| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
lumbering
|
|
| n.采伐林木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
gliding
|
|
| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
vibrations
|
|
| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
chestnut
|
|
| n.栗树，栗子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
promptly
|
|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
conversationally
|
|
| adv.会话地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
cocktail
|
|
| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
stowaway
|
|
| n.（藏于轮船，飞机中的）偷乘者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
awfully
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
demurely
|
|
| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
yoke
|
|
| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
amenities
|
|
| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
wreckage
|
|
| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
sojourner
|
|
| n.旅居者，寄居者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
oblivious
|
|
| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
coffin
|
|
| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
rouged
|
|
| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
fiber
|
|
| n.纤维，纤维质 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
fabric
|
|
| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
everlasting
|
|
| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
glimmer
|
|
| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
hostility
|
|
| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
prelude
|
|
| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
iridescent
|
|
| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
embellished
|
|
| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
countless
|
|
| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
ingenuities
|
|
| 足智多谋，心灵手巧( ingenuity的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
72
dominant
|
|
| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
sublimity
|
|
| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
density
|
|
| n.密集，密度，浓度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
insistence
|
|
| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
motif
|
|
| n.(图案的)基本花纹，(衣服的)花边；主题 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
limpid
|
|
| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
dormant
|
|
| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
longings
|
|
| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
ambivalent
|
|
| adj.含糊不定的；(态度等)矛盾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
catalyst
|
|
| n.催化剂，造成变化的人或事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
anarchy
|
|
| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
overcast
|
|
| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
improvisation
|
|
| n.即席演奏(或演唱)；即兴创作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
amends
|
|
| n. 赔偿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
pony
|
|
| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
burnished
|
|
| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
milky
|
|
| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
placid
|
|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
dozed
|
|
| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
cadence
|
|
| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
evaded
|
|
| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
inverted
|
|
| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
equanimity
|
|
| n.沉着，镇定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
disorder
|
|
| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
sinister
|
|
| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
pajamas
|
|
| n.睡衣裤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
outgrown
|
|
| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
flickered
|
|
| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
dub
|
|
| vt.（以某种称号）授予，给...起绰号，复制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
squatting
|
|
| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
wavy
|
|
| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
jettisoned
|
|
| v.抛弃，丢弃( jettison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
protean
|
|
| adj.反复无常的；变化自如的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |