On the comb of the hill where his adventure had begun and culminated--it seemed to him now like historic ground--Edward Lynde reined2 in Mary, to take a parting look at the village nestled in the plain below. Already the afternoon light was withdrawing from the glossy4 chestnuts5 and drooping6 elms, and the twilight--it crept into the valley earlier than elsewhere--was weaving its half invisible webs under the eaves and about the gables of the houses. But the two red towers of the asylum7 reached up into the mellow8 radiance of the waning9 sun, and stood forth10 boldly. They were the last objects his gaze rested upon, and to them alone his eyes sent a farewell.
"Poor little thing! poor little Queen of Sheba!" he said softly. Then the ridge11 rose between him and the village, and shut him out forever.
Nearly a mile beyond the spot where Mary had escaped from him that morning, Edward Lynde drew up the mare12 so sharply that she sunk back on her haunches. He dismounted in haste, and stooping down, with the rein3 thrown over one arm, picked up an object lying in the middle of the road under the horse's very hoofs13.
It was on a Tuesday morning that Lynde reentered Rivermouth, after an absence of just eight days. He had started out fresh and crisp as a new bank-note, and came back rumpled14 and soiled and tattered15, like that same note in a state to be withdrawn16 from circulation. The shutters17 were up at all the shop-windows in the cobble-paved street, and had the appearance of not having been taken down since he left. Everything was unchanged, yet it seemed to Lynde that he had been gone a year.
On Wednesday morning when Mr. Bowlsby came down to the bank he was slightly surprised at seeing the young cashier at his accustomed desk. To Mr. Bowlsby's brief interrogations then, and to Miss Mildred Bowlsby's more categorical questions in the evening, Lynde offered no very lucid18 reason for curtailing19 his vacation. Travelling alone had not been as pleasant as he anticipated; the horse was a nuisance to look after; and then the country taverns20 were snuffy and unendurable. As to where he had been and what he had seen--he must have seen something and been somewhere in eight days--his answers were so evasive that Miss Mildred was positive something distractingly romantic had befallen the young man.
"If you must know," he said, one evening, "I will tell you where I went."
"Tell me, then!"
"I went to Constantinople."
Miss Mildred found that nearly impertinent.
There was, too, an alteration21 in Lynde's manner which cruelly helped to pique22 her curiosity. His frank, half satirical, but wholly amiable23 way-- an armor that had hitherto rendered him invulnerable to Miss Mildred's coquettish shafts--was wanting; he was less ready to laugh than formerly24, and sometimes in the midst of company he fell into absent- minded moods. Instead of being the instigator25 and leader of picnics up the river, he frequently pleaded bank duties as an excuse for not joining such parties. "He is not at all as nice as he used to be," was Miss Mildred's mental summing up of Lynde a fortnight after his return.
He was, in fact, unaccountably depressed26 by his adventure in the hill country; he could not get it out of his mind. The recollection of details which he had not especially remarked at the time came to him in the midst of his work at the bank. Sometimes when he turned off the gas at night, or just as he was falling asleep, the sharp, attenuated27 figure of the ship-builder limned28 itself against the blackness of the chamber29, or the old gentleman's vacuous30 countenance31 in its frame of silver hair peered in through the hangings of the bed. But more frequently it was the young girl's face that haunted Lynde. He saw her as she came up the sunny road, swinging the flower in her hand, and looking like one of Fra Angelico's seraphs or some saint out of an illuminated32 mediaeval missal; then he saw her seated on the horse, helpless and piteous with the rude, staring men about her. If he dreamed, it was of her drawing herself up haughtily33 and saying, "I am the Queen of Sheba." On two or three nights, when he had not been dreaming, he was startled out of his slumber34 by a voice whispering close to his ear: "I know you, too, very well. You are my husband."
Mr. Bowlsby and his daughter were the only persons in Rivermouth to whom Lynde could have told the story of his journey. He decided35 not to confide36 it to either, since he felt it would be vain to attempt to explain the sombre effect which the whole affair had had on him.
"I do not understand what makes me think of that poor girl all the time," mused37 Lynde one day, as he stood by the writing-table in his sitting-room38. "It can't be this that keeps her in my mind."
He took up a slipper39 which was lying on the table in the midst of carved pipes and paper-weights and odds40 and ends. It was a very small slipper, nearly new, with high pointed41 heel and a square jet buckle42 at the instep: evidently of foreign make, and cut after the arch pattern of the slippers43 we see peeping from the flowered brocade skirts of Sir Peter Lely's full-length ladies. It was such an absurd shoe, a toy shoe, a child might have worn it!
"It cannot be this," said Lynde.
And yet it was that, more or less. Lynde had taken the slipper from his valise the evening he got home, and set it on the corner of the desk, where it straightway made itself into a cunning ornament44. The next morning he put it into one of the drawers; but the table looked so barren and commonplace without it that presently the thing was back again. There it had remained ever since.
It met his eye every morning when he opened the door of his bedroom; it was there when he came home late at night, and seemed to be sitting up for him, in the reproachful, feminine fashion. When he was writing his letters, there it was, with a prim45, furtive46 air of looking on. It was not like a mere47 slipper; it had traits and an individuality of its own; there were moments when the jet beads48 in the buckle sparkled with a sort of intelligence. Sitting at night, reading under the drop-light, Lynde often had an odd sensation as if the little shoe would presently come tripping across the green table-cloth towards him. He had a hundred fanciful humors growing out of that slipper. Sometimes he was tempted49 to lock it up or throw it away. Sometimes he would say to himself, half mockingly and half sadly, "That is your wife's slipper;" then he would turn wholly sad, thinking how tragic50 that would be if it were really so.
It was a part of the girl's self; it had borne her lovely weight; it still held the impress of her foot; it would not let Lynde entirely51 forget her while it was under his eyes.
The slipper had stood on the writing-table four or five months--an object of consuming curiosity and speculation52 to the young woman who dusted Lynde's chambers53--when an incident occurred which finally led to its banishment54.
Lynde never had visitors; there were few men of his age in the town, and none was sufficiently55 intimate with him to come to his rooms; but it chanced one evening that a young man named Preston dropped in to smoke a cigar with Lynde. Preston had recently returned from abroad, where he had been an attache of the American Legation at London, and was now generally regarded as the prospective56 proprietor57 of Miss Mildred. He was an entertaining, mercurial58 young fellow, into whose acquaintanceship Lynde had fallen at the Bowlsbys'.
"Who?" asked Lynde, with a start.
"No," returned Lynde freezingly.
"An actress?"
"No," said Lynde, taking the slipper from Preston's hand and gently setting it back on the writing-table. "It was not an actress; and yet she played a role--in a blacker tragedy than any you ever saw on the stage."
"There was no offence," said Lynde, hiding his subtile hurt.
"It was stupid in me," said Preston the next night, relating the incident to Miss Bowlsby. "I never once thought it might be a thing connected with the memory of his mother or sister, don't you see? I took it for a half sentimental62 souvenir of some flirtation63."
"Mr. Lynde's mother died when he was a child, and he never had a sister," said Miss Bowlsby thoughtfully. "I shouldn't wonder," she added irrelevantly64, after a pause.
"At what, Miss Mildred?"
"At anything!"
One of those womanly intuitions which set mere man-logic at defiance65 was come to whisper in Miss Bowlsby's ear that that slipper had performed some part in Edward Lynde's untold66 summer experience.
"He was laughing at you, Mr. Preston; he was grossly imposing67 on your unsophisticated innocence68."
"Really? Is he as deep as that?"
"He is very deep," said Miss Bowlsby solemnly.
On his way home from the bank, one afternoon in that same week, Lynde overtook Miss Mildred walking, and accompanied her a piece down the street.
"I haven't decided; but I think not."
"Of course you ought to go."
"Why of course, Miss Mildred?"
"Why? Because--because--don't ask me!"
"But I do ask you."
"You insist?"
"Positively70."
"Well, then, how will you ever return Cinderella her slipper if you don't go in search of her?"
Lynde bit his lip, and felt that the blackest criminals of antiquity71 were as white as driven snow compared with Preston.
"The prince in the story, you know," continued Miss Bowlsby, with her smile of ingenue, "hunted high and low until he found her again."
"That prince was a very energetic fellow," said Lynde, hastily putting on his old light armor. "Possibly I should not have to travel so far from home," he added, with a bow. "I know at least one lady in Rivermouth who has a Cinderella foot."
"She has two of them, Mr. Lynde," responded Miss Mildred, dropping him a courtesy.
The poor little slipper's doom72 was sealed. The edict for its banishment had gone forth. If it were going to be the town's talk he could not keep it on his writing-desk. As soon as Lynde got back to his chambers, he locked up Cinderella's slipper in an old trunk in a closet seldom or never opened.
The enchantment73, whatever it was, was broken. Although he missed the slipper from among the trifles scattered74 over his table, its absence brought him a kind of relief. He less frequently caught himself falling into brown studies. The details of his adventure daily grew more indistinct; the picture was becoming a mere outline; it was fading away. He might have been able in the course of time to set the whole occurrence down as a grotesque75 dream, if he had not now and then beheld76 Deacon Twombly driving by the bank with Mary attached to the battered77 family carry-all. Mary was a fact not easily disposed of.
Insensibly Lynde lapsed78 into his old habits. The latter part of this winter at Rivermouth was unusually gay; the series of evening parties and lectures and private theatricals79 extended into the spring, whose advent1 was signalized by the marriage of Miss Bowlsby and Preston. In June Lynde ran on to New York for a week, where he had a clandestine80 dinner with his uncle at Delmonico's, and bade good-by to Flemming, who was on the eve of starting on a protracted81 tour through the East. "I shall make it a point to visit the land of the Sabaeans," said Flemming, with his great cheery laugh, "and discover, if possible, the unknown site of the ancient capital of Sheba." Lynde had confided82 the story to his friend one night, coming home from the theatre.
Once more at Rivermouth, Edward Lynde took up the golden threads of his easy existence. But this life of ideal tranquillity83 and contentment was not to be permitted him. One morning in the latter part of August he received a letter advising him that his uncle had had an alarming stroke of apoplexy. The letter was followed within the hour by a telegram announcing the death of David Lynde.
点击收听单词发音
1 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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2 reined | |
勒缰绳使(马)停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 ); 驾驭; 严格控制; 加强管理 | |
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3 rein | |
n.疆绳,统治,支配;vt.以僵绳控制,统治 | |
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4 glossy | |
adj.平滑的;有光泽的 | |
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5 chestnuts | |
n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 );栗色;栗树;栗色马 | |
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6 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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7 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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8 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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9 waning | |
adj.(月亮)渐亏的,逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 );(月)亏;变小;变暗淡 | |
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10 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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11 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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12 mare | |
n.母马,母驴 | |
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13 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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14 rumpled | |
v.弄皱,使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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16 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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17 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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18 lucid | |
adj.明白易懂的,清晰的,头脑清楚的 | |
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19 curtailing | |
v.截断,缩短( curtail的现在分词 ) | |
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20 taverns | |
n.小旅馆,客栈,酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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21 alteration | |
n.变更,改变;蚀变 | |
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22 pique | |
v.伤害…的自尊心,使生气 n.不满,生气 | |
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23 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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24 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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25 instigator | |
n.煽动者 | |
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26 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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27 attenuated | |
v.(使)变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 );(使)变薄;(使)变小;减弱 | |
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28 limned | |
v.画( limn的过去式和过去分词 );勾画;描写;描述 | |
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29 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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30 vacuous | |
adj.空的,漫散的,无聊的,愚蠢的 | |
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31 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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32 illuminated | |
adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
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33 haughtily | |
adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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34 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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35 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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36 confide | |
v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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37 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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38 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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39 slipper | |
n.拖鞋 | |
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40 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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41 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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42 buckle | |
n.扣子,带扣;v.把...扣住,由于压力而弯曲 | |
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43 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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44 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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45 prim | |
adj.拘泥形式的,一本正经的;n.循规蹈矩,整洁;adv.循规蹈矩地,整洁地 | |
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46 furtive | |
adj.鬼鬼崇崇的,偷偷摸摸的 | |
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47 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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48 beads | |
n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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49 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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50 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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51 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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52 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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53 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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54 banishment | |
n.放逐,驱逐 | |
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55 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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56 prospective | |
adj.预期的,未来的,前瞻性的 | |
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57 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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58 mercurial | |
adj.善变的,活泼的 | |
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59 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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60 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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61 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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62 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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63 flirtation | |
n.调情,调戏,挑逗 | |
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64 irrelevantly | |
adv.不恰当地,不合适地;不相关地 | |
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65 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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66 untold | |
adj.数不清的,无数的 | |
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67 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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68 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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69 prelude | |
n.序言,前兆,序曲 | |
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70 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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71 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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72 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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73 enchantment | |
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
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74 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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75 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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76 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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77 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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78 lapsed | |
adj.流失的,堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
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79 theatricals | |
n.(业余性的)戏剧演出,舞台表演艺术;职业演员;戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 );剧场的;炫耀的;戏剧性的 | |
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80 clandestine | |
adj.秘密的,暗中从事的 | |
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81 protracted | |
adj.拖延的;延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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82 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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83 tranquillity | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
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