Nevertheless, in this mansion30 of gloom I now proposed to myself a sojourn31 of some weeks. Its proprietor32, Roderick Usher, had been one of my boon33 companions in boyhood; but many years had elapsed since our last meeting. A letter, however, had lately reached me in a distant part of the country—a letter from him—which, in its wildly importunate34 nature, had admitted of no other than a personal reply. The MS. gave evidence of nervous agitation35. The writer spoke36 of acute bodily illness—of a mental disorder37 which oppressed him—and of an earnest desire to see me, as his best and indeed his only personal friend, with a view of attempting, by the cheerfulness of my society, some alleviation38 of his malady39. It was the manner in which all this, and much more, was said—it was the apparent heart that went with his request—which allowed me no room for hesitation40; and I accordingly obeyed forthwith what I still considered a very singular summons.
Although, as boys, we had been even intimate associates, yet I really knew little of my friend. His reserve had been always excessive and habitual42. I was aware, however, that his very ancient family had been noted43, time out of mind, for a peculiar44 sensibility of temperament45, displaying itself, through long ages, in many works of exalted46 art, and manifested, of late, in repeated deeds of munificent47 yet unobtrusive charity, as well as in a passionate49 devotion to the intricacies, perhaps even more than to the orthodox and easily recognizable beauties, of musical science. I had learned, too, the very remarkable50 fact, that the stem of the Usher race, all time-honored as it was, had put forth41, at no period, any enduring branch; in other words, that the entire family lay in the direct line of descent, and had always, with very trifling51 and very temporary variation, so lain. It was this deficiency, I considered, while running over in thought the perfect keeping of the character of the premises52 with the accredited53 character of the people, and while speculating upon the possible influence which the one, in the long lapse of centuries, might have exercised upon the other—it was this deficiency, perhaps, of collateral54 issue, and the consequent undeviating transmission, from sire to son, of the patrimony55 with the name, which had, at length, so identified the two as to merge56 the original title of the estate in the quaint57 and equivocal appellation58 of the “House of Usher”—an appellation which seemed to include, in the minds of the peasantry who used it, both the family and the family mansion.
I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat childish experiment—that of looking down within the tarn—had been to deepen the first singular impression. There can be no doubt that the consciousness of the rapid increase of my superstition—for why should I not so term it?—served mainly to accelerate the increase itself. Such, I have long known, is the paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror as a basis. And it might have been for this reason only, that, when I again uplifted my eyes to the house itself, from its image in the pool, there grew in my mind a strange fancy—a fancy so ridiculous, indeed, that I but mention it to show the vivid force of the sensations which oppressed me. I had so worked upon my imagination as really to believe that about the whole mansion and domain there hung an atmosphere peculiar to themselves and their immediate59 vicinity—an atmosphere which had no affinity60 with the air of heaven, but which had reeked61 up from the decayed trees, and the gray wall, and the silent tarn—a pestilent and mystic vapor62, dull, sluggish63, faintly discernible, and leaden-hued.
Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its principal feature seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity64. The discoloration of ages had been great. Minute fungi65 overspread the whole exterior66, hanging in a fine tangled67 web-work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart from any extraordinary dilapidation68. No portion of the masonry69 had fallen; and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect adaptation of parts, and the crumbling70 condition of the individual stones. In this there was much that reminded me of the specious71 totality of old wood-work which has rotted for long years in some neglected vault72, with no disturbance73 from the breath of the external air. Beyond this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric74 gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing75 observer might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure76, which, extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way down the wall in a zigzag77 direction, until it became lost in the sullen78 waters of the tarn.
Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway to the house. A servant in waiting took my horse, and I entered the Gothic archway of the hall. A valet, of stealthy step, thence conducted me, in silence, through many dark and intricate passages in my progress to the studio of his master. Much that I encountered on the way contributed, I know not how, to heighten the vague sentiments of which I have already spoken. While the objects around me—while the carvings79 of the ceilings, the sombre tapestries80 of the walls, the ebony blackness of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial trophies81 which rattled82 as I strode, were but matters to which, or to such as which, I had been accustomed from my infancy—while I hesitated not to acknowledge how familiar was all this—I still wondered to find how unfamiliar83 were the fancies which ordinary images were stirring up. On one of the staircases, I met the physician of the family. His countenance84, I thought, wore a mingled85 expression of low cunning and perplexity. He accosted86 me with trepidation87 and passed on. The valet now threw open a door and ushered88 me into the presence of his master.
The room in which I found myself was very large and lofty. The windows were long, narrow, and pointed89, and at so vast a distance from the black oaken floor as to be altogether inaccessible90 from within. Feeble gleams of encrimsoned light made their way through the trellised panes91, and served to render sufficiently92 distinct the more prominent objects around; the eye, however, struggled in vain to reach the remoter angles of the chamber93, or the recesses94 of the vaulted95 and fretted96 ceiling. Dark draperies hung upon the walls. The general furniture was profuse97, comfortless, antique, and tattered98. Many books and musical instruments lay scattered99 about, but failed to give any vitality100 to the scene. I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow. An air of stern, deep, and irredeemable gloom hung over and pervaded all.
Upon my entrance, Usher rose from a sofa on which he had been lying at full length, and greeted me with a vivacious101 warmth which had much in it, I at first thought, of an overdone102 cordiality—of the constrained103 effort of the ennuyé man of the world. A glance, however, at his countenance convinced me of his perfect sincerity104. We sat down; and for some moments, while he spoke not, I gazed upon him with a feeling half of pity, half of awe105. Surely, man had never before so terribly altered, in so brief a period, as had Roderick Usher! It was with difficulty that I could bring myself to admit the identity of the man being before me with the companion of my early boyhood. Yet the character of his face had been at all times remarkable. A cadaverousness of complexion106; an eye large, liquid, and luminous107 beyond comparison; lips somewhat thin and very pallid108, but of a surpassingly beautiful curve; a nose of a delicate Hebrew model, but with a breadth of nostril109 unusual in similar formations; a finely moulded chin, speaking, in its want of prominence110, of a want of moral energy; hair of a more than web-like softness and tenuity;—these features, with an inordinate111 expansion above the regions of the temple, made up altogether a countenance not easily to be forgotten. And now in the mere exaggeration of the prevailing112 character of these features, and of the expression they were wont113 to convey, lay so much of change that I doubted to whom I spoke. The now ghastly pallor of the skin, and the now miraculous114 lustre of the eye, above all things startled and even awed115 me. The silken hair, too, had been suffered to grow all unheeded, and as, in its wild gossamer116 texture117, it floated rather than fell about the face, I could not, even with effort, connect its Arabesque118 expression with any idea of simple humanity.
In the manner of my friend I was at once struck with an incoherence—an inconsistency; and I soon found this to arise from a series of feeble and futile119 struggles to overcome an habitual trepidancy—an excessive nervous agitation. For something of this nature I had indeed been prepared, no less by his letter, than by reminiscences of certain boyish traits, and by conclusions deduced from his peculiar physical conformation and temperament. His action was alternately vivacious and sullen. His voice varied121 rapidly from a tremulous indecision (when the animal spirits seemed utterly122 in abeyance) to that species of energetic concision—that abrupt123, weighty, unhurried, and hollow-sounding enunciation—that leaden, self-balanced and perfectly124 modulated125 guttural utterance126, which may be observed in the lost drunkard, or the irreclaimable eater of opium, during the periods of his most intense excitement.
It was thus that he spoke of the object of my visit, of his earnest desire to see me, and of the solace127 he expected me to afford him. He entered, at some length, into what he conceived to be the nature of his malady. It was, he said, a constitutional and a family evil, and one for which he despaired to find a remedy—a mere nervous affection, he immediately added, which would undoubtedly128 soon pass off. It displayed itself in a host of unnatural129 sensations. Some of these, as he detailed130 them, interested and bewildered me; although, perhaps, the terms and the general manner of the narration131 had their weight. He suffered much from a morbid132 acuteness of the senses; the most insipid134 food was alone endurable; he could wear only garments of certain texture; the odors of all flowers were oppressive; his eyes were tortured by even a faint light; and there were but peculiar sounds, and these from stringed instruments, which did not inspire him with horror.
To an anomalous135 species of terror I found him a bounden slave. “I shall perish,” said he, “I must perish in this deplorable folly136. Thus, thus, and not otherwise, shall I be lost. I dread137 the events of the future, not in themselves, but in their results. I shudder at the thought of any, even the most trivial, incident, which may operate upon this intolerable agitation of soul. I have, indeed, no abhorrence138 of danger, except in its absolute effect—in terror. In this unnerved, in this pitiable, condition I feel that the period will sooner or later arrive when I must abandon life and reason together, in some struggle with the grim phantasm, FEAR.”
I learned, moreover, at intervals139, and through broken and equivocal hints, another singular feature of his mental condition. He was enchained by certain superstitious140 impressions in regard to the dwelling which he tenanted, and whence, for many years, he had never ventured forth—in regard to an influence whose supposititious force was conveyed in terms too shadowy here to be re-stated—an influence which some peculiarities142 in the mere form and substance of his family mansion had, by dint143 of long sufferance, he said, obtained over his spirit—an effect which the physique of the gray walls and turrets144, and of the dim tarn into which they all looked down, had, at length, brought about upon the morale145 of his existence.
He admitted, however, although with hesitation, that much of the peculiar gloom which thus afflicted146 him could be traced to a more natural and far more palpable origin—to the severe and long-continued illness—indeed to the evidently approaching dissolution—of a tenderly beloved sister, his sole companion for long years, his last and only relative on earth. “Her decease,” he said, with a bitterness which I can never forget, “would leave him (him the hopeless and the frail) the last of the ancient race of the Ushers147.” While he spoke, the lady Madeline (for so was she called) passed slowly through a remote portion of the apartment, and, without having noticed my presence, disappeared. I regarded her with an utter astonishment148 not unmingled with dread; and yet I found it impossible to account for such feelings. A sensation of stupor149 oppressed me as my eyes followed her retreating steps. When a door, at length, closed upon her, my glance sought instinctively151 and eagerly the countenance of the brother; but he had buried his face in his hands, and I could only perceive that a far more than ordinary wanness152 had overspread the emaciated153 fingers through which trickled154 many passionate tears.
The disease of the lady Madeline had long baffled the skill of her physicians. A settled apathy155, a gradual wasting away of the person, and frequent although transient affections of a partially156 cataleptical character were the unusual diagnosis157. Hitherto she had steadily158 borne up against the pressure of her malady, and had not betaken herself finally to bed; but on the closing in of the evening of my arrival at the house, she succumbed159 (as her brother told me at night with inexpressible agitation) to the prostrating160 power of the destroyer; and I learned that the glimpse I had obtained of her person would thus probably be the last I should obtain—that the lady, at least while living, would be seen by me no more.
For several days ensuing, her name was unmentioned by either Usher or myself; and during this period I was busied in earnest endeavors to alleviate161 the melancholy of my friend. We painted and read together, or I listened, as if in a dream, to the wild improvisations of his speaking guitar. And thus, as a closer and still closer intimacy162 admitted me more unreservedly into the recesses of his spirit, the more bitterly did I perceive the futility163 of all attempt at cheering a mind from which darkness, as if an inherent positive quality, poured forth upon all objects of the moral and physical universe in one unceasing radiation of gloom.
I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn hours I thus spent alone with the master of the House of Usher. Yet I should fail in any attempt to convey an idea of the exact character of the studies, or of the occupations, in which he involved me, or led me the way. An excited and highly distempered ideality threw a sulphureous lustre over all. His long improvised164 dirges165 will ring forever in my ears. Among other things, I hold painfully in mind a certain singular perversion166 and amplification167 of the wild air of the last waltz of Von Weber. From the paintings over which his elaborate fancy brooded, and which grew, touch by touch, into vagueness at which I shuddered168 the more thrillingly, because I shuddered knowing not why—from these paintings (vivid as their images now are before me) I would in vain endeavor to educe120 more than a small portion which should lie within the compass of merely written words. By the utter simplicity169, by the nakedness of his designs, he arrested and overawed attention. If ever mortal painted an idea, that mortal was Roderick Usher. For me at least, in the circumstances then surrounding me, there arose out of the pure abstractions which the hypochondriac contrived170 to throw upon his canvas, an intensity171 of intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt I ever yet in the contemplation of the certainly glowing yet too concrete reveries of Fuseli.
One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, partaking not so rigidly173 of the spirit of abstraction, may be shadowed forth, although feebly, in words. A small picture presented the interior of an immensely long and rectangular vault or tunnel, with low walls, smooth, white, and without interruption or device. Certain accessory points of the design served well to convey the idea that this excavation174 lay at an exceeding depth below the surface of the earth. No outlet175 was observed in any portion of its vast extent, and no torch or other artificial source of light was discernible; yet a flood of intense rays rolled throughout, and bathed the whole in a ghastly and inappropriate splendor176.
I have just spoken of that morbid condition of the auditory nerve which rendered all music intolerable to the sufferer, with the exception of certain effects of stringed instruments. It was, perhaps, the narrow limits to which he thus confined himself upon the guitar which gave birth, in great measure, to the fantastic character of the performances. But the fervid177 facility of his impromptus178 could not be so accounted for. They must have been, and were, in the notes, as well as in the words of his wild fantasias (for he not unfrequently accompanied himself with rhymed verbal improvisations), the result of that intense mental collectedness and concentration to which I have previously179 alluded180 as observable only in particular moments of the highest artificial excitement. The words of one of these rhapsodies I have easily remembered. I was, perhaps, the more forcibly impressed with it as he gave it, because, in the under or mystic current of its meaning, I fancied that I perceived, and for the first time, a full consciousness on the part of Usher of the tottering181 of his lofty reason upon her throne. The verses, which were entitled “The Haunted Palace,” ran very nearly, if not accurately182, thus:—
I.
In the greenest of our valleys,
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace—
Radiant palace—reared its head.
It stood there!
Over fabric half so fair.
II.
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow;
(This—all this—was in the olden
Time long ago);
In that sweet day,
A winged odor went away.
III.
Wanderers in that happy valley
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute’s well-tunèd law;
Round about a throne, where sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
IV.
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
V.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)
And, round about his home, the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
VI.
And travellers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant191 melody;
While, like a rapid ghastly river,
Through the pale door,
And laugh—but smile no more.
I well remember that suggestions arising from this ballad193, led us into a train of thought wherein there became manifest an opinion of Usher’s which I mention not so much on account of its novelty (for other men* have thought thus), as on account of the pertinacity194 with which he maintained it. This opinion, in its general form, was that of the sentience195 of all vegetable things. But, in his disordered fancy, the idea had assumed a more daring character, and trespassed196, under certain conditions, upon the kingdom of inorganization. I lack words to express the full extent, or the earnest abandon of his persuasion197. The belief, however, was connected (as I have previously hinted) with the gray stones of the home of his forefathers198. The conditions of the sentience had been here, he imagined, fulfilled in the method of collocation of these stones—in the order of their arrangement, as well as in that of the many fungi which overspread them, and of the decayed trees which stood around—above all, in the long undisturbed endurance of this arrangement, and in its reduplication in the still waters of the tarn. Its evidence—the evidence of the sentience—was to be seen, he said, (and I here started as he spoke), in the gradual yet certain condensation199 of an atmosphere of their own about the waters and the walls. The result was discoverable, he added, in that silent yet importunate and terrible influence which for centuries had moulded the destinies of his family, and which made him what I now saw him—what he was. Such opinions need no comment, and I will make none.
Our books—the books which, for years, had formed no small portion of the mental existence of the invalid—were, as might be supposed, in strict keeping with this character of phantasm. We pored together over such works as the “Ververt et Chartreuse” of Gresset; the “Belphegor” of Machiavelli; the “Heaven and Hell” of Swedenborg; the “Subterranean Voyage of Nicholas Klimm” by Holberg; the “Chiromancy” of Robert Flud, of Jean D’Indaginé, and of De la Chambre; the “Journey into the Blue Distance” of Tieck; and the “City of the Sun” of Campanella. One favorite volume was a small octavo edition of the “Directorium Inquisitorium,” by the Dominican Eymeric de Gironne; and there were passages in Pomponius Mela, about the old African Satyrs and Œgipans, over which Usher would sit dreaming for hours. His chief delight, however, was found in the perusal200 of an exceedingly rare and curious book in quarto Gothic—the manual of a forgotten church—the Vigiliæ Mortuorum Secundum Chorum Ecclesiæ Maguntinæ.
I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, and of its probable influence upon the hypochondriac, when, one evening, having informed me abruptly201 that the lady Madeline was no more, he stated his intention of preserving her corpse202 for a fortnight (previously to its final interment), in one of the numerous vaults203 within the main walls of the building. The worldly reason, however, assigned for this singular proceeding204, was one which I did not feel at liberty to dispute. The brother had been led to his resolution (so he told me) by consideration of the unusual character of the malady of the deceased, of certain obtrusive48 and eager inquiries205 on the part of her medical men, and of the remote and exposed situation of the burial-ground of the family. I will not deny that when I called to mind the sinister206 countenance of the person whom I met upon the staircase, on the day of my arrival at the house, I had no desire to oppose what I regarded as at best but a harmless, and by no means an unnatural, precaution.
At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the arrangements for the temporary entombment. The body having been encoffined, we two alone bore it to its rest. The vault in which we placed it (and which had been so long unopened that our torches, half smothered208 in its oppressive atmosphere, gave us little opportunity for investigation) was small, damp, and entirely209 without means of admission for light; lying, at great depth, immediately beneath that portion of the building in which was my own sleeping apartment. It had been used, apparently210, in remote feudal211 times, for the worst purposes of a donjon-keep, and, in later days, as a place of deposit for powder, or some other highly combustible212 substance, as a portion of its floor, and the whole interior of a long archway through which we reached it, were carefully sheathed213 with copper214. The door, of massive iron, had been, also, similarly protected. Its immense weight caused an unusually sharp, grating sound, as it moved upon its hinges.
Having deposited our mournful burden upon tressels within this region of horror, we partially turned aside the yet unscrewed lid of the coffin207, and looked upon the face of the tenant141. A striking similitude between the brother and sister now first arrested my attention; and Usher, divining, perhaps, my thoughts, murmured out some few words from which I learned that the deceased and himself had been twins, and that sympathies of a scarcely intelligible216 nature had always existed between them. Our glances, however, rested not long upon the dead—for we could not regard her unawed. The disease which had thus entombed the lady in the maturity217 of youth, had left, as usual in all maladies of a strictly218 cataleptical character, the mockery of a faint blush upon the bosom219 and the face, and that suspiciously lingering smile upon the lip which is so terrible in death. We replaced and screwed down the lid, and, having secured the door of iron, made our way, with toil220, into the scarcely less gloomy apartments of the upper portion of the house.
And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, an observable change came over the features of the mental disorder of my friend. His ordinary manner had vanished. His ordinary occupations were neglected or forgotten. He roamed from chamber to chamber with hurried, unequal, and objectless step. The pallor of his countenance had assumed, if possible, a more ghastly hue—but the luminousness221 of his eye had utterly gone out. The once occasional huskiness of his tone was heard no more; and a tremulous quaver, as if of extreme terror, habitually222 characterized his utterance. There were times, indeed, when I thought his unceasingly agitated223 mind was laboring224 with some oppressive secret, to divulge225 which he struggled for the necessary courage. At times, again, I was obliged to resolve all into the mere inexplicable226 vagaries227 of madness, for I beheld228 him gazing upon vacancy229 for long hours, in an attitude of the profoundest attention, as if listening to some imaginary sound. It was no wonder that his condition terrified—that it infected me. I felt creeping upon me, by slow yet certain degrees, the wild influences of his own fantastic yet impressive superstitions230.
It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the night of the seventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady Madeline within the donjon, that I experienced the full power of such feelings. Sleep came not near my couch—while the hours waned231 and waned away. I struggled to reason off the nervousness which had dominion over me. I endeavored to believe that much, if not all of what I felt, was due to the bewildering influence of the gloomy furniture of the room—of the dark and tattered draperies, which, tortured into motion by the breath of a rising tempest, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, and rustled232 uneasily about the decorations of the bed. But my efforts were fruitless. An irrepressible tremor233 gradually pervaded my frame; and, at length, there sat upon my very heart an incubus234 of utterly causeless alarm. Shaking this off with a gasp235 and a struggle, I uplifted myself upon the pillows, and, peering earnestly within the intense darkness of the chamber, hearkened—I know not why, except that an instinctive150 spirit prompted me—to certain low and indefinite sounds which came, through the pauses of the storm, at long intervals, I knew not whence. Overpowered by an intense sentiment of horror, unaccountable yet unendurable, I threw on my clothes with haste (for I felt that I should sleep no more during the night), and endeavored to arouse myself from the pitiable condition into which I had fallen, by pacing rapidly to and fro through the apartment.
I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a light step on an adjoining staircase arrested my attention. I presently recognized it as that of Usher. In an instant afterward236 he rapped, with a gentle touch, at my door, and entered, bearing a lamp. His countenance was, as usual, cadaverously wan—but, moreover, there was a species of mad hilarity237 in his eyes—an evidently restrained hysteria in his whole demeanor238. His air appalled239 me—but anything was preferable to the solitude240 which I had so long endured, and I even welcomed his presence as a relief.
“And you have not seen it?” he said abruptly, after having stared about him for some moments in silence—“you have not then seen it?—but, stay! you shall.” Thus speaking, and having carefully shaded his lamp, he hurried to one of the casements241, and threw it freely open to the storm.
The impetuous fury of the entering gust242 nearly lifted us from our feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous243 yet sternly beautiful night, and one wildly singular in its terror and its beauty. A whirlwind had apparently collected its force in our vicinity; for there were frequent and violent alterations244 in the direction of the wind; and the exceeding density246 of the clouds (which hung so low as to press upon the turrets of the house) did not prevent our perceiving the life-like velocity247 with which they flew careering from all points against each other, without passing away into the distance. I say that even their exceeding density did not prevent our perceiving this—yet we had no glimpse of the moon or stars, nor was there any flashing forth of the lightning. But the under surfaces of the huge masses of agitated vapor, as well as all terrestrial objects immediately around us, were glowing in the unnatural light of a faintly luminous and distinctly visible gaseous248 exhalation which hung about and enshrouded the mansion.
“You must not—you shall not behold249 this!” said I, shuddering250, to Usher, as I led him, with a gentle violence, from the window to a seat. “These appearances, which bewilder you, are merely electrical phenomena251 not uncommon—or it may be that they have their ghastly origin in the rank miasma252 of the tarn. Let us close this casement;—the air is chilling and dangerous to your frame. Here is one of your favorite romances. I will read, and you shall listen:—and so we will pass away this terrible night together.”
The antique volume which I had taken up was the “Mad Trist” of Sir Launcelot Canning; but I had called it a favorite of Usher’s more in sad jest than in earnest; for, in truth, there is little in its uncouth253 and unimaginative prolixity254 which could have had interest for the lofty and spiritual ideality of my friend. It was, however, the only book immediately at hand; and I indulged a vague hope that the excitement which now agitated the hypochondriac, might find relief (for the history of mental disorder is full of similar anomalies) even in the extremeness of the folly which I should read. Could I have judged, indeed, by the wild overstrained air of vivacity255 with which he hearkened, or apparently hearkened, to the words of the tale, I might well have congratulated myself upon the success of my design.
I had arrived at that well-known portion of the story where Ethelred, the hero of the Trist, having sought in vain for peaceable admission into the dwelling of the hermit256, proceeds to make good an entrance by force. Here, it will be remembered, the words of the narrative257 run thus:
“And Ethelred, who was by nature of a doughty258 heart, and who was now mighty259 withal, on account of the powerfulness of the wine which he had drunken, waited no longer to hold parley260 with the hermit, who, in sooth, was of an obstinate261 and maliceful turn, but, feeling the rain upon his shoulders, and fearing the rising of the tempest, uplifted his mace262 outright263, and, with blows, made quickly room in the plankings of the door for his gauntleted hand; and now pulling therewith sturdily, he so cracked, and ripped, and tore all asunder264, that the noise of the dry and hollow-sounding wood alarumed and reverberated265 throughout the forest.”
At the termination of this sentence I started and, for a moment, paused; for it appeared to me (although I at once concluded that my excited fancy had deceived me)—it appeared to me that, from some very remote portion of the mansion, there came, indistinctly to my ears, what might have been, in its exact similarity of character, the echo (but a stifled266 and dull one certainly) of the very cracking and ripping sound which Sir Launcelot had so particularly described. It was, beyond doubt, the coincidence alone which had arrested my attention; for, amid the rattling267 of the sashes of the casements, and the ordinary commingled268 noises of the still increasing storm, the sound, in itself, had nothing, surely, which should have interested or disturbed me. I continued the story:
“But the good champion Ethelred, now entering within the door, was sore enraged269 and amazed to perceive no signal of the maliceful hermit; but, in the stead thereof, a dragon of a scaly270 and prodigious271 demeanor, and of a fiery272 tongue, which sat in guard before a palace of gold, with a floor of silver; and upon the wall there hung a shield of shining brass273 with this legend enwritten—
Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win.
And Ethelred uplifted his mace, and struck upon the head of the dragon, which fell before him, and gave up his pesty breath, with a shriek275 so horrid276 and harsh, and withal so piercing, that Ethelred had fain to close his ears with his hands against the dreadful noise of it, the like whereof was never before heard.”
Here again I paused abruptly, and now with a feeling of wild amazement—for there could be no doubt whatever that, in this instance, I did actually hear (although from what direction it proceeded I found it impossible to say) a low and apparently distant, but harsh, protracted277, and most unusual screaming or grating sound—the exact counterpart of what my fancy had already conjured278 up for the dragon’s unnatural shriek as described by the romancer.
Oppressed, as I certainly was, upon the occurrence of this second and most extraordinary coincidence, by a thousand conflicting sensations, in which wonder and extreme terror were predominant, I still retained sufficient presence of mind to avoid exciting, by any observation, the sensitive nervousness of my companion. I was by no means certain that he had noticed the sounds in question; although, assuredly, a strange alteration245 had, during the last few minutes, taken place in his demeanor. From a position fronting my own, he had gradually brought round his chair, so as to sit with his face to the door of the chamber; and thus I could but partially perceive his features, although I saw that his lips trembled as if he were murmuring inaudibly. His head had dropped upon his breast—yet I knew that he was not asleep, from the wide and rigid172 opening of the eye as I caught a glance of it in profile. The motion of his body, too, was at variance279 with this idea—for he rocked from side to side with a gentle yet constant and uniform sway. Having rapidly taken notice of all this, I resumed the narrative of Sir Launcelot, which thus proceeded:
“And now, the champion, having escaped from the terrible fury of the dragon, bethinking himself of the brazen280 shield, and of the breaking up of the enchantment281 which was upon it, removed the carcass from out of the way before him, and approached valorously over the silver pavement of the castle to where the shield was upon the wall; which in sooth tarried not for his full coming, but fell down at his feet upon the silver floor, with a mighty great and terrible ringing sound.”
No sooner had these syllables282 passed my lips, than—as if a shield of brass had indeed, at the moment, fallen heavily upon a floor of silver—I became aware of a distinct, hollow, metallic283, and clangorous, yet apparently muffled284, reverberation285. Completely unnerved, I leaped to my feet; but the measured rocking movement of Usher was undisturbed. I rushed to the chair in which he sat. His eyes were bent286 fixedly287 before him, and throughout his whole countenance there reigned288 a stony289 rigidity290. But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder, there came a strong shudder over his whole person; a sickly smile quivered about his lips; and I saw that he spoke in a low, hurried, and gibbering murmur215, as if unconscious of my presence. Bending closely over him, I at length drank in the hideous import of his words.
“Not hear it?—yes, I hear it, and have heard it. Long—long—long—many minutes, many hours, many days, have I heard it—yet I dared not—oh, pity me, miserable291 wretch292 that I am!—I dared not—I dared not speak! We have put her living in the tomb! Said I not that my senses were acute? I now tell you that I heard her first feeble movements in the hollow coffin. I heard them—many, many days ago—yet I dared not—I dared not speak! And now—to-night—Ethelred—ha! ha!—the breaking of the hermit’s door, and the death-cry of the dragon, and the clangor of the shield!—say, rather, the rending293 of her coffin, and the grating of the iron hinges of her prison, and her struggles within the coppered archway of the vault! Oh! whither shall I fly? Will she not be here anon? Is she not hurrying to upbraid294 me for my haste? Have I not heard her footstep on the stair? Do I not distinguish that heavy and horrible beating of her heart? Madman!”—here he sprang furiously to his feet, and shrieked295 out his syllables, as if in the effort he were giving up his soul—“Madman! I tell you that she now stands without the door!”
As if in the superhuman energy of his utterance there had been found the potency296 of a spell, the huge antique panels to which the speaker pointed threw slowly back, upon the instant, their ponderous297 and ebony jaws298. It was the work of the rushing gust—but then without those doors there did stand the lofty and enshrouded figure of the lady Madeline of Usher. There was blood upon her white robes, and the evidence of some bitter struggle upon every portion of her emaciated frame. For a moment she remained trembling and reeling to and fro upon the threshold—then, with a low moaning cry, fell heavily inward upon the person of her brother, and in her violent and now final death-agonies, bore him to the floor a corpse, and a victim to the terrors he had anticipated.
From that chamber, and from that mansion, I fled aghast. The storm was still abroad in all its wrath299 as I found myself crossing the old causeway. Suddenly there shot along the path a wild light, and I turned to see whence a gleam so unusual could have issued; for the vast house and its shadows were alone behind me. The radiance was that of the full, setting, and blood-red moon which now shone vividly300 through that once barely-discernible fissure of which I have before spoken as extending from the roof of the building, in a zigzag direction, to the base. While I gazed, this fissure rapidly widened—there came a fierce breath of the whirlwind—the entire orb133 of the satellite burst at once upon my sight—my brain reeled as I saw the mighty walls rushing asunder—there was a long tumultuous shouting sound like the voice of a thousand waters—and the deep and dank tarn at my feet closed sullenly301 and silently over the fragments of the “House of Usher.”
点击收听单词发音
1 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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2 tract | |
n.传单,小册子,大片(土地或森林) | |
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3 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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4 usher | |
n.带位员,招待员;vt.引导,护送;vi.做招待,担任引座员 | |
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5 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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7 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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8 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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9 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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10 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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11 reveller | |
n.摆设酒宴者,饮酒狂欢者 | |
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12 opium | |
n.鸦片;adj.鸦片的 | |
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13 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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14 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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15 dreariness | |
沉寂,可怕,凄凉 | |
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16 goading | |
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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17 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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18 bin | |
n.箱柜;vt.放入箱内;[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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19 annihilate | |
v.使无效;毁灭;取消 | |
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20 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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21 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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22 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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23 lurid | |
adj.可怕的;血红的;苍白的 | |
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24 tarn | |
n.山中的小湖或小潭 | |
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25 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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26 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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27 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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28 remodelled | |
v.改变…的结构[形状]( remodel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29 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 ) | |
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30 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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31 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
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32 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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33 boon | |
n.恩赐,恩物,恩惠 | |
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34 importunate | |
adj.强求的;纠缠不休的 | |
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35 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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36 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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37 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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38 alleviation | |
n. 减轻,缓和,解痛物 | |
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39 malady | |
n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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40 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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41 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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42 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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43 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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44 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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45 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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46 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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47 munificent | |
adj.慷慨的,大方的 | |
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48 obtrusive | |
adj.显眼的;冒失的 | |
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49 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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50 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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51 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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52 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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53 accredited | |
adj.可接受的;可信任的;公认的;质量合格的v.相信( accredit的过去式和过去分词 );委托;委任;把…归结于 | |
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54 collateral | |
adj.平行的;旁系的;n.担保品 | |
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55 patrimony | |
n.世袭财产,继承物 | |
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56 merge | |
v.(使)结合,(使)合并,(使)合为一体 | |
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57 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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58 appellation | |
n.名称,称呼 | |
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59 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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60 affinity | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
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61 reeked | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
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62 vapor | |
n.蒸汽,雾气 | |
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63 sluggish | |
adj.懒惰的,迟钝的,无精打采的 | |
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64 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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65 fungi | |
n.真菌,霉菌 | |
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66 exterior | |
adj.外部的,外在的;表面的 | |
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67 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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68 dilapidation | |
n.倒塌;毁坏 | |
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69 masonry | |
n.砖土建筑;砖石 | |
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70 crumbling | |
adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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71 specious | |
adj.似是而非的;adv.似是而非地 | |
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72 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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73 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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74 fabric | |
n.织物,织品,布;构造,结构,组织 | |
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75 scrutinizing | |
v.仔细检查,详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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76 fissure | |
n.裂缝;裂伤 | |
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77 zigzag | |
n.曲折,之字形;adj.曲折的,锯齿形的;adv.曲折地,成锯齿形地;vt.使曲折;vi.曲折前行 | |
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78 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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79 carvings | |
n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 );雕刻术;雕刻品;雕刻物 | |
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80 tapestries | |
n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 );绣帷,织锦v.用挂毯(或绣帷)装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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81 trophies | |
n.(为竞赛获胜者颁发的)奖品( trophy的名词复数 );奖杯;(尤指狩猎或战争中获得的)纪念品;(用于比赛或赛跑名称)奖 | |
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82 rattled | |
慌乱的,恼火的 | |
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83 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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84 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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85 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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86 accosted | |
v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 );跟…搭讪;(乞丐等)上前向…乞讨;(妓女等)勾搭 | |
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87 trepidation | |
n.惊恐,惶恐 | |
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88 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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90 inaccessible | |
adj.达不到的,难接近的 | |
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91 panes | |
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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92 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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93 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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94 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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95 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
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96 fretted | |
焦躁的,附有弦马的,腐蚀的 | |
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97 profuse | |
adj.很多的,大量的,极其丰富的 | |
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98 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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99 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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100 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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101 vivacious | |
adj.活泼的,快活的 | |
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102 overdone | |
v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 );太夸张;把…煮得太久;(工作等)过度 | |
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103 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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104 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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105 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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106 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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107 luminous | |
adj.发光的,发亮的;光明的;明白易懂的;有启发的 | |
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108 pallid | |
adj.苍白的,呆板的 | |
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109 nostril | |
n.鼻孔 | |
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110 prominence | |
n.突出;显著;杰出;重要 | |
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111 inordinate | |
adj.无节制的;过度的 | |
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112 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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113 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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114 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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115 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116 gossamer | |
n.薄纱,游丝 | |
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117 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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118 arabesque | |
n.阿拉伯式花饰;adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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119 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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120 educe | |
v.引出;演绎 | |
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121 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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122 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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123 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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124 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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125 modulated | |
已调整[制]的,被调的 | |
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126 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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127 solace | |
n.安慰;v.使快乐;vt.安慰(物),缓和 | |
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128 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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129 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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130 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
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131 narration | |
n.讲述,叙述;故事;记叙体 | |
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132 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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133 orb | |
n.太阳;星球;v.弄圆;成球形 | |
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134 insipid | |
adj.无味的,枯燥乏味的,单调的 | |
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135 anomalous | |
adj.反常的;不规则的 | |
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136 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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137 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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138 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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139 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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140 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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141 tenant | |
n.承租人;房客;佃户;v.租借,租用 | |
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142 peculiarities | |
n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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143 dint | |
n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
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144 turrets | |
(六角)转台( turret的名词复数 ); (战舰和坦克等上的)转动炮塔; (摄影机等上的)镜头转台; (旧时攻城用的)塔车 | |
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145 morale | |
n.道德准则,士气,斗志 | |
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146 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147 ushers | |
n.引座员( usher的名词复数 );招待员;门房;助理教员v.引,领,陪同( usher的第三人称单数 ) | |
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148 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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149 stupor | |
v.昏迷;不省人事 | |
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150 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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151 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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152 wanness | |
n.虚弱 | |
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153 emaciated | |
adj.衰弱的,消瘦的 | |
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154 trickled | |
v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
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155 apathy | |
n.漠不关心,无动于衷;冷淡 | |
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156 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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157 diagnosis | |
n.诊断,诊断结果,调查分析,判断 | |
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158 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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159 succumbed | |
不再抵抗(诱惑、疾病、攻击等)( succumb的过去式和过去分词 ); 屈从; 被压垮; 死 | |
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160 prostrating | |
v.使俯伏,使拜倒( prostrate的现在分词 );(指疾病、天气等)使某人无能为力 | |
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161 alleviate | |
v.减轻,缓和,缓解(痛苦等) | |
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162 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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163 futility | |
n.无用 | |
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164 improvised | |
a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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165 dirges | |
n.挽歌( dirge的名词复数 );忧伤的歌,哀歌 | |
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166 perversion | |
n.曲解;堕落;反常 | |
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167 amplification | |
n.扩大,发挥 | |
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168 shuddered | |
v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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169 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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170 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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171 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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172 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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173 rigidly | |
adv.刻板地,僵化地 | |
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174 excavation | |
n.挖掘,发掘;被挖掘之地 | |
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175 outlet | |
n.出口/路;销路;批发商店;通风口;发泄 | |
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176 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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177 fervid | |
adj.热情的;炽热的 | |
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178 impromptus | |
n.即兴曲( impromptu的名词复数 ) | |
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179 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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180 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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181 tottering | |
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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182 accurately | |
adv.准确地,精确地 | |
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183 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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184 dominion | |
n.统治,管辖,支配权;领土,版图 | |
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185 seraph | |
n.六翼天使 | |
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186 pinion | |
v.束缚;n.小齿轮 | |
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187 dallied | |
v.随随便便地对待( dally的过去式和过去分词 );不很认真地考虑;浪费时间;调情 | |
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188 plumed | |
饰有羽毛的 | |
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189 ruby | |
n.红宝石,红宝石色 | |
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190 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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191 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
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192 throng | |
n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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193 ballad | |
n.歌谣,民谣,流行爱情歌曲 | |
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194 pertinacity | |
n.执拗,顽固 | |
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195 sentience | |
n.感觉性;感觉能力;知觉 | |
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196 trespassed | |
(trespass的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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197 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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198 forefathers | |
n.祖先,先人;祖先,祖宗( forefather的名词复数 );列祖列宗;前人 | |
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199 condensation | |
n.压缩,浓缩;凝结的水珠 | |
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200 perusal | |
n.细读,熟读;目测 | |
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201 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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202 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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203 vaults | |
n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 );地下室;撑物跳高;墓穴 | |
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204 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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205 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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206 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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207 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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208 smothered | |
(使)窒息, (使)透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 ); 覆盖; 忍住; 抑制 | |
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209 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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210 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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211 feudal | |
adj.封建的,封地的,领地的 | |
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212 combustible | |
a. 易燃的,可燃的; n. 易燃物,可燃物 | |
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213 sheathed | |
adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的;覆盖的;铠装的;装鞘了的v.将(刀、剑等)插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 );包,覆盖 | |
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214 copper | |
n.铜;铜币;铜器;adj.铜(制)的;(紫)铜色的 | |
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215 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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216 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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217 maturity | |
n.成熟;完成;(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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218 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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219 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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220 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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221 luminousness | |
透光率 | |
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222 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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223 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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224 laboring | |
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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225 divulge | |
v.泄漏(秘密等);宣布,公布 | |
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226 inexplicable | |
adj.无法解释的,难理解的 | |
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227 vagaries | |
n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 );异想天开;异常行为;难以预测的情况 | |
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228 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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229 vacancy | |
n.(旅馆的)空位,空房,(职务的)空缺 | |
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230 superstitions | |
迷信,迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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231 waned | |
v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 );(月)亏;变小;变暗淡 | |
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232 rustled | |
v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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233 tremor | |
n.震动,颤动,战栗,兴奋,地震 | |
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234 incubus | |
n.负担;恶梦 | |
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235 gasp | |
n.喘息,气喘;v.喘息;气吁吁他说 | |
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236 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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237 hilarity | |
n.欢乐;热闹 | |
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238 demeanor | |
n.行为;风度 | |
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239 appalled | |
v.使惊骇,使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的;丧胆的 | |
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240 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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241 casements | |
n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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242 gust | |
n.阵风,突然一阵(雨、烟等),(感情的)迸发 | |
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243 tempestuous | |
adj.狂暴的 | |
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244 alterations | |
n.改动( alteration的名词复数 );更改;变化;改变 | |
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245 alteration | |
n.变更,改变;蚀变 | |
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246 density | |
n.密集,密度,浓度 | |
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247 velocity | |
n.速度,速率 | |
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248 gaseous | |
adj.气体的,气态的 | |
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249 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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250 shuddering | |
v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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251 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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252 miasma | |
n.毒气;不良气氛 | |
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253 uncouth | |
adj.无教养的,粗鲁的 | |
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254 prolixity | |
n.冗长,罗嗦 | |
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255 vivacity | |
n.快活,活泼,精神充沛 | |
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256 hermit | |
n.隐士,修道者;隐居 | |
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257 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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258 doughty | |
adj.勇猛的,坚强的 | |
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259 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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260 parley | |
n.谈判 | |
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261 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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262 mace | |
n.狼牙棒,豆蔻干皮 | |
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263 outright | |
adv.坦率地;彻底地;立即;adj.无疑的;彻底的 | |
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264 asunder | |
adj.分离的,化为碎片 | |
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265 reverberated | |
回响,回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 ); 使反响,使回荡,使反射 | |
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266 stifled | |
(使)窒息, (使)窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 ); 镇压,遏制; 堵 | |
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267 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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268 commingled | |
v.混合,掺和,合并( commingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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269 enraged | |
使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 ); 歜; 激愤 | |
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270 scaly | |
adj.鱼鳞状的;干燥粗糙的 | |
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271 prodigious | |
adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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272 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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273 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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274 conqueror | |
n.征服者,胜利者 | |
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275 shriek | |
v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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276 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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277 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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278 conjured | |
用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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279 variance | |
n.矛盾,不同 | |
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280 brazen | |
adj.厚脸皮的,无耻的,坚硬的 | |
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281 enchantment | |
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
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282 syllables | |
n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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283 metallic | |
adj.金属的;金属制的;含金属的;产金属的;像金属的 | |
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284 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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285 reverberation | |
反响; 回响; 反射; 反射物 | |
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286 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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287 fixedly | |
adv.固定地;不屈地,坚定不移地 | |
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288 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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289 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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290 rigidity | |
adj.钢性,坚硬 | |
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291 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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292 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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293 rending | |
v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 );分裂;(因愤怒、痛苦等而)揪扯(衣服或头发等);(声音等)刺破 | |
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294 upbraid | |
v.斥责,责骂,责备 | |
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295 shrieked | |
v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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296 potency | |
n. 效力,潜能 | |
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297 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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298 jaws | |
n.口部;嘴 | |
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299 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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300 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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301 sullenly | |
不高兴地,绷着脸,忧郁地 | |
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