This quarter derives5 its appellation6 from having been, in ancient times, the residence of the Dukes of Brittany. As London increased, however, rank and fashion rolled off to the west, and trade, creeping on at their heels, took possession of their deserted7 abodes9. For some time Little Britain became the great mart of learning, and was peopled by the busy and prolific10 race of booksellers; these also gradually deserted it, and, emigrating beyond the great strait of Newgate Street, settled down in Paternoster Row and St. Paul’s Churchyard, where they continue to increase and multiply even at the present day.
But though thus falling into decline, Little Britain still bears traces of its former splendor11. There are several houses ready to tumble down, the fronts of which are magnificently enriched with old oaken carvings12 of hideous13 faces, unknown birds, beasts, and fishes; and fruits and flowers which it would perplex a naturalist14 to classify. There are also, in Aldersgate Street, certain remains15 of what were once spacious16 and lordly family mansions17, but which have in latter days been subdivided19 into several tenements20. Here may often be found the family of a petty tradesman, with its trumpery21 furniture, burrowing22 among the relics23 of antiquated24 finery, in great, rambling25, time-stained apartments, with fretted26 ceilings, gilded27 cornices, and enormous marble fireplaces. The lanes and courts also contain many smaller houses, not on so grand a scale, but, like your small ancient gentry28, sturdily maintaining their claims to equal antiquity29. These have their gable ends to the street; great bow-windows, with diamond panes30 set in lead, grotesque31 carvings, and low arched door-ways.
In this most venerable and sheltered little nest have I passed several quiet years of existence, comfortably lodged32 in the second floor of one of the smallest but oldest edifices34. My sitting-room35 is an old wainscoted chamber36, with small panels, and set off with a miscellaneous array of furniture. I have a particular respect for three or four high-backed claw-footed chairs, covered with tarnished37 brocade, which bear the marks of having seen better days, and have doubtless figured in some of the old palaces of Little Britain. They seem to me to keep together, and to look down with sovereign contempt upon their leathern-bottomed neighbors: as I have seen decayed gentry carry a high head among the plebeian39 society with which they were reduced to associate. The whole front of my sitting-room is taken up with a bow-window, on the panes of which are recorded the names of previous occupants for many generations, mingled40 with scraps41 of very indifferent gentlemanlike poetry, written in characters which I can scarcely decipher, and which extol42 the charms of many a beauty of Little Britain who has long, long since bloomed, faded, and passed away. As I am an idle personage, with no apparent occupation, and pay my bill regularly every week, I am looked upon as the only independent gentleman of the neighborhood; and, being curious to learn the internal state of a community so apparently43 shut up within itself, I have managed to work my way into all the concerns and secrets of the place.
Little Britain may truly be called the heart’s core of the city; the stronghold of true John Bullism. It is a fragment of London as it was in its better days, with its antiquated folks and fashions. Here flourish in great preservation44 many of the holiday games and customs of yore. The inhabitants most religiously eat pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, hot-cross-buns on Good Friday, and roast goose at Michaelmas; they send love-letters on Valentine’s Day, burn the pope on the fifth of November, and kiss all the girls under the mistletoe at Christmas. Roast beef and plum pudding are also held in superstitious46 veneration47, and port and sherry maintain their grounds as the only true English wines; all others being considered vile48, outlandish beverages49.
Little Britain has its long catalogue of city wonders, which its inhabitants consider the wonders of the world: such as the great bell of St. Paul’s, which sours all the beer when it tolls50; the figures that strike the hours at St. Dunstan’s clock; the Monument; the lions in the Tower; and the wooden giants in Guildhall. They still believe in dreams and fortune-telling, and an old woman that lives in Bull-and-Mouth Street makes a tolerable subsistence by detecting stolen goods, and promising52 the girls good husbands. They are apt to be rendered uncomfortable by comets and eclipses; and if a dog howls dolefully at night, it is looked upon as a sure sign of a death in the place. There are even many ghost stories current, particularly concerning the old mansion18-houses; in several of which it is said strange sights are sometimes seen. Lords and ladies, the former in full bottomed wigs53, hanging sleeves, and swords, the latter in lappets, stays, hoops54 and brocade, have been seen walking up and down the great waste chambers55, on moonlight nights; and are supposed to be the shades of the ancient proprietors56 in their court-dresses.
Little Britain has likewise its sages57 and great men. One of the most important of the former is a tall, dry old gentleman, of the name of Skryme, who keeps a small apothecary58’s shop. He has a cadaverous countenance59, full of cavities and projections60; with a brown circle round each eye, like a pair of horned spectacles. He is much thought of by the old women, who consider him a kind of conjurer, because he has two of three stuffed alligators61 hanging up in his shop, and several snakes in bottles. He is a great reader of almanacs and newspapers, and is much given to pore over alarming accounts of plots, conspiracies62, fires, earthquakes, and volcanic63 eruptions64; which last phenomena65 he considers as signs of the times. He has always some dismal66 tale of the kind to deal out to his customers, with their doses; and thus at the same time puts both soul and body into an uproar67. He is a great believer in omens68 and predictions; and has the prophecies of Robert Nixon and Mother Shipton by heart. No man can make so much out of an eclipse, or even an unusually dark day; and he shook the tail of the last comet over the heads of his customers and disciples69 until they were nearly frightened out of their wits. He has lately got hold of a popular legend or prophecy, on which he has been unusually eloquent70. There has been a saying current among the ancient sibyls, who treasure up these things, that when the grasshopper71 on the top of the Exchange shook hands with the dragon on the top of Bow Church Steeple, fearful events would take place. This strange conjunction, it seems, has as strangely come to pass. The same architect has been engaged lately on the repairs of the cupola of the Exchange, and the steeple of Bow church; and, fearful to relate, the dragon and the grasshopper actually lie, cheek by jole, in the yard of his workshop.
“Others,” as Mr. Skryme is accustomed to say, “may go star-gazing, and look for conjunctions in the heavens, but here is a conjunction on the earth, near at home, and under our own eyes, which surpasses all the signs and calculations of astrologers.” Since these portentous72 weathercocks have thus laid their heads together, wonderful events had already occurred. The good old king, notwithstanding that he had lived eighty-two years, had all at once given up the ghost; another king had mounted the throne; a royal duke had died suddenly,—another, in France, had been murdered; there had been radical74 meetings in all parts of the kingdom; the bloody75 scenes at Manchester; the great plot of Cato Street; and above all, the queen had returned to England! All these sinister76 events are recounted by Mr. Skryme, with a mysterious look, and a dismal shake of the head; and being taken with his drugs, and associated in the minds of his auditors77 with stuffed sea-monsters, bottled serpents, and his own visage, which is a title-page of tribulation78, they have spread great gloom through the minds of the people of Little Britain. They shake their heads whenever they go by Bow Church, and observe, that they never expected any good to come of taking down that steeple, which in old times told nothing but glad tidings, as the history of Whittington and his Cat bears witness.
The rival oracle79 of Little Britain is a substantial cheesemonger, who lives in a fragment of one of the old family mansions, and is as magnificently lodged as a round-bellied mite80 in the midst of one of his own Cheshires. Indeed, he is a man of no little standing73 and importance; and his renown81 extends through Huggin Lane, and Lad Lane, and even unto Aldermanbury. His opinion is very much taken in affairs of state, having read the Sunday papers for the last half century, together with the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” Rapin’s “History of England,” and the “Naval Chronicle.” His head is stored with invaluable82 maxims83 which have borne the test of time and use for centuries. It is his firm opinion that “it is a moral impossible,” so long as England is true to herself, that anything can shake her; and he has much to say on the subject of the national debt, which, somehow or other, he proves to be a great national bulwark84 and blessing85. He passed the greater part of his life in the purlieus of Little Britain, until of late years, when, having become rich, and grown into the dignity of a Sunday cane86, he begins to take his pleasure and see the world. He has therefore made several excursions to Hampstead, Highgate, and other neighboring towns, where he has passed whole afternoons in looking back upon the metropolis87 through a telescope, and endeavoring to descry88 the steeple of St. Bartholomew’s. Not a stage-coachman of Bull-and-Mouth Street but touches his hat as he passes; and he is considered quite a patron at the coach-office of the Goose and Gridiron, St. Paul’s churchyard. His family have been very urgent for him to make an expedition to Margate, but he has great doubts of those new gimcracks, the steamboats, and indeed thinks himself too advanced in life to undertake sea-voyages.
Little Britain has occasionally its factions89 and divisions, and party spirit ran very high at one time in consequence of two rival “Burial Societies” being set up in the place. One held its meeting at the Swan and Horse Shoe, and was patronized by the cheesemonger; the other at the Cock and Crown, under the auspices90 of the apothecary; it is needless to say that the latter was the most flourishing. I have passed an evening or two at each, and have acquired much valuable information, as to the best mode of being buried, the comparative merits of churchyards, together with divers91 hints on the subject of patent-iron coffins92. I have heard the question discussed in all its bearings as to the legality of prohibiting the latter on account of their durability93. The feuds95 occasioned by these societies have happily died of late; but they were for a long time prevailing96 themes of controversy97, the people of Little Britain being extremely solicitous98 of funereal99 honors and of lying comfortably in their graves.
Besides these two funeral societies there is a third of quite a different cast, which tends to throw the sunshine of good-humor over the whole neighborhood. It meets once a week at a little old-fashioned house, kept by a jolly publican of the name of Wagstaff, and bearing for insignia a resplendent half-moon, with a most seductive bunch of grapes. The old edifice33 is covered with inscriptions100 to catch the eye of the thirsty wayfarer101, such as “Truman, Hanbury, and Co.‘s Entire,” “Wine, Rum, and Brandy Vaults,” “Old Tom, Rum and Compounds, etc.” This indeed has been a temple of Bacchus and Momus from time immemorial. It ha always been in the family of the Wagstaffs, so that its history is tolerably preserved by the present landlord. It was much frequented by the gallants and cavalieros of the reign38 of Elizabeth, and was looked into now and then by the wits of Charles the Second’s day. But what Wagstaff principally prides himself upon is, that Henry the Eighth, in one of his nocturnal rambles102, broke the head of one of his ancestors with his famous walking-staff. This, however, is considered as a rather dubious103 and vainglorious104 boast of the landlord.
The club which now holds its weekly sessions here goes by the name of “The Roaring Lads of Little Britain.” They abound105 in old catches, glees, and choice stories, that are traditional in the place, and not to be met with in any other part of the metropolis. There is a madcap undertaker who is inimitable at a merry song; but the life of the club, and indeed the prime wit of Little Britain, is bully106 Wagstaff himself. His ancestors were all wags before him, and he has inherited with the inn a large stock of songs and jokes, which go with it from generation to generation as heirlooms. He is a dapper little fellow, with bandy legs and pot belly107, a red face, with a moist, merry eye, and a little shock of gray hair behind. At the opening of every club night he is called in to sing his “Confession of Faith,” which is the famous old drinking trowl from “Gammer Gurton’s Needle.” He sings it, to be sure, with many variations, as he received it from his father’s lips; for it has been a standing favorite at the Half-Moon and Bunch of Grapes ever since it was written; nay108, he affirms that his predecessors109 have often had the honor of singing it before the nobility and gentry at Christmas mummeries, when Little Britain was in all its glory.
It would do one’s heart good to hear, on a club night, the shouts of merriment, the snatches of song, and now and then the choral bursts of half a dozen discordant110 voices, which issue from this jovial111 mansion. At such times the street is lined with listeners, who enjoy a delight equal to that of gazing into a confectioner’s window, or snuffing up the steams of a cookshop.
There are two annual events which produce great stir and sensation in Little Britain; these are St. Bartholomew’s Fair, and the Lord Mayor’s Day. During the time of the fair, which is held in the adjoining regions of Smithfield, there is nothing going on but gossiping and gadding112 about. The late quiet streets of Little Britain are overrun with an irruption of strange figures and faces; every tavern113 is a scene of rout114 and revel115. The fiddle116 and the song are heard from the tap-room, morning, noon, and night; and at each window may be seen some group of boon117 companions, with half-shut eyes, hats on one side, pipe in mouth, and tankard in hand, fondling, and prosing, and singing maudlin118 songs over their liquor. Even the sober decorum of private families, which I must say is rigidly119 kept up at other times among my neighbors, is no proof against this Saturnalia. There is no such thing as keeping maid-servants within doors. Their brains are absolutely set madding with Punch and the Puppet Show; the Flying Horses; Signior Polito; the Fire-Eater; the celebrated120 Mr. Paap; and the Irish Giant. The children, too, lavish121 all their holiday money in toys and gilt122 gingerbread, and fill the house with the Lilliputian din45 of drums, trumpets123, and penny whistles.
But the Lord mayor’s Day is the great anniversary. The Lord Mayor is looked up to by the inhabitants of Little Britain as the greatest potentate124 upon earth; his gilt coach with six horses as the summit of human splendor; and his procession, with all the Sheriffs and Aldermen in his train, as the grandest of earthly pageants125. How they exult126 in the idea that the King himself dare not enter the city without first knocking at the gate of Temple Bar, and asking permission of the Lord Mayor: for if he did, heaven and earth! there is no knowing what might be the consequence. The man in armor, who rides before the Lord mayor, and is the city champion, has orders to cut down everybody that offends against the dignity of the city; and then there is the little man with a velvet127 porringer on his head, who sits at the window of the state-coach, and holds the city sword, as long as a pike-staff—Odd’s blood! If he once draws that sword, Majesty128 itself is not safe!
Under the protection of this mighty129 potentate, therefore, the good people of Little Britain sleep in peace. Temple Bar is an effectual barrier against all interior foes130; and as to foreign invasion, the Lord Mayor has but to throw himself into the Tower, call in the trainbands, and put the standing army of Beef-eaters under arms, and he may bid defiance131 to the world!
Thus wrapped up in its own concerns, its own habits, and its own opinions, Little Britain has long flourished as a sound heart to this great fungous metropolis. I have pleased myself with considering it as a chosen spot, where the principles of sturdy John Bullism were garnered132 up, like seed corn, to renew the national character, when it had run to waste and degeneracy. I have rejoiced also in the general spirit of harmony that prevailed throughout it; for though there might now and then be a few clashes of opinion between the adherents133 of the cheesemonger and the apothecary, and an occasional feud94 between the burial societies, yet these were but transient clouds, and soon passed away. The neighbors met with good-will, parted with a shake of the hand, and never abused each other except behind their backs.
I could give rare descriptions of snug134 junketing parties at which I have been present; where we played at All-fours, Pope-Joan, Tome-come-tickle-me, and other choice old games; and where we sometimes had a good old English country dance to the tune51 of Sir Roger de Coverley. Once a year, also, the neighbors would gather together, and go on a gypsy party to Epping Forest. It would have done any man’s heart good to see the merriment that took place here as we banqueted on the grass under the trees. How we made the woods ring with bursts of laughter at the songs of little Wagstaff and the merry undertaker! After dinner, too, the young folks would play at blind-man’s-buff and hide-and-seek; and it was amusing to see them tangled135 among the briers, and to hear a fine romping136 girl now and then squeak137 from among the bushes. The elder folks would gather round the cheesemonger and the apothecary to hear them talk politics; for they generally brought out a newspaper in their pockets, to pass away time in the country. They would now and then, to be sure, get a little warm in argument; but their disputes were always adjusted by reference to a worthy138 old umbrella-maker, in a double chin, who, never exactly comprehending the subject, managed somehow or other to decide in favor of both parties.
All empires, however, says some philosopher or historian, are doomed139 to changes and revolutions. Luxury and innovation creep in; factions arise; and families now and then spring up, whose ambition and intrigues140 throw the whole system into confusion. Thus in latter days has the tranquillity141 of Little Britain been grievously disturbed, and its golden simplicity142 of manners threatened with total subversion143 by the aspiring144 family of a retired145 butcher.
The family of the Lambs had long been among the most thriving and popular in the neighborhood; the Miss Lambs were the belles146 of Little Britain, and everybody was pleased when Old Lamb had made money enough to shut up shop, and put his name on a brass147 plate on his door. In an evil hour, however, one of the Miss Lambs had the honor of being a lady in attendance on the Lady Mayoress, at her grand annual ball, on which occasion she wore three towering ostrich148 feathers on her head. The family never got over it; they were immediately smitten150 with a passion for high life; set up a one-horse carriage, put a bit of gold lace round the errand boy’s hat, and have been the talk and detestation of the whole neighborhood ever since. They could no longer be induced to play at Pope-Joan or blindman’s-buff; they could endure no dances but quadrilles, which nobody had ever heard of in Little Britain; and they took to reading novels, talking bad French, and playing upon the piano. Their brother, too, who had been articled to an attorney, set up for a dandy and a critic, characters hitherto unknown in these parts; and he confounded the worthy folks exceedingly by talking about Kean, the opera, and the “Edinburgh Review.”
What was still worse, the Lambs gave a grand ball, to which they neglected to invite any of their old neighbors; but they had a great deal of genteel company from Theobald’s Road, Red-Lion Square, and other parts towards the west. There were several beaux of their brother’s acquaintance from Gray’s Inn Lane and Hatton Garden; and not less than three Aldermen’s ladies with their daughters. This was not to be forgotten or forgiven. All Little Britain was in an uproar with the smacking151 of whips, the lashing152 of miserable153 horses, and the rattling154 and the jingling155 of hackney coaches. The gossips of the neighborhood might be seen popping their nightcaps out at every window, watching the crazy vehicles rumble156 by; and there was a knot of virulent157 old cronies, that kept a lookout158 from a house just opposite the retired butcher’s, and scanned and criticised every one that knocked at the door.
This dance was a cause of almost open war, and the whole neighborhood declared they would have nothing more to say to the Lambs. It is true that Mrs. Lamb, when she had no engagements with her quality acquaintance, would give little humdrum159 tea-junketings to some of her old cronies, “quite,” as she would say, “in a friendly way;” and it is equally true that her invitations were always accepted, in spite of all previous vows160 to the contrary. Nay, the good ladies would sit and be delighted with the music of the Miss Lambs, who would condescend161 to strum an Irish melody for them on the piano; and they would listen with wonderful interest to Mrs. Lamb’s anecdotes162 of Alderman Plunket’s family, of Portsokenward, and the Miss Timberlakes, the rich heiresses of Crutched-Friars; but then they relieved their consciences, and averted163 the reproaches of their confederates, by canvassing164 at the next gossiping convocation everything that had passed, and pulling the Lambs and their rout all to pieces.
The only one of the family that could not be made fashionable was the retired butcher himself. Honest Lamb, in spite of the meekness165 of his name, was a rough, hearty166 old fellow, with the voice of a lion, a head of black hair like a shoe-brush, and a broad face mottled like his own beef. It was in vain that the daughters always spoke167 of him as “the old gentleman,” addressed him as “papa,” in tones of infinite softness, and endeavored to coax168 him into a dressing-gown and slippers169, and other gentlemanly habits. Do what they might, there was no keeping down the butcher. His sturdy nature would break through all their glozings. He had a hearty vulgar good-humor that was irrepressible. His very jokes made his sensitive daughters shudder170; and he persisted in wearing his blue cotton coat of a morning, dining at two o’clock, and having a “bit of sausage with his tea.”
He was doomed, however, to share the unpopularity of his family. He found his old comrades gradually growing cold and civil to him; no longer laughing at his jokes; and now and then throwing out a fling at “some people,” and a hint about “quality binding171.” This both nettled172 and perplexed173 the honest butcher; and his wife and daughters, with the consummate174 policy of the shrewder sex, taking advantage of the circumstance, at length prevailed upon him to give up his afternoon’s pipe and tankard at Wagstaff’s; to sit after dinner by himself, and take his pint175 of port—a liquor he detested—and to nod in his chair in solitary176 and dismal gentility.
The Miss Lambs might now be seen flaunting177 along the streets in French bonnets178, with unknown beaux; and talking and laughing so loud that it distressed179 the nerves of every good lady within hearing. They even went so far as to attempt patronage180, and actually induced a French dancing-master to set up in the neighborhood; but the worthy folks of Little Britain took fire at it, and did so persecute181 the poor Gaul that he was fain to pack up fiddle and dancing-pumps, and decamp with such precipitation that he absolutely forgot to pay for his lodgings182.
I had flattered myself, at first, with the idea that all this fiery183 indignation on the part of the community was merely the overflowing184 of their zeal185 for good old English manners, and their horror of innovation; and I applauded the silent contempt they were so vociferous186 in expressing, for upstart pride, French fashions, and the Miss Lambs. But I grieve to say that I soon perceived the infection had taken hold; and that my neighbors, after condemning187, were beginning to follow their example. I overheard my landlady188 importuning189 her husband to let their daughters have one quarter at French and music, and that they might take a few lessons in quadrille. I even saw, in the course of a few Sundays, no less than five French bonnets, precisely190 like those of the Miss Lambs, parading about Little Britain.
I still had my hopes that all this folly191 would gradually die away; that the Lambs might move out of the neighborhood; might die, or might run away with attorneys’ apprentices192; and that quiet and simplicity might be again restored to the community. But unluckily a rival power arose. An opulent oilman died, and left a widow with a large jointure and a family of buxom193 daughters. The young ladies had long been repining in secret at the parsimony194 of a prudent195 father, which kept down all their elegant aspirings. Their ambition, being now no longer restrained, broke out into a blaze, and they openly took the field against the family of the butcher. It is true that the Lambs, having had the first start, had naturally an advantage of them in the fashionable career. They could speak a little bad French, play the piano, dance quadrilles, and had formed high acquaintances; but the Trotters were not to be distanced. When the Lambs appeared with two feathers in their hats, the Miss Trotters mounted four, and of twice as fine colors. If the Lambs gave a dance, the Trotters were sure not to be behindhand: and though they might not boast of as good company, yet they had double the number, and were twice as merry.
The whole community has at length divided itself into fashionable factions, under the banners of these two families. The old games of Pope-Joan and Tom-come-tickle-me are entirely196 discarded; there is no such thing as getting up an honest country dance; and on my attempting to kiss a young lady under the mistletoe last Christmas, I was indignantly repulsed197; the Miss Lambs having pronounced it “shocking vulgar.” Bitter rivalry198 has also broken out as to the most fashionable part of Little Britain; the Lambs standing up for the dignity of the Cross-Keys Square, and the Trotters for the vicinity of St. Bartholomew’s.
Thus is this little territory torn by factions and internal dissensions, like the great empire who name it bears; and what will be the result would puzzle the apothecary himself, with all his talent at prognostics, to determine; though I apprehend199 that it will terminate in the total downfall of genuine John Bullism.
The immediate149 effects are extremely unpleasant to me. Being a single man, and, as I observed before, rather an idle good-for-nothing personage, I have been considered the only gentleman by profession in the place. I stand therefore in high favor with both parties, and have to hear all their cabinet councils and mutual200 backbitings. As I am too civil not to agree with the ladies on all occasions, I have committed myself most horribly with both parties, by abusing their opponents. I might manage to reconcile this to my conscience, which is a truly accommodating one, but I cannot to my apprehension—if the Lambs and Trotters ever come to a reconciliation201, and compare notes, I am ruined!
I have determined202, therefore, to beat a retreat in time, and am actually looking out for some other nest in this great city, where old English manners are still kept up; where French is neither eaten, drunk, danced, nor spoken; and where there are no fashionable families of retired tradesmen. This found, I will, like a veteran rat, hasten away before I have an old house about my ears; bid a long, though a sorrowful, adieu to my present abode8, and leave the rival factions of the Lambs and the Trotters to divide the distracted empire of LITTLE BRITAIN.
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1 debilitated | |
adj.疲惫不堪的,操劳过度的v.使(人或人的身体)非常虚弱( debilitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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3 dome | |
n.圆屋顶,拱顶 | |
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4 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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5 derives | |
v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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6 appellation | |
n.名称,称呼 | |
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7 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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8 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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9 abodes | |
住所( abode的名词复数 ); 公寓; (在某地的)暂住; 逗留 | |
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10 prolific | |
adj.丰富的,大量的;多产的,富有创造力的 | |
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11 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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12 carvings | |
n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 );雕刻术;雕刻品;雕刻物 | |
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13 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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14 naturalist | |
n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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15 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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16 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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17 mansions | |
n.宅第,公馆,大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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18 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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19 subdivided | |
再分,细分( subdivide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20 tenements | |
n.房屋,住户,租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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21 trumpery | |
n.无价值的杂物;adj.(物品)中看不中用的 | |
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22 burrowing | |
v.挖掘(洞穴),挖洞( burrow的现在分词 );翻寻 | |
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23 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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24 antiquated | |
adj.陈旧的,过时的 | |
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25 rambling | |
adj.[建]凌乱的,杂乱的 | |
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26 fretted | |
焦躁的,附有弦马的,腐蚀的 | |
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27 gilded | |
a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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28 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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29 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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30 panes | |
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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31 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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32 lodged | |
v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 );暂住;埋入;(权利、权威等)归属 | |
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33 edifice | |
n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿,教室) | |
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34 edifices | |
n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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35 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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36 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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37 tarnished | |
(通常指金属)(使)失去光泽,(使)变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 ); 玷污,败坏 | |
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38 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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39 plebeian | |
adj.粗俗的;平民的;n.平民;庶民 | |
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40 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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41 scraps | |
油渣 | |
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42 extol | |
v.赞美,颂扬 | |
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43 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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44 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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45 din | |
n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
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46 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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47 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
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48 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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49 beverages | |
n.饮料( beverage的名词复数 ) | |
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50 tolls | |
(缓慢而有规律的)钟声( toll的名词复数 ); 通行费; 损耗; (战争、灾难等造成的)毁坏 | |
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51 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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52 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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53 wigs | |
n.假发,法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
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54 hoops | |
n.箍( hoop的名词复数 );(篮球)篮圈;(旧时儿童玩的)大环子;(两端埋在地里的)小铁弓 | |
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55 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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56 proprietors | |
n.所有人,业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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57 sages | |
n.圣人( sage的名词复数 );智者;哲人;鼠尾草(可用作调料) | |
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58 apothecary | |
n.药剂师 | |
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59 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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60 projections | |
预测( projection的名词复数 ); 投影; 投掷; 突起物 | |
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61 alligators | |
n.短吻鳄( alligator的名词复数 ) | |
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62 conspiracies | |
n.阴谋,密谋( conspiracy的名词复数 ) | |
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63 volcanic | |
adj.火山的;象火山的;由火山引起的 | |
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64 eruptions | |
n.喷发,爆发( eruption的名词复数 ) | |
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65 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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66 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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67 uproar | |
n.骚动,喧嚣,鼎沸 | |
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68 omens | |
n.前兆,预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
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69 disciples | |
n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 );门徒;耶稣的信徒;(尤指)耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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70 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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71 grasshopper | |
n.蚱蜢,蝗虫,蚂蚱 | |
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72 portentous | |
adj.不祥的,可怕的,装腔作势的 | |
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73 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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74 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
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75 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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76 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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77 auditors | |
n.审计员,稽核员( auditor的名词复数 );(大学课程的)旁听生 | |
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78 tribulation | |
n.苦难,灾难 | |
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79 oracle | |
n.神谕,神谕处,预言 | |
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80 mite | |
n.极小的东西;小铜币 | |
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81 renown | |
n.声誉,名望 | |
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82 invaluable | |
adj.无价的,非常宝贵的,极为贵重的 | |
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83 maxims | |
n.格言,座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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84 bulwark | |
n.堡垒,保障,防御 | |
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85 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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86 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
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87 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
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88 descry | |
v.远远看到;发现;责备 | |
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89 factions | |
组织中的小派别,派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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90 auspices | |
n.资助,赞助 | |
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91 divers | |
adj.不同的;种种的 | |
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92 coffins | |
n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 );使某人早亡[死,完蛋,垮台等]之物 | |
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93 durability | |
n.经久性,耐用性 | |
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94 feud | |
n.长期不和;世仇;v.长期争斗;世代结仇 | |
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95 feuds | |
n.长期不和,世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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96 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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97 controversy | |
n.争论,辩论,争吵 | |
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98 solicitous | |
adj.热切的,挂念的 | |
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99 funereal | |
adj.悲哀的;送葬的 | |
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100 inscriptions | |
(作者)题词( inscription的名词复数 ); 献词; 碑文; 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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101 wayfarer | |
n.旅人 | |
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102 rambles | |
(无目的地)漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 ); (喻)漫谈; 扯淡; 长篇大论 | |
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103 dubious | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
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104 vainglorious | |
adj.自负的;夸大的 | |
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105 abound | |
vi.大量存在;(in,with)充满,富于 | |
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106 bully | |
n.恃强欺弱者,小流氓;vt.威胁,欺侮 | |
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107 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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108 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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109 predecessors | |
n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 );前辈;(被取代的)原有事物;前身 | |
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110 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
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111 jovial | |
adj.快乐的,好交际的 | |
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112 gadding | |
n.叮搔症adj.蔓生的v.闲逛( gad的现在分词 );游荡;找乐子;用铁棒刺 | |
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113 tavern | |
n.小旅馆,客栈;小酒店 | |
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114 rout | |
n.溃退,溃败;v.击溃,打垮 | |
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115 revel | |
vi.狂欢作乐,陶醉;n.作乐,狂欢 | |
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116 fiddle | |
n.小提琴;vi.拉提琴;不停拨弄,乱动 | |
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117 boon | |
n.恩赐,恩物,恩惠 | |
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118 maudlin | |
adj.感情脆弱的,爱哭的 | |
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119 rigidly | |
adv.刻板地,僵化地 | |
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120 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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121 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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122 gilt | |
adj.镀金的;n.金边证券 | |
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123 trumpets | |
喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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124 potentate | |
n.统治者;君主 | |
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125 pageants | |
n.盛装的游行( pageant的名词复数 );穿古代服装的游行;再现历史场景的娱乐活动;盛会 | |
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126 exult | |
v.狂喜,欢腾;欢欣鼓舞 | |
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127 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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128 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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129 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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130 foes | |
敌人,仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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131 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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132 garnered | |
v.收集并(通常)贮藏(某物),取得,获得( garner的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133 adherents | |
n.支持者,拥护者( adherent的名词复数 );党羽;徒子徒孙 | |
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134 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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135 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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136 romping | |
adj.嬉戏喧闹的,乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 );(尤指在赛跑或竞选等中)轻易获胜 | |
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137 squeak | |
n.吱吱声,逃脱;v.(发出)吱吱叫,侥幸通过;(俚)告密 | |
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138 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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139 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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140 intrigues | |
n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 );神秘气氛;引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 );激起…的好奇心 | |
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141 tranquillity | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
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142 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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143 subversion | |
n.颠覆,破坏 | |
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144 aspiring | |
adj.有志气的;有抱负的;高耸的v.渴望;追求 | |
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145 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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146 belles | |
n.美女( belle的名词复数 );最美的美女 | |
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147 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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148 ostrich | |
n.鸵鸟 | |
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149 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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150 smitten | |
猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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151 smacking | |
活泼的,发出响声的,精力充沛的 | |
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152 lashing | |
n.鞭打;痛斥;大量;许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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153 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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154 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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155 jingling | |
叮当声 | |
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156 rumble | |
n.隆隆声;吵嚷;v.隆隆响;低沉地说 | |
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157 virulent | |
adj.有毒的,有恶意的,充满敌意的 | |
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158 lookout | |
n.注意,前途,瞭望台 | |
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159 humdrum | |
adj.单调的,乏味的 | |
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160 vows | |
誓言( vow的名词复数 ); 郑重宣布,许愿 | |
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161 condescend | |
v.俯就,屈尊;堕落,丢丑 | |
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162 anecdotes | |
n.掌故,趣闻,轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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163 averted | |
防止,避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 ); 转移 | |
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164 canvassing | |
v.(在政治方面)游说( canvass的现在分词 );调查(如选举前选民的)意见;为讨论而提出(意见等);详细检查 | |
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165 meekness | |
n.温顺,柔和 | |
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166 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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167 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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168 coax | |
v.哄诱,劝诱,用诱哄得到,诱取 | |
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169 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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170 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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171 binding | |
有约束力的,有效的,应遵守的 | |
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172 nettled | |
v.拿荨麻打,拿荨麻刺(nettle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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173 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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174 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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175 pint | |
n.品脱 | |
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176 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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177 flaunting | |
adj.招摇的,扬扬得意的,夸耀的v.炫耀,夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 );有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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178 bonnets | |
n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 );(烟囱等的)覆盖物;(苏格兰男子的)无边呢帽;(女子戴的)任何一种帽子 | |
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179 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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180 patronage | |
n.赞助,支援,援助;光顾,捧场 | |
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181 persecute | |
vt.迫害,虐待;纠缠,骚扰 | |
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182 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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183 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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184 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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185 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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186 vociferous | |
adj.喧哗的,大叫大嚷的 | |
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187 condemning | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的现在分词 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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188 landlady | |
n.女房东,女地主 | |
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189 importuning | |
v.纠缠,向(某人)不断要求( importune的现在分词 );(妓女)拉(客) | |
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190 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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191 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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192 apprentices | |
学徒,徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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193 buxom | |
adj.(妇女)丰满的,有健康美的 | |
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194 parsimony | |
n.过度节俭,吝啬 | |
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195 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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196 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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197 repulsed | |
v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 );驳斥;拒绝 | |
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198 rivalry | |
n.竞争,竞赛,对抗 | |
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199 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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200 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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201 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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202 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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