This is not a tale, but a true history.—ED.
HARDLY was I settled again, when the inevitable2 bowl appeared, and its bearer delivered a message I had expected, yet dreaded3 to receive:—
“John is going, ma'am, and wants to see you, if you can come.”
“The moment this boy is asleep; tell him so, and let me know if I am in danger of being too late.”
My Ganymede departed, and while I quieted poor Shaw, I thought of John. He came in a day or two after the others; and, one evening, when I entered my “pathetic room,” I found a lately emptied bed occupied by a large, fair man, with a fine face, and the serenest4 eyes I ever met. One of the earlier comers had often spoken of a friend, who had remained behind, that those apparently6 worse wounded than himself might reach a shelter first. It seemed a David and Jonathan sort of friendship. The man fretted7 for his mate, and was never tired of praising John,—his courage, sobriety, self-denial, and unfailing kindliness8 of heart; always winding9 up with, “He's an out an' out fine feller, ma'am; you see if he ain't.”
I had some curiosity to behold10 this piece of excellence11, and when he came, watched him for a night or two, before I made friends with him; for, to tell the truth, I was a little afraid of the stately looking man, whose bed had to be lengthened12 to accommodate his commanding stature13; who seldom spoke5, uttered no complaint, asked no sympathy, but tranquilly14 observed what went on about him; and, as he lay high upon his pillows, no picture of dying statesman or warrior15 was ever fuller of real dignity than this Virginia blacksmith. A most attractive face he had, framed in brown hair and beard, comely16 featured and full of vigor17, as yet unsubdued by pain; thoughtful and often beautifully mild while watching the afflictions of others, as if entirely18 forgetful of his own. His mouth was grave and firm, with plenty of will and courage in its lines, but a smile could make it as sweet as any woman's; and his eyes were child's eyes, looking one fairly in the face with a clear, straightforward19 glance, which promised well for such as placed their faith in him. He seemed to cling to life, as if it were rich in duties and delights, and he had learned the secret of content. The only time I saw his composure disturbed was when my surgeon brought another to examine John, who scrutinized21 their faces with an anxious look, asking of the elder,—“Do you think I shall pull through, sir?” “I hope so, my man.” And, as the two passed on, John's eye still followed them, with an intentness which would have won a clearer answer from them, had they seen it. A momentary22 shadow flitted over his face; then came the usual serenity23, as if, in that brief eclipse, he had acknowledged the existence of some hard possibility, and, asking nothing, yet hoping all things, left the issue in God's hands, with that submission24 which is true piety25.
The next night, as I went my rounds with Dr. P., I happened to ask which man in the room probably suffered most; and, to my great surprise, he glanced at John:—
“Every breath he draws is like a stab; for the ball pierced the left lung, broke a rib26, and did no end of damage here and there; so the poor lad can find neither forgetfulness nor ease, because he must lie on his wounded back or suffocate27. It will be a hard struggle and a long one, for he possesses great vitality28; but even his temperate29 life can't save him; I wish it could.”
“You don't mean he must die, Doctor?”
“Bless you, there's not the slightest hope for him; and you'd better tell him so before long; women have a way of doing such things comfortably, so I leave it to you. He won't last more than a day or two, at furthest.”
I could have sat down on the spot and cried heartily30, if I had not learned the wisdom of bottling up one's tears for leisure moments. Such an end seemed very hard for such a man, when half a dozen worn-out, worthless bodies round him were gathering31 up the remnants of wasted lives, to linger on for years perhaps, burdens to others, daily reproaches to themselves. The army needed men like John,—earnest, brave, and faithful; fighting for liberty and justice with both heart and hand, true soldiers of the Lord. I could not give him up so soon, or think with any patience of so excellent a nature robbed of its fulfilment, and blundered into eternity32 by the rashness or stupidity of those at whose hands so many lives may be required. It was an easy thing for Dr. P. to say, “Tell him he must die,” but a cruelly hard thing to do, and by no means as “comfortable” as he politely suggested. I had not the heart to do it then, and privately33 indulged the hope that some change for the better might take place, in spite of gloomy prophecies, so, rendering34 my task unnecessary. A few minutes later, as I came in again with fresh rollers, I saw John sitting erect35, with no one to support him, while the surgeon dressed his back. I had never hitherto seen it done; for, having simpler wounds to attend to, and knowing the fidelity36 of the attendant, I had left John to him, thinking it might be more agreeable and safe; for both strength and experience were needed in his case. I had forgotten that the strong man might long for the gentler tendance of a woman's hands, the sympathetic magnetism37 of a woman's presence, as well as the feebler souls about him. The Doctor's words caused me to reproach myself with neglect, not of any real duty perhaps, but of those little cares and kindnesses that solace38 homesick spirits, and make the heavy hours pass easier. John looked lonely and forsaken39 just then, as he sat with bent40 head, hands folded on his knee, and no outward sign of suffering, till, looking nearer, I saw great tears roll down and drop upon the floor. It was a new sight there; for though I had seen many suffer, some swore, some groaned41, most endured silently, but none wept. Yet it did not seem weak, only very touching42, and straightway my fear vanished, my heart opened wide and took him in, as, gathering the bent head in my arms, as freely as if he had been a little child, I said,—“Let me help you bear it, John.”
Never, on any human countenance43, have I seen so swift and beautiful a look of gratitude44, surprise, and comfort, as that which answered me more eloquently45 than the whispered,—
“Thank you ma'am; this is right good! this is what I wanted!”
“Then why not ask for it before?”
“I didn't like to be a trouble; you seemed so busy, and I could manage to get on alone.”
“You shall not want it any more, John.”
Nor did he; for now I understood the wistful look that sometimes followed me, as I went out, after a brief pause beside his bed, or merely a passing nod, while busied with those who seemed to need me more than he, because more urgent in their demands; now I knew that to him, as to so many, I was the poor substitute for mother, wife, or sister, and in his eyes no stranger, but a friend who hitherto had seemed neglectful; for, in his modesty46, he had never guessed the truth. This was changed now; and, through the tedious operation of probing, bathing, and dressing47 his wounds, he leaned against me, holding my hand fast, and, if pain wrung48 further tears from him, no one saw them fall but me. When he was laid down again, I hovered49 about him, in a remorseful50 state of mind that would not let me rest, till I had bathed his face, brushed his “bonny brown hair,” set all things smooth about him, and laid a knot of heath and heliotrope51 on his clean pillow. While doing this, he watched me with the satisfied expression I so linked to see; and when I offered the little nosegay, held it carefully in his great hand, smoothed a ruffled52 leaf or two, surveyed and smelt53 it with an air of genuine delight, and lay contentedly54 regarding the glimmer55 of the sunshine on the green. Although the manliest56 man among my forty, he said, “Yes, ma'am,” like a little boy; received suggestions for his comfort with the quick smile that brightened his whole face; and now and then, as I stood tidying the table by his bed, I felt him softly touch my gown, as if to assure himself that I was there. Anything more natural and frank I never saw, and found this brave John as bashful as brave, yet full of excellences57 and fine aspirations58, which, having no power to express themselves in words, seemed to have bloomed into his character and made him what he was.
After that night, an hour of each evening that remained to him was devoted59 to his ease or pleasure. He could not talk much, for breath was precious, and he spoke in whispers; but from occasional conversations, I gleaned60 scraps61 of private history which only added to the affection and respect I felt for him. Once he asked me to write a letter, and, as I settled pen and paper, I said, with an irrepressible glimmer of feminine curiosity, “Shall it be addressed to wife, or mother, John?”
“Neither, ma'am; I've got no wife, and will write to mother myself when I get better. Did you think I was married because of this?” he asked, touching a plain ring he wore, and often turned thoughtfully on his finger when he lay alone.
“Partly that, but more from a settled sort of look you have,—a look which young men seldom get until they marry.”
“I don't know that; but I'm not so very young, ma'am; thirty in May and have been what you might call settled this ten years; for mother's a widow; I'm the oldest child she has, and it wouldn't do for me to marry until Lizzie has a home of her own, and Laurie's learned his trade; for we're not rich, and I must be father to the children, and husband to the dear old woman, if I can.”
“No doubt but you are both, John; yet how came you to go to war, if you felt so? Wasn't enlisting62 as bad as marrying?”
“No, ma'am, not as I see it, for one is helping63 my neighbor, the other pleasing myself. I went because I couldn't help it. I didn't want the glory or the pay; I wanted the right thing done, and people kept saying the men who were in earnest ought to flight. I was in earnest, the Lord knows! but I held off as long as I could, not knowing which was my duty; mother saw the case, gave me her ring to keep me steady, and said 'Go;' so I went.”
A short story and a simple one, but the man and the mother were portrayed64 better than pages of fine writing could have done it.
“Do you ever regret that you came, when you lie here suffering so much?”
“Never ma'am; I haven't helped a great deal, but I've shown I was willing to give my life, and perhaps I've got to; but I don't blame anybody, and if it was to do over again, I'd do it. I'm a little sorry I wasn't wounded in front; it looks cowardly to be hit in the back, but I obeyed orders, and it doesn't matter in the end, I know.”
Poor John! it did not matter now, except that a shot in front might have spared the long agony in store for him. He seemed to read the thought that troubled me, as he spoke so hopefully when there was no hope, for he suddenly added,—
“This is my first battle; do they think it's going to be my last?”
“I'm afraid they do, John.”
It was the hardest question I had ever been called upon to answer; doubly hard with those clear eyes fixed65 on mine, forcing a truthful66 answer by their own truth. He seemed a little startled at first, pondered over the fateful fact a moment, then shook his head, with a glance at the broad chest and muscular limbs stretched out before him:—
“I'm not afraid, but it's difficult to believe all at once. I'm so strong it don't seem possible for such a little wound to kill me.”
Merry Mercutio's dying words glanced through my memory as he spoke:—“'Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but 'tis enough.” And John would have said the same, could he have seen the ominous67 black holes between his shoulders, he never had; and, seeing the ghastly sights about him, could not believe his own wound more fatal than these, for all the suffering it caused him.
“Shall I write to your mother, now?” I asked, thinking that these sudden tidings might change all plans and purposes; but they did not; for the man received the order of the Divine Commander to march, with the same unquestioning obedience68 with which the soldier had received that of the human one, doubtless remembering that the first led him to life, and the last to death.
“No, ma'am; to Laurie just the same; he'll break it to her best, and I'll add a line to her myself when you get done.”
So I wrote the letter which he dictated69, finding it better than any I had sent; for, though here and there a little ungrammatical or inelegant, each sentence came to me briefly70 worded, but most expressive71; full of excellent counsel to the boy, tenderly “bequeathing mother and Lizzie” to his care, and bidding him good-by in words the sadder for their simplicity72. He added a few lines with steady hand, and, as I sealed it, said, with a patient sort of sigh, “I hope the answer will come in time for me to see it;” then, turning away his face, laid the flowers against his lips, as if to hide some quiver of emotion at the thought of such a sudden sundering73 of all the dear home-ties.
These things had happened two days before; now John was dying, and the letter had not come. I had been summoned to many death-beds in my life, but to none that made my heart ache as it did then, since my mother called me to watch the departure of a spirit akin74 to this in its gentleness and patient strength. As I went in, John stretched out both hands,—
“I knew you'd come! I guess I'm moving on, ma'am.”
He was; and so rapidly that, even while he spoke, over his face I saw the gray veil falling that no human hand can lift. I sat down by him, wiped the drops from his forehead, stirred the air about him with the slow wave of a fan, and waited to help him die. He stood in sore need of help,—and I could do so little; for, as the doctor had foretold75, the strong body rebelled against death, and fought every inch of the way, forcing him to draw each breath with a spasm76, and clench77 his hands with an imploring78 look, as if he asked, “How long must I endure this, and be still?” For hours he suffered dumbly, without a moment's respite79, or a moment's murmuring; his limbs grew cold, his face damp, his lips white, and, again and again, he tore the covering off his breast, as if the lightest weight added to his agony; yet through it all, his eyes never lost their perfect serenity, and the man's soul seemed to sit therein, undaunted by the ills that vexed80 his flesh.
One by one the men woke, and round the room appeared a circle of pale faces and watchful81 eyes, full of awe82 and pity; for, though a stranger, John was beloved by all. Each man there had wondered at his patience, respected his piety, admired his fortitude83, and now lamented84 his hard death; for the influence of an upright nature had made itself deeply felt, even in one little week. Presently, the Jonathan who so loved this comely David came creeping from his bed for a last look and word. The kind soul was full of trouble, as the choke in his voice, the grasp of his hand betrayed; but there were no tears, and the farewell of the friends was the more touching for its brevity.
“Most through, thank heaven!” whispered the other.
“Can I say or do anything for you anywheres?”
“Take my things home, and tell them that I did my best.”
“I will! I will!”
“Good-by, Ned.”
“Good-by, John, good-by!”
They kissed each other, tenderly as women, and so parted; for poor Ned could not stay to see his comrade die. For a little while, there was no sound in the room but the drip of water from a stump86 or two, and John's distressful87 gasps88, as he slowly breathed his life away. I thought him nearly gone, and had just laid down the fan, believing its help to be no longer needed, when suddenly he rose up in his bed, and cried out with a bitter cry that broke the silence, sharply startling every one with its agonized89 appeal,—
“For God's sake, give me air!”
It was the only cry pain or death had wrung from him, the only boon90 he had asked; and none of us could grant it, for all the airs that blew were useless now. Dan flung up the window. The first red streak91 of dawn was warming the gray east, a herald92 of the coming sun. John saw it, and with the love of light which lingers in us to the end, seemed to read in it a sign of hope of help, for, over his whole face there broke that mysterious expression, brighter than any smile, which often comes to eyes that look their last. He laid himself gently down; and, stretching out his strong right arm, as if to grasp and bring the blessed air to his lips in a fuller flow, lapsed93 into a merciful unconsciousness, which assured us that for him suffering was forever past. He died then; for, though the heavy breaths still tore their way up for a little longer, they were but the waves of an ebbing94 tide that beat unfelt against the wreck95, which an immortal96 voyager had deserted97 with a smile. He never spoke again, but to the end held my hand close, so close that when he was asleep at last, I could not draw it away. Dan helped me, warning me as he did so, that it was unsafe for dead and living flesh to lie so long together; but though my hand was strangely cold and stiff, and four white marks remained across its back, even when warmth and color had returned elsewhere, I could not but be glad that, through its touch, the presence of human sympathy, perhaps, had lightened that hard hour.
When they had made him ready for the grave, John lay in state for half an hour, a thing which seldom happened in that busy place; but a universal sentiment of reverence98 and affection seemed to fill the hearts of all who had known or heard of him; and when the rumor99 of his death went through the house, always astir, many came to see him, and I felt a tender sort of pride in my lost patient; for he looked a most heroic figure, lying there stately and still as the statue of some young knight100 asleep upon his tomb. The lovely expression which so often beautifies dead faces soon replaced the marks of pain, and I longed for those who loved him best to see him when half an hour's acquaintance with Death had made them friends. As we stood looking at him, the ward20 master handed me a letter, saying it had been forgotten the night before. It was John's letter, come just an hour too late to gladden the eyes that had longed and looked for it so eagerly; yet he had it; for, after I had cut some brown locks for his mother, and taken off the ring to send her, telling how well the talisman101 had done its work, I kissed this good son for her sake, and laid the letter in his hand, still folded as when I drew my own away, feeling that its place was there, and making myself happy with the thought, even in his solitary102 place in the “Government Lot,” he would not be without some token of the love which makes life beautiful and outlives death. Then I left him, glad to have known so genuine a man, and carrying with me an enduring memory of the brave Virginia blacksmith, as he lay serenely103 waiting for the dawn of that long day which knows no night.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
sketches
|
|
| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
dreaded
|
|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
serenest
|
|
| serene（沉静的，宁静的，安宁的）的最高级形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
5
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
fretted
|
|
| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
kindliness
|
|
| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
behold
|
|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
excellence
|
|
| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
lengthened
|
|
| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
stature
|
|
| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
tranquilly
|
|
| adv. 宁静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
warrior
|
|
| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
comely
|
|
| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
vigor
|
|
| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
straightforward
|
|
| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
ward
|
|
| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
scrutinized
|
|
| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
serenity
|
|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
submission
|
|
| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
piety
|
|
| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
rib
|
|
| n.肋骨，肋状物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
suffocate
|
|
| vt.使窒息，使缺氧，阻碍；vi.窒息，窒息而亡，阻碍发展 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
vitality
|
|
| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
temperate
|
|
| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
eternity
|
|
| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
privately
|
|
| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
rendering
|
|
| n.表现，描写 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
fidelity
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
magnetism
|
|
| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
solace
|
|
| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
Forsaken
|
|
| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
eloquently
|
|
| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
modesty
|
|
| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
wrung
|
|
| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
hovered
|
|
| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
remorseful
|
|
| adj.悔恨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
heliotrope
|
|
| n.天芥菜；淡紫色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
ruffled
|
|
| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
smelt
|
|
| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
contentedly
|
|
| adv.心满意足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
glimmer
|
|
| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
manliest
|
|
| manly（有男子气概的）的最高级形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
57
excellences
|
|
| n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 )；（只用于所修饰的名词后）杰出的；卓越的；出类拔萃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
gleaned
|
|
| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
scraps
|
|
| 油渣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
enlisting
|
|
| v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的现在分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
portrayed
|
|
| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
truthful
|
|
| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
ominous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
obedience
|
|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
dictated
|
|
| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
sundering
|
|
| v.隔开，分开( sunder的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
akin
|
|
| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
foretold
|
|
| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
spasm
|
|
| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
clench
|
|
| vt.捏紧（拳头等），咬紧（牙齿等），紧紧握住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
imploring
|
|
| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
respite
|
|
| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
fortitude
|
|
| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
lamented
|
|
| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
faltered
|
|
| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
stump
|
|
| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
distressful
|
|
| adj.苦难重重的，不幸的，使苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
gasps
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
agonized
|
|
| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
boon
|
|
| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
streak
|
|
| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
herald
|
|
| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
lapsed
|
|
| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
ebbing
|
|
| （指潮水）退( ebb的现在分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
wreck
|
|
| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
immortal
|
|
| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
reverence
|
|
| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
rumor
|
|
| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
talisman
|
|
| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
serenely
|
|
| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |