I remember that it came upon me with a sort of surprise at the moment that we had never thought or spoken much of Margaret Debree as beautiful. We were so accustomed to her; we had known her so long, we had known her always. We had never analyzed2 our admiration3 of her. She had so many qualities that are better than beauty that we had not credited her with the more obvious attraction. And perhaps she had just become visibly beautiful. It may be that there is an instant in a girl's life corresponding to what the Puritans called conversion4 in the soul, when the physical qualities, long maturing, suddenly glow in an effect which we call beauty. It cannot be that women do not have a consciousness of it, perhaps of the instant of its advent5. I remember when I was a child that I used to think that a stick of peppermint6 candy must burn with a consciousness of its own deliciousness.
Margaret was just turned twenty. As she paused there in the doorway7 her physical perfection flashed upon me for the first time. Of course I do not mean perfection, for perfection has no promise in it, rather the sad note of limit, and presently recession. In the rounded, exquisite8 lines of her figure there was the promise of that ineffable9 fullness and delicacy10 of womanhood which all the world raves11 about and destroys and mourns. It is not fulfilled always in the most beautiful, and perhaps never except to the woman who loves passionately12, and believes she is loved with a devotion that exalts14 her body and soul above every other human being.
It is certain that Margaret's beauty was not classic. Her features were irregular even to piquancy15. The chin had strength; the mouth was sensitive and not too small; the shapely nose with thin nostrils16 had an assertive17 quality that contradicted the impression of humility18 in the eyes when downcast; the large gray eyes were uncommonly19 soft and clear, an appearance of alternate tenderness and brilliancy as they were veiled or uncovered by the long lashes20. They were gently commanding eyes, and no doubt her most effective point. Her abundant hair, brown with a touch of red in it in some lights, fell over her broad forehead in the fashion of the time. She had a way of carrying her head, of throwing it back at times, that was not exactly imperious, and conveyed the impression of spirit rather than of mere21 vivacity22. These details seem to me all inadequate23 and misleading, for the attraction of the face that made it interesting is still undefined. I hesitate to say that there was a dimple near the corner of her mouth that revealed itself when she smiled lest this shall seem mere prettiness, but it may have been the keynote of her face. I only knew there was something about it that won the heart, as a too conscious or assertive beauty never does. She may have been plain, and I may have seen the loveliness of her nature, which I knew well, in features that gave less sign of it to strangers. Yet I noticed that Mr. Lyon gave her a quick second glance, and his manner was instantly that of deference24, or at least attention, which he had shown to no other lady in the room. And the whimsical idea came into my mind--we are all so warped25 by international possibilities--to observe whether she did not walk like a countess (that is, as a countess ought to walk) as she advanced to shake hands with my wife. It is so easy to turn life into a comedy!
Margaret's great-grandmother--no, it was her great-great-grandmother, but we have kept the Revolutionary period so warm lately that it seems near--was a Newport belle26, who married an officer in the suite27 of Rochambeau what time the French defenders28 of liberty conquered the women of Rhode Island. After the war was over, our officer resigned his love of glory for the heart of one of the loveliest women and the care of the best plantation29 on the Island. I have seen a miniature of her, which her lover wore at Yorktown, and which he always swore that Washington coveted--a miniature painted by a wandering artist of the day, which entirely30 justifies31 the French officer in his abandonment of the trade of a soldier. Such is man in his best estate. A charming face can make him campaign and fight and slay32 like a demon33, can make a coward of him, can fill him with ambition to win the world, and can tame him into the domesticity of a drawing-room cat. There is this noble capacity in man to respond to the divinest thing visible to him in this world. Etienne Debree became, I believe, a very good citizen of the republic, and in '93 used occasionally to shake his head with satisfaction to find that it was still on his shoulders. I am not sure that he ever visited Mount Vernon, but after Washington's death Debree's intimacy34 with our first President became a more and more important part of his life and conversation. There is a pleasant tradition that Lafayette, when he was here in 1784, embraced the young bride in the French manner, and that this salute35 was valued as a sort of heirloom in the family.
I always thought that Margaret inherited her New England conscience from her great-great-grandmother, and a certain esprit or gayety--that is, a sub-gayety which was never frivolity--from her French ancestor. Her father and mother had died when she was ten years old, and she had been reared by a maiden36 aunt, with whom she still lived. The combined fortunes of both required economy, and after Margaret had passed her school course she added to their resources by teaching in a public school. I remember that she taught history, following, I suppose, the American notion that any one can teach history who has a text-book, just as he or she can teach literature with the same help. But it happened that Margaret was a better teacher than many, because she had not learned history in school, but in her father's well-selected library.
There was a little stir at Margaret's entrance; Mr. Lyon was introduced to her, and my wife, with that subtle feeling for effect which women have, slightly changed the lights. Perhaps Margaret's complexion38 or her black dress made this readjustment necessary to the harmony of the room. Perhaps she felt the presence of a different temperament39 in the little circle.
I never can tell exactly what it is that guides her in regard to the influence of light and color upon the intercourse40 of people, upon their conversation, making it take one cast or another. Men are susceptible41 to these influences, but it is women alone who understand how to produce them. And a woman who has not this subtle feeling always lacks charm, however intellectual she may be; I always think of her as sitting in the glare of disenchanting sunlight as indifferent to the exposure as a man would be. I know in a general way that a sunset light induces one kind of talk and noonday light another, and I have learned that talk always brightens up with the addition of a fresh crackling stick to the fire. I shouldn't have known how to change the lights for Margaret, although I think I had as distinct an impression of her personality as had my wife. There was nothing disturbing in it; indeed, I never saw her otherwise than serene42, even when her voice betrayed strong emotion. The quality that impressed me most, however, was her sincerity43, coupled with intellectual courage and clearness that had almost the effect of brilliancy, though I never thought of her as a brilliant woman.
"What mischief44 have you been attempting, Mr. Morgan?" asked Margaret, as she took a chair near him. "Were you trying to make Mr. Lyon comfortable by dragging in Bunker Hill?"
"No; that was Mr. Fairchild, in his capacity as host."
"Oh, I'm sure you needn't mind me," said Mr. Lyon, good-humoredly. "I landed in Boston, and the first thing I went to see was the Monument. It struck me as so odd, you know, that the Americans should begin life by celebrating their first defeat."
"That is our way," replied Margaret, quickly. "We have started on a new basis over here; we win by losing. He who loses his life shall find it. If the red slayer45 thinks he slays46 he is mistaken. You know the Southerners say that they surrendered at last simply because they got tired of beating the North."
"How odd!"
"Miss Debree simply means," I exclaimed, "that we have inherited from the English an inability to know when we are whipped."
"But we were not fighting the battle of Bunker Hill, or fighting about it, which is more serious, Miss Debree. What I wanted to ask you was whether you think the domestication47 of religion will affect its power in the regulation of conduct."
"Domestication? You are too deep for me, Mr. Morgan. I don't any more understand you than I comprehend the writers who write about the feminization of literature."
"Well, taking the mystery out of it, the predominant element of worship, making the churches sort of good-will charitable associations for the spread of sociability48 and good-feeling."
"You mean making Christianity practical?"
"Partially50 that. It is a part of the general problem of what women are going to make of the world, now they have got hold of it, or are getting hold of it, and are discontented with being women, or with being treated as women, and are bringing their emotions into all the avocations51 of life."
"They cannot make it any worse than it has been."
"I'm not sure of that. Robustness52 is needed in churches as much as in government. I don't know how much the cause of religion is advanced by these church clubs of Christian49 Endeavor if that is the name, associations of young boys and girls who go about visiting other like clubs in a sufficiently53 hilarious54 manner. I suppose it's the spirit of the age. I'm just wondering whether the world is getting to think more of having a good time than it is of salvation55."
"And you think woman's influence--for you cannot mean anything else--is somehow taking the vigor56 out of affairs, making even the church a soft, purring affair, reducing us all to what I suppose you would call a mush of domesticity."
"Or femininity."
"Well, the world has been brutal57 enough; it had better try a little femininity now."
"I hope it will not be more cruel to women."
"That is not an argument; that is a stab. I fancy you are altogether skeptical58 about woman. Do you believe in her education?"
"Up to a certain point, or rather, I should say, after a certain point."
"That's it," spoke1 up my wife, shading her eyes from the fire with a fan. "I begin to have my doubts about education as a panacea59. I've noticed that girls with only a smattering--and most of them in the nature of things can go, no further--are more liable to temptations."
"That is because 'education' is mistaken for the giving of information without training, as we are finding out in England," said Mr. Lyon.
"Or that it is dangerous to awaken60 the imagination without a heavy ballast of principle," said Mr. Morgan.
"That is a beautiful sentiment," Margaret exclaimed, throwing back her head, with a flash from her eyes. "That ought to shut out women entirely. Only I cannot see how teaching women what men know is going to give them any less principle than men have. It has seemed to me a long while that the time has come for treating women like human beings, and giving them the responsibility of their position."
"And what do you want, Margaret?" I asked.
"I don't know exactly what I do want," she answered, sinking back in her chair, sincerity coming to modify her enthusiasm. "I don't want to go to Congress, or be a sheriff, or a lawyer, or a locomotive engineer. I want the freedom of my own being, to be interested in everything in the world, to feel its life as men do. You don't know what it is to have an inferior person condescend61 to you simply because he is a man."
"Yet you wish to be treated as a woman?" queried62 Mr. Morgan.
"Of course. Do you think I want to banish63 romance out of the world?"
"You are right, my dear," said my wife. "The only thing that makes society any better than an industrial ant-hill is the love between women and men, blind and destructive as it often is."
"Well," said Mrs. Morgan, rising to go, "having got back to first principles--"
"You think it is best to take your husband home before he denies even them," Mr. Morgan added.
When the others had gone, Margaret sat by the fire, musing64, as if no one else were in the room. The Englishman, still alert and eager for information, regarded her with growing interest. It came into my mind as odd that, being such an uninteresting people as we are, the English should be so curious about us. After an interval65, Mr. Lyon said:
"I beg your pardon, Miss Debree, but would you mind telling me whether the movement of Women's Rights is gaining in America?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Lyon," Margaret replied, after a pause, with a look of weariness. "I'm tired of all the talk about it. I wish men and women, every soul of them, would try to make the most of themselves, and see what would come of that."
"But in some places they vote about schools, and you have conventions--"
"Did you ever attend any kind of convention yourself, Mr. Lyon?"
"I? No. Why?"
"Oh, nothing. Neither did I. But you have a right to, you know. I should like to ask you one question, Mr. Lyon," the girl, continued, rising.
"Should be most obliged."
"Why is it that so few English women marry Americans?"
"I--I never thought of that," he stammered66, reddening. "Perhaps--perhaps it's because of American women."
"Thank you," said Margaret, with a little courtesy. "It's very nice of you to say that. I can begin to see now why so many American women marry Englishmen."
The Englishman blushed still more, and Margaret said good-night.
It was quite evident the next day that Margaret had made an impression on our visitor, and that he was struggling with some new idea.
"Did you say, Mrs. Fairchild," he asked my wife, "that Miss Debree is a teacher? It seems very odd."
"No; I said she taught in one of our schools. I don't think she is exactly a teacher."
"Not intending always to teach?"
"I don't suppose she has any definite intentions, but I never think of her as a teacher."
"She's so bright, and--and interesting, don't you think? So American?"
"Yes; Miss Debree is one of the exceptions."
"Oh, I didn't mean that all American women were as clever as Miss Debree."
"Thank you," said my wife. And Mr. Lyon looked as if he couldn't see why she should thank him.
The cottage in which Margaret lived with her aunt, Miss Forsythe, was not far from our house. In summer it was very pretty, with its vine-shaded veranda67 across the front; and even in winter, with the inevitable68 raggedness69 of deciduous70 vines, it had an air of refinement71, a promise which the cheerful interior more than fulfilled. Margaret's parting word to my wife the night before had been that she thought her aunt would like to see the "chrysalis earl," and as Mr. Lyon had expressed a desire to see something more of what he called the "gentry72" of New England, my wife ended their afternoon walk at Miss Forsythe's.
It was one of the winter days which are rare in New England, but of which there had been a succession all through the Christmas holidays. Snow had not yet come, all the earth was brown and frozen, whichever way you looked the interlacing branches and twigs73 of the trees made a delicate lace-work, the sky was gray-blue, and the low-sailing sun had just enough heat to evoke74 moisture from the frosty ground and suffuse75 the atmosphere into softness, in which all the landscape became poetic76. The phenomenon known as "red sunsets" was faintly repeated in the greenish crimson77 glow along the violet hills, in which Venus burned like a jewel.
There was a fire smoldering78 on the hearth79 in the room they entered, which seemed to be sitting-room80, library, parlor81, all in one; the old table of oak, too substantial for ornament82, was strewn with late periodicals and pamphlets--English, American, and French--and with books which lay unarranged as they were thrown down from recent reading. In the centre was a bunch of red roses in a pale-blue Granada jug83. Miss Forsythe rose from a seat in the western window, with a book in her hand, to greet her callers. She was slender, like Margaret, but taller, with soft brown eyes and hair streaked84 with gray, which, sweeping85 plainly aside from her forehead in a fashion then antiquated86, contrasted finely with the flush of pink in her cheeks. This flush did not suggest youth, but rather ripeness, the tone that comes with the lines made in the face by gentle acceptance of the inevitable in life. In her quiet and self-possessed manner there was a little note of graceful87 timidity, not perhaps noticeable in itself, but in contrast with that unmistakable air of confidence which a woman married always has, and which in the unrefined becomes assertive, an exaggerated notion of her importance, of the value added to her opinions by the act of marriage. You can see it in her air the moment she walks away from the altar, keeping step to Mendelssohn's tune37. Jack88 Sharpley says that she always seems to be saying, "Well, I've done it once for all." This assumption of the married must be one of the hardest things for single women to bear in their self-congratulating sisters.
I have no doubt that Georgiana Forsythe was a charming girl, spirited and handsome; for the beauty of her years, almost pathetic in its dignity and self-renunciation, could not have followed mere prettiness or a commonplace experience. What that had been I never inquired, but it had not soured her. She was not communicative nor confidential89, I fancy, with any one, but she was always friendly and sympathetic to the trouble of others, and helpful in an undemonstrative way. If she herself had a secret feeling that her life was a failure, it never impressed her friends so, it was so even, and full of good offices and quiet enjoyment90. Heaven only knows, however, the pathos91 of this apparently92 undisturbed life. For did a woman ever live who would not give all the years of tasteless serenity93, for one year, for one month, for one hour, of the uncalculating delirium94 of love poured out upon a man who returned it? It may be better for the world that there are these women to whom life has still some mysteries, who are capable of illusions and the sweet sentimentality that grows out of a romance unrealized.
Although the recent books were on Miss Forsythe's table, her tastes and culture were of the past age. She admired Emerson and Tennyson. One may keep current with the news of the world without changing his principles. I imagine that Miss Forsythe read without injury to herself the passionate13 and the pantheistic novels of the young women who have come forward in these days of emancipation95 to teach their grandmothers a new basis of morality, and to render meaningless all the consoling epitaphs on the mossy New England gravestones. She read Emerson for his sweet spirit, for his belief in love and friendship, her simple Congregationalist faith remaining undisturbed by his philosophy, from which she took only a habit of toleration.
"Miss Debree has gone to church," she said, in answer to Mr. Lyon's glance around the room.
"To vespers?"
"I believe they call it that. Our evening meetings, you know, only begin at early candlelight."
"And you do not belong to the Church?"
"Oh, yes, to the ancient aristocratic church of colonial times," she replied, with a little smile of amusement. "My niece has stepped off Plymouth Rock."
"And was your religion founded on Plymouth Rock?"
"My niece says so when I rally her deserting the faith of her fathers," replied Miss Forsythe, laughing at the working of the Episcopalian mind.
"I should like to understand about that; I mean about the position of Dissenters96 in America."
"I'm afraid I could not help you, Mr. Lyon. I fancy an Englishman would have to be born again, as the phrase used to be, to comprehend that."
While Mr. Lyon was still unsatisfied on this point, he found the conversation shifted to the other side. Perhaps it was a new experience to him that women should lead and not follow in conversation. At any rate, it was an experience that put him at his ease. Miss Forsythe was a great admirer of Gladstone and of General Gordon, and she expressed her admiration with a knowledge that showed she had read the English newspapers.
"Yet I confess I don't comprehend Gladstone's conduct with regard to Egypt and Gordon's relief," she said.
"Perhaps," interposed my wife, "it would have been better for Gordon if he had trusted Providence97 more and Gladstone less."
"I suppose it was Gladstone's humanity that made him hesitate."
"To bombard Alexandria?" asked Mr. Lyon, with a look of asperity98.
"That was a mistake to be expected of a Tory, but not of Mr. Gladstone, who seems always seeking the broadest principles of justice in his statesmanship."
"Yes, we regard Mr. Gladstone as a very great man, Miss Forsythe. He is broad enough. You know we consider him a rhetorical phenomenon. Unfortunately he always 'muffs' anything he touches."
"I suspected," Miss Forsythe replied, after a moment, "that party spirit ran as high in England as it does with us, and is as personal."
Mr. Lyon disclaimed99 any personal feeling, and the talk drifted into a comparison of English and American politics, mainly with reference to the social factor in English politics, which is so little an element here.
In the midst of the talk Margaret came in. The brisk walk in the rosy100 twilight101 had heightened her color, and given her a glowing expression which her face had not the night before, and a tenderness and softness, an unworldliness, brought from the quiet hour in the church.
"My lady comes at last,
Timid and stepping fast,
And hastening hither,
Her modest eyes downcast."
She greeted the stranger with a Puritan undemonstrativeness, and as if not exactly aware of his presence.
"I should like to have gone to vespers if I had known," said Mr. Lyon, after an embarrassing pause.
"Yes?" asked the girl, still abstractedly. "The world seems in a vesper mood," she added, looking out the west windows at the red sky and the evening star.
In truth Nature herself at the moment suggested that talk was an impertinence. The callers rose to go, with an exchange of neighborhood friendliness102 and invitations.
"I had no idea," said Mr. Lyon, as they walked homeward, "what the New World was like."
1 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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2 analyzed | |
v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 );分解;解释;对…进行心理分析 | |
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3 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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4 conversion | |
n.转化,转换,转变 | |
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5 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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6 peppermint | |
n.薄荷,薄荷油,薄荷糖 | |
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7 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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8 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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9 ineffable | |
adj.无法表达的,不可言喻的 | |
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10 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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11 raves | |
n.狂欢晚会( rave的名词复数 )v.胡言乱语( rave的第三人称单数 );愤怒地说;咆哮;痴心地说 | |
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12 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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13 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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14 exalts | |
赞扬( exalt的第三人称单数 ); 歌颂; 提升; 提拔 | |
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15 piquancy | |
n.辛辣,辣味,痛快 | |
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16 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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17 assertive | |
adj.果断的,自信的,有冲劲的 | |
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18 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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19 uncommonly | |
adv. 稀罕(极,非常) | |
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20 lashes | |
n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 );鞭子;突然猛烈的一击;急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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21 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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22 vivacity | |
n.快活,活泼,精神充沛 | |
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23 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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24 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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25 warped | |
adj.反常的;乖戾的;(变)弯曲的;变形的v.弄弯,变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 );使(行为等)不合情理,使乖戾, | |
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26 belle | |
n.靓女 | |
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27 suite | |
n.一套(家具);套房;随从人员 | |
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28 defenders | |
n.防御者( defender的名词复数 );守卫者;保护者;辩护者 | |
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29 plantation | |
n.种植园,大农场 | |
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30 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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31 justifies | |
证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 ); 为…辩护; 对…作出解释; 为…辩解(或辩护) | |
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32 slay | |
v.杀死,宰杀,杀戮 | |
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33 demon | |
n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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34 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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35 salute | |
vi.行礼,致意,问候,放礼炮;vt.向…致意,迎接,赞扬;n.招呼,敬礼,礼炮 | |
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36 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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37 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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38 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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39 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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40 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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41 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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42 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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43 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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44 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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45 slayer | |
n. 杀人者,凶手 | |
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46 slays | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的第三人称单数 ) | |
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47 domestication | |
n.驯养,驯化 | |
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48 sociability | |
n.好交际,社交性,善于交际 | |
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49 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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50 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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51 avocations | |
n.业余爱好,嗜好( avocation的名词复数 );职业 | |
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52 robustness | |
坚固性,健壮性;鲁棒性 | |
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53 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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54 hilarious | |
adj.充满笑声的,欢闹的;[反]depressed | |
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55 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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56 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
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57 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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58 skeptical | |
adj.怀疑的,多疑的 | |
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59 panacea | |
n.万灵药;治百病的灵药 | |
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60 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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61 condescend | |
v.俯就,屈尊;堕落,丢丑 | |
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62 queried | |
v.质疑,对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 );询问 | |
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63 banish | |
vt.放逐,驱逐;消除,排除 | |
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64 musing | |
n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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65 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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66 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67 veranda | |
n.走廊;阳台 | |
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68 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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69 raggedness | |
破烂,粗糙 | |
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70 deciduous | |
adj.非永久的;短暂的;脱落的;落叶的 | |
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71 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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72 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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73 twigs | |
细枝,嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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74 evoke | |
vt.唤起,引起,使人想起 | |
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75 suffuse | |
v.(色彩等)弥漫,染遍 | |
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76 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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77 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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78 smoldering | |
v.用文火焖烧,熏烧,慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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79 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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80 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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81 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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82 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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83 jug | |
n.(有柄,小口,可盛水等的)大壶,罐,盂 | |
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84 streaked | |
adj.有条斑纹的,不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 );使布满条纹 | |
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85 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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86 antiquated | |
adj.陈旧的,过时的 | |
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87 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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88 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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89 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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90 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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91 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
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92 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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93 serenity | |
n.宁静,沉着,晴朗 | |
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94 delirium | |
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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95 emancipation | |
n.(从束缚、支配下)解放 | |
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96 dissenters | |
n.持异议者,持不同意见者( dissenter的名词复数 ) | |
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97 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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98 asperity | |
n.粗鲁,艰苦 | |
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99 disclaimed | |
v.否认( disclaim的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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101 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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102 friendliness | |
n.友谊,亲切,亲密 | |
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