It was very manifest in the disorder1 of papers amidst which White spent so many evenings of interested perplexity before this novel began to be written that Benham had never made any systematic2 attempt at editing or revising his accumulation at all. There were not only overlapping3 documents, in which he had returned again to old ideas and restated them in the light of fresh facts and an apparent unconsciousness of his earlier effort, but there were mutually destructive papers, new views quite ousting5 the old had been tossed in upon the old, and the very definition of the second limitation, as it had first presented itself to the writer, had been abandoned. To begin with, this second division had been labelled "Sex," in places the heading remained, no effective substitute had been chosen for some time, but there was a closely-written memorandum6, very much erased7 and written over and amended8, which showed Benham's early dissatisfaction with that crude rendering9 of what he had in mind. This memorandum was tacked10 to an interrupted fragment of autobiography11, a manuscript soliloquy in which Benham had been discussing his married life.
"It was not until I had been married for the better part of a year, and had spent more than six months in London, that I faced the plain issue between the aims I had set before myself and the claims and immediate12 necessities of my personal life. For all that time I struggled not so much to reconcile them as to serve them simultaneously13...."
At that the autobiography stopped short, and the intercalary note began.
This intercalary note ran as follows:
"I suppose a mind of my sort cannot help but tend towards simplification, towards making all life turn upon some one dominant15 idea, complex perhaps in its reality but reducible at last to one consistent simple statement, a dominant idea which is essential as nothing else is essential, which makes and sustains and justifies16. This is perhaps the innate17 disposition18 of the human mind, at least of the European mind--for I have some doubts about the Chinese. Theology drives obstinately19 towards an ultimate unity20 in God, science towards an ultimate unity in law, towards a fundamental element and a universal material truth from which all material truths evolve, and in matters of conduct there is the same tendency to refer to a universal moral law. Now this may be a simplification due to the need of the human mind to comprehend, and its inability to do so until the load is lightened by neglecting factors. William James has suggested that on account of this, theology may be obstinately working away from the truth, that the truth may be that there are several or many in compatible and incommensurable gods; science, in the same search for unity, may follow divergent methods of inquiry22 into ultimately uninterchangeable generalizations23; and there may be not only not one universal moral law, but no effective reconciliation24 of the various rights and duties of a single individual. At any rate I find myself doubtful to this day about my own personal systems of right and wrong. I can never get all my life into one focus. It is exactly like examining a rather thick section with a microscope of small penetration25; sometimes one level is clear and the rest foggy and monstrous26, and sometimes another.
"Now the ruling ME, I do not doubt, is the man who has set his face to this research after aristocracy, and from the standpoint of this research it is my duty to subordinate all other considerations to this work of clearing up the conception of rule and nobility in human affairs. This is my aristocratic self. What I did not grasp for a long time, and which now grows clearer and clearer to me, is firstly that this aristocratic self is not the whole of me, it has absolutely nothing to do with a pain in my ear or in my heart, with a scar on my hand or my memory, and secondly28 that it is not altogether mine. Whatever knowledge I have of the quality of science, whatever will I have towards right, is of it; but if from without, from the reasoning or demonstration29 or reproof30 of some one else, there comes to me clear knowledge, clarified will, that also is as it were a part of my aristocratic self coming home to me from the outside. How often have I not found my own mind in Prothero after I have failed to find it in myself? It is, to be paradoxical, my impersonal31 personality, this Being that I have in common with all scientific-spirited and aristocratic-spirited men. This it is that I am trying to get clear from the great limitations of humanity. When I assert a truth for the sake of truth to my own discomfort32 or injury, there again is this incompatibility33 of the aristocratic self and the accepted, confused, conglomerate34 self of the unanalyzed man. The two have a separate system of obligations. One's affections, compounded as they are in the strangest way of physical reactions and emotional associations, one's implicit35 pledges to particular people, one's involuntary reactions, one's pride and jealousy36, all that one might call the dramatic side of one's life, may be in conflict with the definitely seen rightnesses of one's higher use...."
The writing changed at this point.
"All this seems to me at once as old as the hills and too new to be true. This is like the conflict of the Superior Man of Confucius to control himself, it is like the Christian37 battle of the spirit with the flesh, it savours of that eternal wrangle38 between the general and the particular which is metaphysics, it was for this aristocratic self, for righteousness' sake, that men have hungered and thirsted, and on this point men have left father and mother and child and wife and followed after salvation39. This world-wide, ever-returning antagonism40 has filled the world in every age with hermits41 and lamas, recluses42 and teachers, devoted43 and segregated44 lives. It is a perpetual effort to get above the simplicity45 of barbarism. Whenever men have emerged from the primitive46 barbarism of the farm and the tribe, then straightway there has emerged this conception of a specialized47 life a little lifted off the earth; often, for the sake of freedom, celibate48, usually disciplined, sometimes directed, having a generalized aim, beyond personal successes and bodily desires. So it is that the philosopher, the scientifically concentrated man, has appeared, often, I admit, quite ridiculously at first, setting out upon the long journey that will end only when the philosopher is king....
"At first I called my Second Limitation, Sex. But from the outset I meant more than mere49 sexual desire, lust50 and lustful51 imaginings, more than personal reactions to beauty and spirited living, more even than what is called love. On the one hand I had in mind many appetites that are not sexual yet turn to bodily pleasure, and on the other there are elements of pride arising out of sex and passing into other regions, all the elements of rivalry52 for example, that have strained my first definition to the utmost. And I see now that this Second Limitation as I first imagined it spreads out without any definite boundary, to include one's rivalries53 with old schoolfellows, for example, one's generosities54 to beggars and dependents, one's desire to avenge55 an injured friend, one's point of honour, one's regard for the good opinion of an aunt and one's concern for the health of a pet cat. All these things may enrich, but they may also impede56 and limit the aristocratic scheme. I thought for a time I would call this ill-defined and miscellaneous wilderness57 of limitation the Personal Life. But at last I have decided58 to divide this vast territory of difficulties into two subdivisions and make one of these Indulgence, meaning thereby59 pleasurable indulgence of sense or feeling, and the other a great mass of self-regarding motives60 that will go with a little stretching under the heading of Jealousy. I admit motives are continually playing across the boundary of these two divisions, I should find it difficult to argue a case for my classification, but in practice these two groupings have a quite definite meaning for me. There is pride in the latter group of impulses and not in the former; the former are always a little apologetic. Fear, Indulgence, Jealousy, these are the First Three Limitations of the soul of man. And the greatest of these is Jealousy, because it can use pride. Over them the Life Aristocratic, as I conceive it, marches to its end. It saves itself for the truth rather than sacrifices itself romantically for a friend. It justifies vivisection if thereby knowledge is won for ever. It upholds that Brutus who killed his sons. It forbids devotion to women, courts of love and all such decay of the chivalrous61 idea. And it resigns--so many things that no common Man of Spirit will resign. Its intention transcends62 these things. Over all the world it would maintain justice, order, a noble peace, and it would do this without indignation, without resentment63, without mawkish64 tenderness or individualized enthusiasm or any queen of beauty. It is of a cold austere65 quality, commanding sometimes admiration66 but having small hold upon the affections of men. So that it is among its foremost distinctions that its heart is steeled...."
There this odd fragment ended and White was left to resume the interrupted autobiography.
2
What moods, what passions, what nights of despair and gathering67 storms of anger, what sudden cruelties and amazing tendernesses are buried and hidden and implied in every love story! What a waste is there of exquisite68 things! So each spring sees a million glorious beginnings, a sunlit heaven in every opening leaf, warm perfection in every stirring egg, hope and fear and beauty beyond computation in every forest tree; and in the autumn before the snows come they have all gone, of all that incalculable abundance of life, of all that hope and adventure, excitement and deliciousness, there is scarcely more to be found than a soiled twig69, a dirty seed, a dead leaf, black mould or a rotting feather....
White held the ten or twelve pencilled pages that told how Benham and Amanda drifted into antagonism and estrangement70 and as he held it he thought of the laughter and delight they must have had together, the exquisite excitements of her eye, the racing72 colour of her cheek, the gleams of light upon her skin, the flashes of wit between them, the sense of discovery, the high rare paths they had followed, the pools in which they had swum together. And now it was all gone into nothingness, there was nothing left of it, nothing at all, but just those sheets of statement, and it may be, stored away in one single mind, like things forgotten in an attic73, a few neglected faded memories....
And even those few sheets of statement were more than most love leaves behind it. For a time White would not read them. They lay neglected on his knee as he sat back in Benham's most comfortable chair and enjoyed an entirely74 beautiful melancholy75.
White too had seen and mourned the spring.
Indeed, poor dear! he had seen and mourned several springs....
With a sigh he took up the manuscript and read Benham's desiccated story of intellectual estrangement, and how in the end he had decided to leave his wife and go out alone upon that journey of inquiry he had been planning when first he met her.
3
Amanda had come back to England in a state of extravagantly76 vigorous womanhood. Benham's illness, though it lasted only two or three weeks, gave her a sense of power and leadership for which she had been struggling instinctively78 ever since they came together. For a time at Locarno he was lax-minded and indolent, and in that time she formed her bright and limited plans for London. Benham had no plans as yet but only a sense of divergence79, as though he was being pulled in opposite directions by two irresistible80 forces. To her it was plain that he needed occupation, some distinguished81 occupation, and she could imagine nothing better for him than a political career. She perceived he had personality, that he stood out among men so that his very silences were effective. She loved him immensely, and she had tremendous ambitions for him and through him.
And also London, the very thought of London, filled her with appetite. Her soul thirsted for London. It was like some enormous juicy fruit waiting for her pretty white teeth, a place almost large enough to give her avidity the sense of enough. She felt it waiting for her, household, servants, a carriage, shops and the jolly delight of buying and possessing things, the opera, first-nights, picture exhibitions, great dinner-parties, brilliant lunch parties, crowds seen from a point of vantage, the carriage in a long string of fine carriages with the lamplit multitude peering, Amanda in a thousand bright settings, in a thousand various dresses. She had had love; it had been glorious, it was still glorious, but her love-making became now at times almost perfunctory in the contemplation of these approaching delights and splendours and excitements.
She knew, indeed, that ideas were at work in Benham's head; but she was a realist. She did not see why ideas should stand in the way of a career. Ideas are a brightness, the good looks of the mind. One talks ideas, but THE THING THAT IS, IS THE THING THAT IS. And though she believed that Benham had a certain strength of character of his own, she had that sort of confidence in his love for her and in the power of her endearments82 that has in it the assurance of a faint contempt. She had mingled83 pride and sense in the glorious realization84 of the power over him that her wit and beauty gave her. She had held him faint with her divinity, intoxicated85 with the pride of her complete possession, and she did not dream that the moment when he should see clearly that she could deliberately86 use these ultimate delights to rule and influence him, would be the end of their splendour and her power. Her nature, which was just a nest of vigorous appetites, was incapable87 of suspecting his gathering disillusionment until it burst upon her.
Now with her attention set upon London ahead he could observe her. In the beginning he had never seemed to be observing her at all, they dazzled one another; it seemed extraordinary now to him to note how much he had been able to disregard. There were countless88 times still when he would have dropped his observation and resumed that mutual4 exaltation very gladly, but always now other things possessed89 her mind....
There was still an immense pleasure for him in her vigour90; there was something delightful91 in her pounce92, even when she was pouncing93 on things superficial, vulgar or destructive. She made him understand and share the excitement of a big night at the opera, the glitter and prettiness of a smart restaurant, the clustering little acute adventures of a great reception of gay people, just as she had already made him understand and sympathize with dogs. She picked up the art world where he had laid it down, and she forced him to feel dense95 and slow before he rebelled against her multitudinous enthusiasms and admirations. South Harting had had its little group of artistic96 people; it is not one of your sleepy villages, and she slipped back at once into the movement. Those were the great days of John, the days before the Post Impressionist outbreak. John, Orpen, Tonks, she bought them with vigour. Artistic circles began to revolve97 about her. Very rapidly she was in possession.... And among other desirable things she had, it seemed, pounced98 upon and captured Lady Marayne.
At any rate it was clear that that awful hostile silence and aloofness99 was to end. Benham never quite mastered how it was done. But Amanda had gone in one morning to Desborough Street, very sweetly and chastely100 dressed, had abased101 herself and announced a possible (though subsequently disproved) grandchild. And she had appreciated the little lady so highly and openly, she had so instantly caught and reproduced her tone, that her success, though only temporary in its completeness, was immediate. In the afternoon Benham was amazed by the apparition102 of his mother amidst the scattered103 unsettled furnishings of the new home Amanda had chosen in Lancaster Gate. He was in the hall, the door stood open awaiting packing-cases from a van without. In the open doorway104 she shone, looking the smallest of dainty things. There was no effect of her coming but only of her having arrived there, as a little blue butterfly will suddenly alight on a flower.
"Well, Poff!" said Lady Marayne, ignoring abysses, "What are you up to now, Poff? Come and embrace me...."
"No, not so," she said, "stiffest of sons...."
She laid hold of his ears in the old fashion and kissed one eye.
"Congratulations, dear little Poff. Oh! congratulations! In heaps. I'm so GLAD."
Now what was that for?
And then Amanda came out upon the landing upstairs, saw the encounter with an involuntary cry of joy, and came downstairs with arms wide open. It was the first intimation he had of their previous meeting. He was for some minutes a stunned105, entirely inadequate106 Benham....
4
At first Amanda knew nobody in London, except a few people in the Hampstead Garden suburb that she had not the slightest wish to know, and then very quickly she seemed to know quite a lot of people. The artistic circle brought in people, Lady Marayne brought in people; they spread. It was manifest the Benhams were a very bright young couple; he would certainly do something considerable presently, and she was bright and daring, jolly to look at and excellent fun, and, when you came to talk to her, astonishingly well informed. They passed from one hostess's hand to another: they reciprocated107. The Clynes people and the Rushtones took her up; Mr. Evesham was amused by her, Lady Beach Mandarin109 proclaimed her charm like a trumpet110, the Young Liberal people made jealous advances, Lord Moggeridge found she listened well, she lit one of the brightest weekend parties Lady Marayne had ever gathered at Chexington. And her descriptions of recent danger and adventure in Albania not only entertained her hearers but gave her just that flavour of personal courage which completes the fascination111 of a young woman. People in the gaps of a halting dinner-table conversation would ask: "Have you met Mrs. Benham?"
Meanwhile Benham appeared to be talking. A smiling and successful young woman, who a year ago had been nothing more than a leggy girl with a good lot of miscellaneous reading in her head, and vaguely112 engaged, or at least friendly to the pitch of engagement, to Mr. Rathbone-Sanders, may be forgiven if in the full tide of her success she does not altogether grasp the intention of her husband's discourse113. It seemed to her that he was obsessed114 by a responsibility for civilization and the idea that he was aristocratic. (Secretly she was inclined to doubt whether he was justified115 in calling himself aristocratic; at the best his mother was county-stuff; but still if he did there was no great harm in it nowadays.) Clearly his line was Tory-Democracy, social reform through the House of Lords and friendly intimacy116 with the more spirited young peers. And it was only very slowly and reluctantly that she was forced to abandon this satisfactory solution of his problem. She reproduced all the equipment and comforts of his Finacue Street study in their new home, she declared constantly that she would rather forego any old social thing than interfere117 with his work, she never made him go anywhere with her without first asking if his work permitted it. To relieve him of the burthen of such social attentions she even made a fag or so. The making of fags out of manifestly stricken men, the keeping of tamed and hopeless admirers, seemed to her to be the most natural and reasonable of feminine privileges. They did their useful little services until it pleased the Lord Cheetah119 to come to his own. That was how she put it....
But at last he was talking to her in tones that could no longer be ignored. He was manifestly losing his temper with her. There was a novel austerity in his voice and a peculiar120 whiteness about his face on certain occasions that lingered in her memory.
He was indeed making elaborate explanations. He said that what he wanted to do was to understand "the collective life of the world," and that this was not to be done in a West-End study. He had an extraordinary contempt, it seemed, for both sides in the drama of British politics. He had extravagant77 ideas of beginning in some much more fundamental way. He wanted to understand this "collective life of the world," because ultimately he wanted to help control it. (Was there ever such nonsense?) The practical side of this was serious enough, however; he was back at his old idea of going round the earth. Later on that might be rather a jolly thing to do, but not until they had struck root a little more surely in London.
And then with amazement121, with incredulity, with indignation, she began to realize that he was proposing to go off by himself upon this vague extravagant research, that all this work she had been doing to make a social place for him in London was as nothing to him, that he was thinking of himself as separable from her....
"But, Cheetah! How can you leave your spotless leopard122? You would howl in the lonely jungle!"
"Possibly I shall. But I am going."
"Then I shall come."
"No." He considered her reasons. "You see you are not interested."
"But I am."
"Not as I am. You would turn it all into a jolly holiday. You don't want to see things as I want to do. You want romance. All the world is a show for you. As a show I can't endure it. I want to lay hands on it."
"But, Cheetah!" she said, "this is separation."
"You will have your life here. And I shall come back."
"But, Cheetah! How can we be separated?"
"We are separated," he said.
Her eyes became round with astonishment123. Then her face puckered124.
"Cheetah!" she cried in a voice of soft distress125, "I love you. What do you mean?"
And she staggered forward, tear-blinded, and felt for his neck and shoulders, so that she might weep in his arms....
5
"Don't say we are separated," she whispered, putting her still wet face close to his.
"No. We're mates," he answered softly, with his arm about her.
"How could we ever keep away from each uvver?" she whispered.
He was silent.
"How COULD we?"
He answered aloud. "Amanda," he said, "I mean to go round the world."
She disentangled herself from his arm and sat up beside him.
"What is to become of me," she asked suddenly in a voice of despair, "while you go round the world? If you desert me in London," she said, "if you shame me by deserting me in London-- If you leave me, I will never forgive you, Cheetah! Never." Then in an almost breathless voice, and as if she spoke127 to herself, "Never in all my days."
6
It was after that that Amanda began to talk about children. There was nothing involuntary about Amanda. "Soon," she said, "we must begin to think of children. Not just now, but a little later. It's good to travel and have our fun, but life is unreal until there are children in the background. No woman is really content until she is a mother...." And for nearly a fortnight nothing more was said about that solitary128 journey round the world.
But children were not the only new topic in Amanda's talk. She set herself with an ingenious subtlety129 to remind her husband that there were other men in the world. The convenient fags, sometimes a little embarrassed, found their inobtrusive services being brought into the light before Benham's eyes. Most of them were much older men than himself, elderly philanderers of whom it seemed to him no sane130 man need be jealous, men often of forty or more, but one was a contemporary, Sir Philip Easton, a man with a touch of Spanish blood and a suggestion of Spanish fire, who quite manifestly was very much in love with Amanda and of whom she spoke with a slight perceptible difference of manner that made Benham faintly uneasy. He was ashamed of the feeling. Easton it seemed was a man of a peculiarly fine honour, so that Amanda could trust herself with him to an extent that would have been inadvisable with men of a commoner substance, and he had a gift of understanding and sympathy that was almost feminine; he could cheer one up when one was lonely and despondent131. For Amanda was so methodical in the arrangement of her time that even in the full rush of a London season she could find an hour now and then for being lonely and despondent. And he was a liberal and understanding purchaser of the ascendant painters; he understood that side of Amanda's interests, a side upon which Benham was notably132 deficient133....
"Amanda seems to like that dark boy, Poff; what is his name?--Sir Philip Easton?" said Lady Marayne.
Benham looked at her with a slightly hostile intelligence, and said nothing.
"When a man takes a wife, he has to keep her," said Lady Marayne.
"No," said Benham after consideration. "I don't intend to be a wife-herd."
"What?"
"Wife-herd--same as goat-herd."
"Coarse, you are sometimes, Poff--nowadays."
"It's exactly what I mean. I can understand the kind of curator's interest an Oriental finds in shepherding a large establishment, but to spend my days looking after one person who ought to be able to look after herself--"
"She's very young."
"She's quite grown up. Anyhow I'm not a moral nursemaid."
"If you leave her about and go abroad--"
"Has she been talking to you, mother?"
"The thing shows."
"But about my going abroad?"
"She said something, my little Poff."
Lady Marayne suddenly perceived that beneath Benham's indifference134 was something strung very tight, as though he had been thinking inordinately135. He weighed his words before he spoke again. "If Amanda chooses to threaten me with a sort of conditional136 infidelity, I don't see that it ought to change the plans I have made for my life...."
7
"No aristocrat27 has any right to be jealous," Benham wrote. "If he chances to be mated with a woman who does not see his vision or naturally go his way, he has no right to expect her, much less to compel her to go his way. What is the use of dragging an unwilling137 companion through morasses138 of uncongenial thought to unsought ends? What is the use of dragging even a willing pretender, who has no inherent will to seek and live the aristocratic life?
"But that does not excuse him from obedience139 to his own call...."
He wrote that very early in his examination of the Third Limitation. Already he had thought out and judged Amanda. The very charm of her, the sweetness, the nearness and magic of her, was making him more grimly resolute140 to break away. All the elaborate process of thinking her over had gone on behind the mask of his silences while she had been preoccupied141 with her housing and establishment in London; it was with a sense of extraordinary injustice142, of having had a march stolen upon her, of being unfairly trapped, that Amanda found herself faced by foregone conclusions. He was ready now even with the details of his project. She should go on with her life in London exactly as she had planned it. He would take fifteen hundred a year for himself and all the rest she might spend without check or stint143 as it pleased her. He was going round the world for one or two years. It was even possible he would not go alone. There was a man at Cambridge he might persuade to come with him, a don called Prothero who was peculiarly useful in helping144 him to hammer out his ideas....
To her it became commandingly necessary that none of these things should happen.
She tried to play upon his jealousy, but her quick instinct speedily told her that this only hardened his heart. She perceived that she must make a softer appeal. Now of a set intention she began to revive and imitate the spontaneous passion of the honeymoon145; she perceived for the first time clearly how wise and righteous a thing it is for a woman to bear a child. "He cannot go if I am going to have a child," she told herself. But that would mean illness, and for illness in herself or others Amanda had the intense disgust natural to her youth. Yet even illness would be better than this intolerable publication of her husband's ability to leave her side....
She had a wonderful facility of enthusiasm and she set herself forthwith to cultivate a philoprogenitive ambition, to communicate it to him. Her dread146 of illness disappeared; her desire for offspring grew.
"Yes," he said, "I want to have children, but I must go round the world none the less."
She argued with all the concentrated subtlety of her fine keen mind. She argued with persistence147 and repetition. And then suddenly so that she was astonished at herself, there came a moment when she ceased to argue.
She stood in the dusk in a window that looked out upon the park, and she was now so intent upon her purpose as to be still and self-forgetful; she was dressed in a dinner-dress of white and pale green, that set off her slim erect148 body and the strong clear lines of her neck and shoulders very beautifully, some greenish stones caught a light from without and flashed soft whispering gleams from amidst the misty149 darkness of her hair. She was going to Lady Marayne and the opera, and he was bound for a dinner at the House with some young Liberals at which he was to meet two representative Indians with a grievance150 from Bengal. Husband and wife had but a few moments together. She asked about his company and he told her.
"They will tell you about India."
"Yes."
She stood for a moment looking out across the lights and the dark green trees, and then she turned to him.
"Why cannot I come with you?" she asked with sudden passion. "Why cannot I see the things you want to see?"
"I tell you you are not interested. You would only be interested through me. That would not help me. I should just be dealing151 out my premature152 ideas to you. If you cared as I care, if you wanted to know as I want to know, it would be different. But you don't. It isn't your fault that you don't. It happens so. And there is no good in forced interest, in prescribed discovery."
"Cheetah," she asked, "what is it that you want to know--that I don't care for?"
"I want to know about the world. I want to rule the world."
"So do I."
"No, you want to have the world."
"Isn't it the same?"
"No. You're a greedier thing than I am, you Black Leopard you--standing there in the dusk. You're a stronger thing. Don't you know you're stronger? When I am with you, you carry your point, because you are more concentrated, more definite, less scrupulous153. When you run beside me you push me out of my path.... You've made me afraid of you.... And so I won't go with you, Leopard. I go alone. It isn't because I don't love you. I love you too well. It isn't because you aren't beautiful and wonderful...."
"But, Cheetah! nevertheless you care more for this that you want than you care for me."
Benham thought of it. "I suppose I do," he said.
"What is it that you want? Still I don't understand."
Her voice had the break of one who would keep reasonable in spite of pain.
"I ought to tell you."
"Yes, you ought to tell me."
"I wonder if I can tell you," he said very thoughtfully, and rested his hands on his hips154. "I shall seem ridiculous to you."
"You ought to tell me."
"I think what I want is to be king of the world."
She stood quite still staring at him.
"I do not know how I can tell you of it. Amanda, do you remember those bodies--you saw those bodies--those mutilated men?"
"I saw them," said Amanda.
"Well. Is it nothing to you that those things happen?"
"They must happen."
"No. They happen because there are no kings but pitiful kings. They happen because the kings love their Amandas and do not care."
"But what can YOU do, Cheetah?"
"Very little. But I can give my life and all my strength. I can give all I can give."
"But how? How can you help it--help things like that massacre155?"
"I can do my utmost to find out what is wrong with my world and rule it and set it right."
"YOU! Alone."
"Other men do as much. Every one who does so helps others to do so. You see--... In this world one may wake in the night and one may resolve to be a king, and directly one has resolved one is a king. Does that sound foolishness to you? Anyhow, it's fair that I should tell you, though you count me a fool. This--this kingship--this dream of the night--is my life. It is the very core of me. Much more than you are. More than anything else can be. I mean to be a king in this earth. KING. I'm not mad.... I see the world staggering from misery156 to misery and there is little wisdom, less rule, folly157, prejudice, limitation, the good things come by chance and the evil things recover and slay158 them, and it is my world and I am responsible. Every man to whom this light has come is responsible. As soon as this light comes to you, as soon as your kingship is plain to you, there is no more rest, no peace, no delight, except in work, in service, in utmost effort. As far as I can do it I will rule my world. I cannot abide159 in this smug city, I cannot endure its self-complacency, its routine, its gloss160 of success, its rottenness.... I shall do little, perhaps I shall do nothing, but what I can understand and what I can do I will do. Think of that wild beautiful country we saw, and the mean misery, the filth161 and the warring cruelty of the life that lives there, tragedy, tragedy without dignity; and think, too, of the limitless ugliness here, and of Russia slipping from disorder to massacre, and China, that sea of human beings, sliding steadily162 to disaster. Do you think these are only things in the newspapers? To me at any rate they are not things in newspapers; they are pain and failure, they are torment163, they are blood and dust and misery. They haunt me day and night. Even if it is utterly164 absurd I will still do my utmost. It IS absurd. I'm a madman and you and my mother are sensible people.... And I will go my way.... I don't care for the absurdity165. I don't care a rap."
He stopped abruptly166.
"There you have it, Amanda. It's rant94, perhaps. Sometimes I feel it's rant. And yet it's the breath of life to me.... There you are.... At last I've been able to break silence and tell you...."
He stopped with something like a sob167 and stood regarding the dusky mystery of her face. She stood quite still, she was just a beautiful outline in the twilight168, her face was an indistinctness under the black shadow of her hair, with eyes that were two patches of darkness.
He looked at his watch, lifting it close to his face to see the time. His voice changed. "Well--if you provoke a man enough, you see he makes speeches. Let it be a lesson to you, Amanda. Here we are talking instead of going to our dinners. The car has been waiting ten minutes."
Amanda, so still, was the most disconcerting of all Amandas....
A strange exaltation seized upon her very suddenly. In an instant she had ceased to plot against him. A vast wave of emotion swept her forward to a resolution that astonished her.
"Cheetah!" she said, and the very quality of her voice had changed, "give me one thing. Stay until June with me."
"Why?" he asked.
Her answer came in a voice so low that it was almost a whisper.
"Because--now--no, I don't want to keep you any more--I am not trying to hold you any more.... I want...."
She came forward to him and looked up closely at his face.
"Cheetah," she whispered almost inaudibly, "Cheetah--I didn't understand. But now--. I want to bear your child."
He was astonished. "Old Leopard!" he said.
"No," she answered, putting her hands upon his shoulders and drawing very close to him, "Queen---if I can be--to your King."
"You want to bear me a child!" he whispered, profoundly moved.
8
The Hindu agitators169 at the cavernous dinner under the House of Commons came to the conclusion that Benham was a dreamer. And over against Amanda at her dinner-party sat Sir Sidney Umber, one of those men who know that their judgments170 are quoted.
"Who is the beautiful young woman who is seeing visions?" he asked of his neighbour in confidential171 undertones....
He tittered. "I think, you know, she ought to seem just SLIGHTLY aware that the man to her left is talking to her...."
9
A few days later Benham went down to Cambridge, where Prothero was now a fellow of Trinity and Brissenden Trust Lecturer....
All through Benham's writing there was manifest a persuasion172 that in some way Prothero was necessary to his mind. It was as if he looked to Prothero to keep him real. He suspected even while he obeyed that upward flourish which was his own essential characteristic. He had a peculiar feeling that somehow that upward bias173 would betray him; that from exaltation he might presently float off, into the higher, the better, and so to complete unreality. He fled from priggishness and the terror of such sublimity174 alike to Prothero. Moreover, in relation to so many things Prothero in a peculiar distinctive175 manner SAW. He had less self-control than Benham, less integrity of purpose, less concentration, and things that were before his eyes were by the very virtue176 of these defects invariably visible to him. Things were able to insist upon themselves with him. Benham, on the other hand, when facts contradicted his purpose too stoutly177, had a way of becoming blind to them. He repudiated178 inconvenient179 facts. He mastered and made his world; Prothero accepted and recorded his. Benham was a will towards the universe where Prothero was a perception and Amanda a confusing responsive activity. And it was because of his realization of this profound difference between them that he was possessed by the idea of taking Prothero with him about the world, as a detachable kind of vision--rather like that eye the Graiae used to hand one another....
After the busy sunlit streets of Maytime Cambridge, Prothero's rooms in Trinity, their windows full of Gothic perspectives and light-soaked blue sky, seemed cool and quiet. A flavour of scholarship pervaded180 them--a little blended with the flavour of innumerable breakfasts nearly but not completely forgotten. Prothero's door had been locked against the world, and he had appeared after a slight delay looking a little puffy and only apprehending181 who his visitor was after a resentful stare for the better part of a second. He might have been asleep, he might have been doing anything but the examination papers he appeared to be doing. The two men exchanged personal details; they had not met since some months before Benham' s marriage, and the visitor's eye went meanwhile from his host to the room and back to his host's face as though they were all aspects of the thing he was after, the Prothero humour, the earthly touch, the distinctive Prothero flavour. Then his eye was caught by a large red, incongruous, meretricious182-looking volume upon the couch that had an air of having been flung aside, VENUS IN GEM71 AND MARBLE, its cover proclaimed....
His host followed that glance and blushed. "They send me all sorts of inappropriate stuff to review," he remarked.
And then he was denouncing celibacy183.
The transition wasn't very clear to Benham. His mind had been preoccupied by the problem of how to open his own large project. Meanwhile Prothero got, as it were, the conversational184 bit between his teeth and bolted. He began to say the most shocking things right away, so that Benham's attention was caught in spite of himself.
"Inflammatory classics."
"What's that?"
"Celibacy, my dear Benham, is maddening me," said Prothero. "I can't stand it any longer."
It seemed to Benham that somewhere, very far away, in another world, such a statement might have been credible185. Even in his own life,--it was now indeed a remote, forgotten stage--there had been something distantly akin14....
"You're going to marry?"
"I must."
"Who's the lady, Billy?"
"I don't know. Venus."
His little red-brown eye met his friend's defiantly187. "So far as I know, it is Venus Anadyomene." A flash of laughter passed across his face and left it still angrier, still more indecorously defiant186. "I like her best, anyhow. I do, indeed. But, Lord! I feel that almost any of them--"
"Tut, tut!" said Benham.
Prothero flushed deeply but stuck to his discourse.
"Wasn't it always your principle, Benham, to look facts in the face? I am not pronouncing an immoral188 principle. Your manner suggests I am. I am telling you exactly how I feel. That is how I feel. I want--Venus. I don't want her to talk to or anything of that sort.... I have been studying that book, yes, that large, vulgar, red book, all the morning, instead of doing any work. Would you like to see it?... NO!...
"This spring, Benham, I tell you, is driving me mad. It is a peculiarly erotic spring. I cannot sleep, I cannot fix my mind, I cannot attend to ordinary conversation. These feelings, I understand, are by no means peculiar to myself.... No, don't interrupt me, Benham; let me talk now that the spirit of speech is upon me. When you came in you said, 'How are you?' I am telling you how I am. You brought it on yourself. Well--I am--inflamed. I have no strong moral or religious convictions to assist me either to endure or deny this--this urgency. And so why should I deny it? It's one of our chief problems here. The majority of my fellow dons who look at me with secretive faces in hall and court and combination-room are in just the same case as myself. The fever in oneself detects the fever in others. I know their hidden thoughts. Their fishy189 eyes defy me to challenge their hidden thoughts. Each covers his miserable190 secret under the cloak of a wholesome191 manly192 indifference. A tattered193 cloak.... Each tries to hide his abandonment to this horrible vice118 of continence--"
"Billy, what's the matter with you?"
Prothero grimaced194 impatience195. "Shall I NEVER teach you not to be a humbug196, Benham?" he screamed, and in screaming became calmer. "Nature taunts197 me, maddens me. My life is becoming a hell of shame. 'Get out from all these books,' says Nature, 'and serve the Flesh.' The Flesh, Benham. Yes--I insist--the Flesh. Do I look like a pure spirit? Is any man a pure spirit? And here am I at Cambridge like a lark198 in a cage, with too much port and no Aspasia. Not that I should have liked Aspasia."
"Mutual, perhaps, Billy."
"Oh! you can sneer199!"
"Well, clearly--Saint Paul is my authority--it's marriage, Billy."
Prothero had walked to the window. He turned round.
"I CAN'T marry," he said. "The trouble has gone too far. I've lost my nerve in the presence of women. I don't like them any more. They come at one--done up in a lot of ridiculous clothes, and chattering200 about all sorts of things that don't matter...." He surveyed his friend's thoughtful attitude. "I'm getting to hate women, Benham. I'm beginning now to understand the bitterness of spinsters against men. I'm beginning to grasp the unkindliness of priests. The perpetual denial. To you, happily married, a woman is just a human being. You can talk to her, like her, you can even admire her calmly; you've got, you see, no grudge202 against her...."
He sat down abruptly.
Benham, upon the hearthrug before the empty fireplace, considered him.
"Billy! this is delusion," he said. "What's come over you?"
"I'm telling you," said Prothero.
"No," said Benham.
Prothero awaited some further utterance203.
"I'm looking for the cause of it. It's feeding, Billy. It's port and stimulants204 where there is no scope for action. It's idleness. I begin to see now how much fatter you are, how much coarser."
"Idleness! Look at this pile of examination answers. Look at that filing system like an arsenal205 of wisdom. Useless wisdom, I admit, but anyhow not idleness."
"There's still bodily idleness. No. That's your trouble. You're stuffy206. You've enlarged your liver. You sit in this room of a warm morning after an extravagant breakfast--. And peep and covet207."
"Just eggs and bacon!"
"Think of it! Coffee and toast it ought to be. Come out of it, Billy, and get aired."
"How can one?"
"Easily. Come out of it now. Come for a walk, you Pig!"
"It's an infernally warm morning.
"Walk with me to Grantchester."
"We might go by boat. You could row."
"WALK."
"I ought to do these papers."
"You weren't doing them."
"No...."
"Walk with me to Grantchester. All this affliction of yours is--horrid--and just nothing at all. Come out of it! I want you to come with me to Russia and about the world. I'm going to leave my wife--"
"Leave your wife!"
"Why not? And I came here hoping to find you clear-headed, and instead you are in this disgusting state. I've never met anything in my life so hot and red and shiny and shameless. Come out of it, man! How can one talk to you?"
10
"You pull things down to your own level," said Benham as they went through the heat to Grantchester.
"I pull them down to truth," panted Prothero.
"Truth! As though being full of gross appetites was truth, and discipline and training some sort of falsity!"
"Artificiality. And begetting208 pride, Benham, begetting a prig's pride."
For a time there was more than the heat of the day between them....
The things that Benham had come down to discuss were thrust into the background by the impassioned materialism209 of Prothero.
"I'm not talking of Love," he said, remaining persistently210 outrageous211. "I'm talking of physical needs. That first. What is the good of arranging systems of morality and sentiment before you know what is physically212 possible....
"But how can one disentangle physical and moral necessities?"
"Then why don't we up and find out?" said Billy.
He had no patience with the secrecy213, the ignorance, the emotion that surrounded these questions. We didn't worship our ancestors when it came to building bridges or working metals or curing disease or studying our indigestion, and why should we become breathless or wordless with awe214 and terror when it came to this fundamental affair? Why here in particular should we give way to Holy Fear and stifled215 submission216 to traditional suppressions and the wisdom of the ages? "What is the wisdom of the ages?" said Prothero. "Think of the corners where that wisdom was born.... Flea-bitten sages217 in stone-age hovels.... Wandering wise man with a rolling eye, a fakir under a tree, a Jewish sheik, an Arab epileptic...."
"Would you sweep away the experience of mankind?" protested Benham.
The experience of mankind in these matters had always been bitter experience. Most of it was better forgotten. It didn't convince. It had never worked things out. In this matter just as in every other matter that really signified things had still to be worked out. Nothing had been worked out hitherto. The wisdom of the ages was a Cant218. People had been too busy quarrelling, fighting and running away. There wasn't any digested experience of the ages at all. Only the mis-remembered hankey-pankey of the Dead Old Man.
"Is this love-making a physical necessity for most men and women or isn't it?" Prothero demanded. "There's a simple question enough, and is there anything whatever in your confounded wisdom of the ages to tell me yes or no? Can an ordinary celibate be as healthy and vigorous as a mated man? Is a spinster of thirty-eight a healthy human being? Can she be? I don't believe so. Then why in thunder do we let her be? Here am I at a centre of learning and wisdom and I don't believe so; and there is nothing in all our colleges, libraries and roomsfull of wiseacres here, to settle that plain question for me, plainly and finally. My life is a grubby torment of cravings because it isn't settled. If sexual activity IS a part of the balance of life, if it IS a necessity, well let's set about making it accessible and harmless and have done with it. Swedish exercises. That sort of thing. If it isn't, if it can be reduced and done without, then let us set about teaching people HOW to control themselves and reduce and get rid of this vehement220 passion. But all this muffled221 mystery, this pompous222 sneak's way we take with it!"
"But, Billy! How can one settle these things? It's a matter of idiosyncrasy. What is true for one man isn't true for another. There's infinite difference of temperaments223!"
"Then why haven't we a classification of temperaments and a moral code for each sort? Why am I ruled by the way of life that is convenient for Rigdon the vegetarian224 and fits Bowler225 the saint like a glove? It isn't convenient for me. It fits me like a hair-shirt. Of course there are temperaments, but why can't we formulate226 them and exercise the elementary charity of recognizing that one man's health in these matters is another man's death? Some want love and gratification and some don't. There are people who want children and people who don't want to be bothered by children but who are full of vivid desires. There are people whose only happiness is chastity, and women who would rather be courtesans than mothers. Some of us would concentrate upon a single passion or a single idea; others overflow227 with a miscellaneous--tenderness. Yes,--and you smile! Why spit upon and insult a miscellaneous tenderness, Benham? Why grin at it? Why try every one by the standards that suit oneself? We're savages229, Benham, shamefaced savages, still. Shamefaced and persecuting230.
"I was angry about sex by seventeen," he went on. "Every year I live I grow angrier."
His voice rose to a squeal231 of indignation as he talked.
"Think," he said, "of the amount of thinking and feeling about sex that is going on in Cambridge this morning. The hundreds out of these thousands full of it. A vast tank of cerebration. And we put none of it together; we work nothing out from that but poor little couplings and casual stories, patchings up of situations, misbehaviours, blunders, disease, trouble, escapes; and the next generation will start, and the next generation after that will start with nothing but your wisdom of the ages, which isn't wisdom at all, which is just awe and funk, taboos232 and mystery and the secretive cunning of the savage228....
"What I really want to do is my work," said Prothero, going off quite unexpectedly again. "That is why all this business, this incessant233 craving219 and the shame of it and all makes me so infernally angry...."
11
"There I'm with you," cried Benham, struggling out of the thick torrent234 of Prothero's prepossessions. "What we want to do is our work."
He clung to his idea. He raised his voice to prevent Prothero getting the word again.
"It's this, that you call Work, that I call--what do I call it?--living the aristocratic life, which takes all the coarse simplicity out of this business. If it was only submission.... YOU think it is only submission--giving way.... It isn't only submission. We'd manage sex all right, we'd be the happy swine our senses would make us, if we didn't know all the time that there was something else to live for, something far more important. And different. Absolutely different and contradictory235. So different that it cuts right across all these considerations. It won't fit in.... I don't know what this other thing is; it's what I want to talk about with you. But I know that it IS, in all my bones.... YOU know.... It demands control, it demands continence, it insists upon disregard."
But the ideas of continence and disregard were unpleasant ideas to Prothero that day.
"Mankind," said Benham, "is overcharged with this sex. It suffocates236 us. It gives life only to consume it. We struggle out of the urgent necessities of a mere animal existence. We are not so much living as being married and given in marriage. All life is swamped in the love story...."
"Man is only overcharged because he is unsatisfied," said Prothero, sticking stoutly to his own view.
12
It was only as they sat at a little table in the orchard237 at Grantchester after their lunch that Benham could make head against Prothero and recover that largeness of outlook which had so easily touched the imagination of Amanda. And then he did not so much dispose of Prothero's troubles as soar over them. It is the last triumph of the human understanding to sympathize with desires we do not share, and to Benham who now believed himself to be loved beyond the chances of life, who was satisfied and tranquil238 and austerely239 content, it was impossible that Prothero's demands should seem anything more than the grotesque240 and squalid squealings of the beast that has to be overridden241 and rejected altogether. It is a freakish fact of our composition that these most intense feelings in life are just those that are most rapidly and completely forgotten; hate one may recall for years, but the magic of love and the flame of desire serve their purpose in our lives and vanish, leaving no trace, like the snows of Venice. Benham was still not a year and a half from the meretricious delights of Mrs. Skelmersdale, and he looked at Prothero as a marble angel might look at a swine in its sty....
What he had now in mind was an expedition to Russia. When at last he could sufficiently242 release Prothero's attention, he unfolded the project that had been developing steadily in him since his honeymoon experience.
He had discovered a new reason for travelling. The last country we can see clearly, he had discovered, is our own country. It is as hard to see one's own country as it is to see the back of one's head. It is too much behind us, too much ourselves. But Russia is like England with everything larger, more vivid, cruder; one felt that directly one walked about St. Petersburg. St. Petersburg upon its Neva was like a savage untamed London on a larger Thames; they were seagull-haunted tidal cities, like no other capitals in Europe. The shipping243 and buildings mingled in their effects. Like London it looked over the heads of its own people to a limitless polyglot244 empire. And Russia was an aristocratic land, with a middle-class that had no pride in itself as a class; it had a British toughness and incompetence245, a British disregard of logic246 and meticulous247 care. Russia, like England, was outside Catholic Christendom, it had a state church and the opposition248 to that church was not secularism249 but dissent250. One could draw a score of such contrasted parallels. And now it was in a state of intolerable stress, that laid bare the elemental facts of a great social organization. It was having its South African war, its war at the other end of the earth, with a certain defeat instead of a dubious251 victory....
"There is far more freedom for the personal life in Russia than in England," said Prothero, a little irrelevantly252.
Benham went on with his discourse about Russia....
"At the college of Troitzka," said Prothero, "which I understand is a kind of monster Trinity unencumbered by a University, Binns tells me that although there is a profession of celibacy within the walls, the arrangements of the town and more particularly of the various hotels are conceived in a spirit of extreme liberality."
Benham hardly attended at all to these interruptions.
He went on to point out the elemental quality of the Russian situation. He led up to the assertion that to go to Russia, to see Russia, to try to grasp the broad outline of the Russian process, was the manifest duty of every responsible intelligence that was free to do as much. And so he was going, and if Prothero cared to come too--
"Yes," said Prothero, "I should like to go to Russia."
13
But throughout all their travel together that summer Benham was never able to lift Prothero away from his obsession253. It was the substance of their talk as the Holland boat stood out past waiting destroyers and winking254 beacons255 and the lights of Harwich, into the smoothly256 undulating darkness of the North Sea; it rose upon them again as they sat over the cakes and cheese of a Dutch breakfast in the express for Berlin. Prothero filled the Sieges Allee with his complaints against nature and society, and distracted Benham in his contemplation of Polish agriculture from the windows of the train with turgid sexual liberalism. So that Benham, during this period until Prothero left him and until the tragic257 enormous spectacle of Russia in revolution took complete possession of him, was as it were thinking upon two floors. Upon the one he was thinking of the vast problems of a society of a hundred million people staggering on the verge21 of anarchy258, and upon the other he was perplexed259 by the feverish260 inattention of Prothero to the tremendous things that were going on all about them. It was only presently when the serenity261 of his own private life began to be ruffled262 by disillusionment, that he began to realize the intimate connexion of these two systems of thought. Yet Prothero put it to him plainly enough.
"Inattentive," said Prothero, "of course I am inattentive. What is really the matter with all this--this social mess people are in here, is that nearly everybody is inattentive. These Big Things of yours, nobody is thinking of them really. Everybody is thinking about the Near Things that concern himself."
"The bombs they threw yesterday? The Cossacks and the whips?"
"Nudges. Gestures of inattention. If everybody was thinking of the Res Publica would there be any need for bombs?"
He pursued his advantage. "It's all nonsense to suppose people think of politics because they are in 'em. As well suppose that the passengers on a liner understand the engines, or soldiers a war. Before men can think of to-morrow, they must think of to-day. Before they can think of others, they must be sure about themselves. First of all, food; the private, the personal economic worry. Am I safe for food? Then sex, and until one is tranquil and not ashamed, not irritated and dissatisfied, how can one care for other people, or for next year or the Order of the World? How can one, Benham?"
He seized the illustration at hand. "Here we are in Warsaw--not a month after bomb-throwing and Cossack charging. Windows have still to be mended, smashed doors restored. There's blood-stains still on some of the houses. There are hundreds of people in the Citadel263 and in the Ochrana prison. This morning there were executions. Is it anything more than an eddy264 in the real life of the place? Watch the customers in the shops, the crowd in the streets, the men in the cafes who stare at the passing women. They are all swallowed up again in their own business. They just looked up as the Cossacks galloped265 past; they just shifted a bit when the bullets spat266...."
And when the streets of Moscow were agog267 with the grotesque amazing adventure of the Potemkin mutineers, Prothero was in the full tide of the private romance that severed268 him from Benham and sent him back to Cambridge--changed.
Before they reached Moscow Benham was already becoming accustomed to disregard Prothero. He was looking over him at the vast heaving trouble of Russia, which now was like a sea that tumbles under the hurrying darknesses of an approaching storm. In those days it looked as though it must be an overwhelming storm. He was drinking in the wide and massive Russian effects, the drifting crowds in the entangling269 streets, the houses with their strange lettering in black and gold, the innumerable barbaric churches, the wildly driven droshkys, the sombre red fortress270 of the Kremlin, with its bulbous churches clustering up into the sky, the crosses, the innumerable gold crosses, the mad church of St. Basil, carrying the Russian note beyond the pitch of permissible271 caricature, and in this setting the obscure drama of clustering, staring, sash-wearing peasants, long-haired students, sane-eyed women, a thousand varieties of uniform, a running and galloping272 to and fro of messengers, a flutter of little papers, whispers, shouts, shots, a drama elusive273 and portentous274, a gathering of forces, an accumulation of tension going on to a perpetual clash and clamour of bells. Benham had brought letters of introduction to a variety of people, some had vanished, it seemed. They were "away," the porters said, and they continued to be "away,"--it was the formula, he learnt, for arrest; others were evasive, a few showed themselves extraordinarily275 anxious to inform him about things, to explain themselves and things about them exhaustively. One young student took him to various meetings and showed him in great detail the scene of the recent murder of the Grand Duke Sergius. The buildings opposite the old French cannons276 were still under repair. "The assassin stood just here. The bomb fell there, look! right down there towards the gate; that was where they found his arm. He was torn to fragments. He was scraped up. He was mixed with the horses...."
Every one who talked spoke of the outbreak of revolution as a matter of days or at the utmost weeks. And whatever question Benham chose to ask these talkers were prepared to answer. Except one. "And after the revolution," he asked, "what then?..." Then they waved their hands, and failed to convey meanings by reassuring277 gestures.
He was absorbed in his effort to understand this universal ominous278 drift towards a conflict. He was trying to piece together a process, if it was one and the same process, which involved riots in Lodz, fighting at Libau, wild disorder at Odessa, remote colossal279 battlings in Manchuria, the obscure movements of a disastrous280 fleet lost somewhere now in the Indian seas, steaming clumsily to its fate, he was trying to rationalize it all in his mind, to comprehend its direction. He was struggling strenuously281 with the obscurities of the language in which these things were being discussed about him, a most difficult language demanding new sets of visual images because of its strange alphabet. Is it any wonder that for a time he failed to observe that Prothero was involved in some entirely disconnected affair.
They were staying at the big Cosmopolis bazaar282 in the Theatre Square. Thither283, through the doors that are opened by distraught-looking men with peacocks' feathers round their caps, came Benham's friends and guides to take him out and show him this and that. At first Prothero always accompanied Benham on these expeditions; then he began to make excuses. He would stay behind in the hotel. Then when Benham returned Prothero would have disappeared. When the porter was questioned about Prothero his nescience was profound.
One night no Prothero was discoverable at any hour, and Benham, who wanted to discuss a project for going on to Kieff and Odessa, was alarmed.
"Moscow is a late place," said Benham's student friend. "You need not be anxious until after four or five in the morning. It will be quite time--QUITE time to be anxious to-morrow. He may be--close at hand."
When Benham hunted up Prothero in his room next morning he found him sleepy and irritable284.
"I don't trouble if YOU are late," said Prothero, sitting up in his bed with a red resentful face and crumpled285 hair. "I wasn't born yesterday."
"I wanted to talk about leaving Moscow."
"I don't want to leave Moscow."
"But Odessa--Odessa is the centre of interest just now."
"I want to stay in Moscow."
Benham looked baffled.
Prothero stuck up his knees and rested his night-shirted arms upon them. "I don't want to leave Moscow," he said, "and I'm not going to do so."
"But haven't we done--"
Prothero interrupted. "You may. But I haven't. We're not after the same things. Things that interest you, Benham, don't interest me. I've found--different things."
His expression was extraordinarily defiant.
"I want," he went on, "to put our affairs on a different footing. Now you've opened the matter we may as well go into it. You were good enough to bring me here.... There was a sort of understanding we were working together.... We aren't.... The long and short of it is, Benham, I want to pay you for my journey here and go on my own--independently."
His eye and voice achieved a fierceness that Benham found nearly incredible in him.
Something that had got itself overlooked in the press of other matters jerked back into Benham's memory. It popped back so suddenly that for an instant he wanted to laugh. He turned towards the window, picked his way among Prothero's carelessly dropped garments, and stood for a moment staring into the square, with its drifting, assembling and dispersing286 fleet of trains and its long line of blue-coated IZVOSHTCHIKS. Then he turned.
"Billy," he said, "didn't I see you the other evening driving towards the Hermitage?"
"Yes," said Prothero, and added, "that's it."
"You were with a lady."
"And she IS a lady," said Prothero, so deeply moved that his face twitched287 as though he was going to weep.
"She's a Russian?"
"She had an English mother. Oh, you needn't stand there and look so damned ironical288! She's--she's a woman. She's a thing of kindness...."
He was too full to go on.
"Billy, old boy," said Benham, distressed289, "I don't want to be ironical--"
Prothero had got his voice again.
"You'd better know," he said, "you'd better know. She's one of those women who live in this hotel."
"Live in this hotel!"
"On the fourth floor. Didn't you know? It's the way in most of these big Russian hotels. They come down and sit about after lunch and dinner. A woman with a yellow ticket. Oh! I don't care. I don't care a rap. She's been kind to me; she's--she's dear to me. How are you to understand? I shall stop in Moscow. I shall take her to England. I can't live without her, Benham. And then-- And then you come worrying me to come to your damned Odessa!"
And suddenly this extraordinary young man put his hands to his face as though he feared to lose it and would hold it on, and after an apoplectic290 moment burst noisily into tears. They ran between his fingers. "Get out of my room," he shouted, suffocatingly291. "What business have you to come prying292 on me?"
Benham sat down on a chair in the middle of the room and stared round-eyed at his friend. His hands were in his pockets. For a time he said nothing.
"Billy," he began at last, and stopped again. "Billy, in this country somehow one wants to talk like a Russian. Billy, my dear--I'm not your father, I'm not your judge. I'm--unreasonably fond of you. It's not my business to settle what is right or wrong for you. If you want to stay in Moscow, stay in Moscow. Stay here, and stay as my guest...."
He stopped and remained staring at his friend for a little space.
"I didn't know," said Prothero brokenly; "I didn't know it was possible to get so fond of a person...."
Benham stood up. He had never found Prothero so attractive and so abominable293 in his life before.
"I shall go to Odessa alone, Billy. I'll make things all right here before I go...."
He closed the door behind him and went in a state of profound thought to his own room....
Presently Prothero came to him with a vague inopportune desire to explain what so evidently did not need explaining. He walked about the room trying ways of putting it, while Benham packed.
In an unaccountable way Prothero's bristling294 little mind seemed to have shrunken to something sleek295 and small.
"I wish," he said, "you could stay for a later train and have lunch and meet her. She's not the ordinary thing. She's--different."
Benham plumbed296 depths of wisdom. "Billy," he said, "no woman IS the ordinary thing. They are all--different...."
14
For a time this affair of Prothero's seemed to be a matter as disconnected from the Research Magnificent as one could imagine any matter to be. While Benham went from Moscow and returned, and travelled hither and thither, and involved himself more and more in the endless tangled126 threads of the revolutionary movement in Russia, Prothero was lost to all those large issues in the development of his personal situation. He contributed nothing to Benham's thought except attempts at discouragement. He reiterated297 his declaration that all the vast stress and change of Russian national life was going on because it was universally disregarded. "I tell you, as I told you before, that nobody is attending. You think because all Moscow, all Russia, is in the picture, that everybody is concerned. Nobody is concerned. Nobody cares what is happening. Even the men who write in newspapers and talk at meetings about it don't care. They are thinking of their dinners, of their clothes, of their money, of their wives. They hurry home...."
That was his excuse.
Manifestly it was an excuse.
His situation developed into remarkable298 complications of jealousy and divided counsels that Benham found altogether incomprehensible. To Benham in those days everything was very simple in this business of love. The aristocrat had to love ideally; that was all. He had to love Amanda. He and Amanda were now very deeply in love again, more in love, he felt, than they had ever been before. They were now writing love-letters to each other and enjoying a separation that was almost voluptuous299. She found in the epistolatory treatment of her surrender to him and to the natural fate of women, a delightful exercise for her very considerable powers of expression. Life pointed300 now wonderfully to the great time ahead when there would be a Cheetah cub301 in the world, and meanwhile the Cheetah loped about the wild world upon a mighty302 quest. In such terms she put it. Such foolishness written in her invincibly303 square and youthful hand went daily from London to Russia, and stacked up against his return in the porter's office at the Cosmopolis Bazaar or pursued him down through the jarring disorders304 of south-west Russia, or waited for him at ill-chosen post-offices that deflected305 his journeyings wastefully306 or in several instances went altogether astray. Perhaps they supplied self-educating young strikers in the postal307 service with useful exercises in the deciphering of manuscript English. He wrote back five hundred different ways of saying that he loved her extravagantly....
It seemed to Benham in those days that he had found the remedy and solution of all those sexual perplexities that distressed the world; Heroic Love to its highest note--and then you go about your business. It seemed impossible not to be happy and lift one's chin high and diffuse308 a bracing309 kindliness201 among the unfortunate multitudes who stewed310 in affliction and hate because they had failed as yet to find this simple, culminating elucidation311. And Prothero--Prothero, too, was now achieving the same grand elementariness, out of his lusts312 and protests and general physical squalor he had flowered into love. For a time it is true it made rather an ineffective companion of him, but this was the mere goose-stepping for the triumphal march; this way ultimately lay exaltation. Benham had had as yet but a passing glimpse of this Anglo-Russian, who was a lady and altogether unlike her fellows; he had seen her for a doubtful second or so as she and Prothero drove past him, and his impression was of a rather little creature, white-faced with dusky hair under a red cap, paler and smaller but with something in her, a quiet alertness, that gave her a touch of kinship with Amanda. And if she liked old Prothero-- And, indeed, she must like old Prothero or could she possibly have made him so deeply in love with her?
They must stick to each other, and then, presently, Prothero's soul would wake up and face the world again. What did it matter what she had been?
Through stray shots and red conflict, long tediums of strained anxiety and the physical dangers of a barbaric country staggering towards revolution, Benham went with his own love like a lamp within him and this affair of Prothero's reflecting its light, and he was quite prepared for the most sympathetic and liberal behaviour when he came back to Moscow to make the lady's acquaintance. He intended to help Prothero to marry and take her back to Cambridge, and to assist by every possible means in destroying and forgetting the official yellow ticket that defined her status in Moscow. But he reckoned without either Prothero or the young lady in this expectation.
It only got to him slowly through his political preoccupations that there were obscure obstacles to this manifest course. Prothero hesitated; the lady expressed doubts.
On closer acquaintance her resemblance to Amanda diminished. It was chiefly a similarity of complexion313. She had a more delicate face than Amanda, and its youthful brightness was deadened; she had none of Amanda's glow, and she spoke her mother's language with a pretty halting limp that was very different from Amanda's clear decisions.
She put her case compactly.
"I would not DO in Cambridge," she said with an infinitesimal glance at Prothero.
"Mr. Benham," she said, and her manner had the gravity of a woman of affairs, "now do you see me in Cambridge? Now do you see me? Kept outside the walls? In a little DATCHA? With no occupation? Just to amuse him."
And on another occasion when Prothero was not with her she achieved still completer lucidity314.
"I would come if I thought he wanted me to come," she said. "But you see if I came he would not want me to come. Because then he would have me and so he wouldn't want me. He would just have the trouble. And I am not sure if I should be happy in Cambridge. I am not sure I should be happy enough to make him happy. It is a very learned and intelligent and charming society, of course; but here, THINGS HAPPEN. At Cambridge nothing happens--there is only education. There is no revolution in Cambridge; there are not even sinful people to be sorry for.... And he says himself that Cambridge people are particular. He says they are liberal but very, very particular, and perhaps I could not always act my part well. Sometimes I am not always well behaved. When there is music I behave badly sometimes, or when I am bored. He says the Cambridge people are so liberal that they do not mind what you are, but he says they are so particular that they mind dreadfully how you are what you are.... So that it comes to exactly the same thing...."
"Anna Alexievna," said Benham suddenly, "are you in love with Prothero?"
Her manner became conscientiously315 scientific.
"He is very kind and very generous--too generous. He keeps sending for more money--hundreds of roubles, I try to prevent him."
"Were you EVER in love?"
"Of course. But it's all gone long ago. It was like being hungry. Only very fine hungry. Exquisite hungry.... And then being disgusted...."
"He is in love with you."
"What is love?" said Anna. "He is grateful. He is by nature grateful." She smiled a smile, like the smile of a pale Madonna who looks down on her bambino.
"And you love nothing?"
"I love Russia--and being alone, being completely alone. When I am dead perhaps I shall be alone. Not even my own body will touch me then."
Then she added, "But I shall be sorry when he goes."
Afterwards Benham talked to Prothero alone. "Your Anna," he said, "is rather wonderful. At first, I tell you now frankly316 I did not like her very much, I thought she looked 'used,' she drank vodka at lunch, she was gay, uneasily; she seemed a sham108 thing. All that was prejudice. She thinks; she's generous, she's fine."
"She's tragic," said Prothero as though it was the same thing.
He spoke as though he noted317 an objection. His next remark confirmed this impression. "That's why I can't take her back to Cambridge," he said.
"You see, Benham," he went on, "she's human. She's not really feminine. I mean, she's--unsexed. She isn't fitted to be a wife or a mother any more. We've talked about the possible life in England, very plainly. I've explained what a household in Cambridge would mean.... It doesn't attract her.... In a way she's been let out from womanhood, forced out of womanhood, and I see now that when women are let out from womanhood there's no putting them back. I could give a lecture on Anna. I see now that if women are going to be wives and mothers and homekeepers and ladies, they must be got ready for it from the beginning, sheltered, never really let out into the wild chances of life. She has been. Bitterly. She's REALLY emancipated318. And it's let her out into a sort of nothingness. She's no longer a woman, and she isn't a man. She ought to be able to go on her own--like a man. But I can't take her back to Cambridge. Even for her sake."
His perplexed eyes regarded Benham.
"You won't be happy in Cambridge--alone," said Benham.
"Oh, damnably not! But what can I do? I had at first some idea of coming to Moscow for good--teaching."
He paused. "Impossible. I'm worth nothing here. I couldn't have kept her."
"Then what are you going to do, Billy?"
"I don't KNOW what I'm going to do, I tell you. I live for the moment. To-morrow we are going out into the country."
"I don't understand," said Benham with a gesture of resignation. "It seems to me that if a man and woman love each other--well, they insist upon each other. What is to happen to her if you leave her in Moscow?"
"Damnation! Is there any need to ask that?"
"Take her to Cambridge, man. And if Cambridge objects, teach Cambridge better manners."
Prothero's face was suddenly transfigured with rage.
"I tell you she won't come!" he said.
"Billy!" said Benham, "you should make her!"
"I can't."
"If a man loves a woman he can make her do anything--"
"But I don't love her like that," said Prothero, shrill319 with anger. "I tell you I don't love her like that."
Then he lunged into further deeps. "It's the other men," he said, "it's the things that have been. Don't you understand? Can't you understand? The memories--she must have memories--they come between us. It's something deeper than reason. It's in one's spine320 and under one's nails. One could do anything, I perceive, for one's very own woman...."
"MAKE her your very own woman, said the exponent321 of heroic love.
"I shirk deeds, Benham, but you shirk facts. How could any man make her his very own woman now? You--you don't seem to understand--ANYTHING. She's nobody's woman--for ever. That--that might-have-been has gone for ever.... It's nerves--a passion of the nerves. There's a cruelty in life and-- She's KIND to me. She's so kind to me...."
And then again Prothero was weeping like a vexed322 child.
点击收听单词发音
1 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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2 systematic | |
adj.有系统的,有计划的,有方法的 | |
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3 overlapping | |
adj./n.交迭(的) | |
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4 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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5 ousting | |
驱逐( oust的现在分词 ); 革职; 罢黜; 剥夺 | |
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6 memorandum | |
n.备忘录,便笺 | |
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7 erased | |
v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 );抹去;清除 | |
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8 Amended | |
adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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9 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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10 tacked | |
用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 ); 附加,增补; 帆船抢风行驶,用粗线脚缝 | |
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11 autobiography | |
n.自传 | |
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12 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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13 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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14 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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15 dominant | |
adj.支配的,统治的;占优势的;显性的;n.主因,要素,主要的人(或物);显性基因 | |
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16 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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17 innate | |
adj.天生的,固有的,天赋的 | |
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18 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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19 obstinately | |
ad.固执地,顽固地 | |
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20 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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21 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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22 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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23 generalizations | |
一般化( generalization的名词复数 ); 普通化; 归纳; 概论 | |
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24 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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25 penetration | |
n.穿透,穿人,渗透 | |
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26 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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27 aristocrat | |
n.贵族,有贵族气派的人,上层人物 | |
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28 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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29 demonstration | |
n.表明,示范,论证,示威 | |
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30 reproof | |
n.斥责,责备 | |
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31 impersonal | |
adj.无个人感情的,与个人无关的,非人称的 | |
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32 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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33 incompatibility | |
n.不兼容 | |
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34 conglomerate | |
n.综合商社,多元化集团公司 | |
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35 implicit | |
a.暗示的,含蓄的,不明晰的,绝对的 | |
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36 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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37 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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38 wrangle | |
vi.争吵 | |
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39 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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40 antagonism | |
n.对抗,敌对,对立 | |
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41 hermits | |
(尤指早期基督教的)隐居修道士,隐士,遁世者( hermit的名词复数 ) | |
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42 recluses | |
n.隐居者,遁世者,隐士( recluse的名词复数 ) | |
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43 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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44 segregated | |
分开的; 被隔离的 | |
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45 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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46 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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47 specialized | |
adj.专门的,专业化的 | |
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48 celibate | |
adj.独身的,独身主义的;n.独身者 | |
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49 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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50 lust | |
n.性(淫)欲;渴(欲)望;vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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51 lustful | |
a.贪婪的;渴望的 | |
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52 rivalry | |
n.竞争,竞赛,对抗 | |
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53 rivalries | |
n.敌对,竞争,对抗( rivalry的名词复数 ) | |
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54 generosities | |
n.慷慨( generosity的名词复数 );大方;宽容;慷慨或宽容的行为 | |
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55 avenge | |
v.为...复仇,为...报仇 | |
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56 impede | |
v.妨碍,阻碍,阻止 | |
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57 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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58 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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59 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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60 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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61 chivalrous | |
adj.武士精神的;对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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62 transcends | |
超出或超越(经验、信念、描写能力等)的范围( transcend的第三人称单数 ); 优于或胜过… | |
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63 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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64 mawkish | |
adj.多愁善感的的;无味的 | |
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65 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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66 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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67 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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68 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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69 twig | |
n.小树枝,嫩枝;v.理解 | |
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70 estrangement | |
n.疏远,失和,不和 | |
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71 gem | |
n.宝石,珠宝;受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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72 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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73 attic | |
n.顶楼,屋顶室 | |
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74 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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75 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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76 extravagantly | |
adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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77 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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78 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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79 divergence | |
n.分歧,岔开 | |
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80 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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81 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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82 endearments | |
n.表示爱慕的话语,亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
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83 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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84 realization | |
n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
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85 intoxicated | |
喝醉的,极其兴奋的 | |
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86 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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87 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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88 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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89 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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90 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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91 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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92 pounce | |
n.猛扑;v.猛扑,突然袭击,欣然同意 | |
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93 pouncing | |
v.突然袭击( pounce的现在分词 );猛扑;一眼看出;抓住机会(进行抨击) | |
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94 rant | |
v.咆哮;怒吼;n.大话;粗野的话 | |
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95 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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96 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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97 revolve | |
vi.(使)旋转;循环出现 | |
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98 pounced | |
v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 );猛扑;一眼看出;抓住机会(进行抨击) | |
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99 aloofness | |
超然态度 | |
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100 chastely | |
adv.贞洁地,清高地,纯正地 | |
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101 abased | |
使谦卑( abase的过去式和过去分词 ); 使感到羞耻; 使降低(地位、身份等); 降下 | |
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102 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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103 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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104 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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105 stunned | |
adj. 震惊的,惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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106 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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107 reciprocated | |
v.报答,酬答( reciprocate的过去式和过去分词 );(机器的部件)直线往复运动 | |
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108 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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109 Mandarin | |
n.中国官话,国语,满清官吏;adj.华丽辞藻的 | |
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110 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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111 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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112 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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113 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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114 obsessed | |
adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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115 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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116 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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117 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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118 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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119 cheetah | |
n.(动物)猎豹 | |
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120 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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121 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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122 leopard | |
n.豹 | |
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123 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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124 puckered | |
v.(使某物)起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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126 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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127 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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128 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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129 subtlety | |
n.微妙,敏锐,精巧;微妙之处,细微的区别 | |
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130 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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131 despondent | |
adj.失望的,沮丧的,泄气的 | |
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132 notably | |
adv.值得注意地,显著地,尤其地,特别地 | |
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133 deficient | |
adj.不足的,不充份的,有缺陷的 | |
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134 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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135 inordinately | |
adv.无度地,非常地 | |
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136 conditional | |
adj.条件的,带有条件的 | |
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137 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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138 morasses | |
n.缠作一团( morass的名词复数 );困境;沼泽;陷阱 | |
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139 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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140 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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141 preoccupied | |
adj.全神贯注的,入神的;被抢先占有的;心事重重的v.占据(某人)思想,使对…全神贯注,使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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142 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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143 stint | |
v.节省,限制,停止;n.舍不得化,节约,限制;连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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144 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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145 honeymoon | |
n.蜜月(假期);vi.度蜜月 | |
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146 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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147 persistence | |
n.坚持,持续,存留 | |
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148 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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149 misty | |
adj.雾蒙蒙的,有雾的 | |
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150 grievance | |
n.怨愤,气恼,委屈 | |
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151 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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152 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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153 scrupulous | |
adj.审慎的,小心翼翼的,完全的,纯粹的 | |
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154 hips | |
abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯,耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 );[建筑学]屋脊;臀围(尺寸);臀部…的 | |
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155 massacre | |
n.残杀,大屠杀;v.残杀,集体屠杀 | |
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156 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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157 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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158 slay | |
v.杀死,宰杀,杀戮 | |
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159 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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160 gloss | |
n.光泽,光滑;虚饰;注释;vt.加光泽于;掩饰 | |
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161 filth | |
n.肮脏,污物,污秽;淫猥 | |
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162 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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163 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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164 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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165 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
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166 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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167 sob | |
n.空间轨道的轰炸机;呜咽,哭泣 | |
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168 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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169 agitators | |
n.(尤指政治变革的)鼓动者( agitator的名词复数 );煽动者;搅拌器;搅拌机 | |
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170 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
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171 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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172 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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173 bias | |
n.偏见,偏心,偏袒;vt.使有偏见 | |
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174 sublimity | |
崇高,庄严,气质高尚 | |
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175 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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176 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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177 stoutly | |
adv.牢固地,粗壮的 | |
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178 repudiated | |
v.(正式地)否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 );拒绝接受;拒绝与…往来;拒不履行(法律义务) | |
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179 inconvenient | |
adj.不方便的,令人感到麻烦的 | |
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180 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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181 apprehending | |
逮捕,拘押( apprehend的现在分词 ); 理解 | |
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182 meretricious | |
adj.华而不实的,俗艳的 | |
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183 celibacy | |
n.独身(主义) | |
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184 conversational | |
adj.对话的,会话的 | |
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185 credible | |
adj.可信任的,可靠的 | |
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186 defiant | |
adj.无礼的,挑战的 | |
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187 defiantly | |
adv.挑战地,大胆对抗地 | |
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188 immoral | |
adj.不道德的,淫荡的,荒淫的,有伤风化的 | |
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189 fishy | |
adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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190 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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191 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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192 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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193 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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194 grimaced | |
v.扮鬼相,做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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195 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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196 humbug | |
n.花招,谎话,欺骗 | |
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197 taunts | |
嘲弄的言语,嘲笑,奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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198 lark | |
n.云雀,百灵鸟;n.嬉戏,玩笑;vi.嬉戏 | |
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199 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
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200 chattering | |
n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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201 kindliness | |
n.厚道,亲切,友好的行为 | |
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202 grudge | |
n.不满,怨恨,妒嫉;vt.勉强给,不情愿做 | |
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203 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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204 stimulants | |
n.兴奋剂( stimulant的名词复数 );含兴奋剂的饮料;刺激物;激励物 | |
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205 arsenal | |
n.兵工厂,军械库 | |
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206 stuffy | |
adj.不透气的,闷热的 | |
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207 covet | |
vt.垂涎;贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
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208 begetting | |
v.为…之生父( beget的现在分词 );产生,引起 | |
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209 materialism | |
n.[哲]唯物主义,唯物论;物质至上 | |
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210 persistently | |
ad.坚持地;固执地 | |
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211 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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212 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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213 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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214 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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215 stifled | |
(使)窒息, (使)窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 ); 镇压,遏制; 堵 | |
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216 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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217 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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218 cant | |
n.斜穿,黑话,猛扔 | |
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219 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
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220 vehement | |
adj.感情强烈的;热烈的;(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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221 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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222 pompous | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
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223 temperaments | |
性格( temperament的名词复数 ); (人或动物的)气质; 易冲动; (性情)暴躁 | |
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224 vegetarian | |
n.素食者;adj.素食的 | |
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225 bowler | |
n.打保龄球的人,(板球的)投(球)手 | |
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226 formulate | |
v.用公式表示;规划;设计;系统地阐述 | |
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227 overflow | |
v.(使)外溢,(使)溢出;溢出,流出,漫出 | |
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228 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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229 savages | |
未开化的人,野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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230 persecuting | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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231 squeal | |
v.发出长而尖的声音;n.长而尖的声音 | |
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232 taboos | |
禁忌( taboo的名词复数 ); 忌讳; 戒律; 禁忌的事物(或行为) | |
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233 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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234 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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235 contradictory | |
adj.反驳的,反对的,抗辩的;n.正反对,矛盾对立 | |
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236 suffocates | |
(使某人)窒息而死( suffocate的第三人称单数 ); (将某人)闷死; 让人感觉闷热; 憋气 | |
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237 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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238 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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239 austerely | |
adv.严格地,朴质地 | |
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240 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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241 overridden | |
越控( override的过去分词 ); (以权力)否决; 优先于; 比…更重要 | |
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242 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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243 shipping | |
n.船运(发货,运输,乘船) | |
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244 polyglot | |
adj.通晓数种语言的;n.通晓多种语言的人 | |
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245 incompetence | |
n.不胜任,不称职 | |
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246 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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247 meticulous | |
adj.极其仔细的,一丝不苟的 | |
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248 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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249 secularism | |
n.现世主义;世俗主义;宗教与教育分离论;政教分离论 | |
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250 dissent | |
n./v.不同意,持异议 | |
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251 dubious | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
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252 irrelevantly | |
adv.不恰当地,不合适地;不相关地 | |
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253 obsession | |
n.困扰,无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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254 winking | |
n.瞬眼,目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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255 beacons | |
灯塔( beacon的名词复数 ); 烽火; 指路明灯; 无线电台或发射台 | |
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256 smoothly | |
adv.平滑地,顺利地,流利地,流畅地 | |
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257 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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258 anarchy | |
n.无政府状态;社会秩序混乱,无秩序 | |
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259 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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260 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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261 serenity | |
n.宁静,沉着,晴朗 | |
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262 ruffled | |
adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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263 citadel | |
n.城堡;堡垒;避难所 | |
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264 eddy | |
n.漩涡,涡流 | |
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265 galloped | |
(使马)飞奔,奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 ); 快速做[说]某事 | |
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266 spat | |
n.口角,掌击;v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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267 agog | |
adj.兴奋的,有强烈兴趣的; adv.渴望地 | |
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268 severed | |
v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
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269 entangling | |
v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的现在分词 ) | |
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270 fortress | |
n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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271 permissible | |
adj.可允许的,许可的 | |
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272 galloping | |
adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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273 elusive | |
adj.难以表达(捉摸)的;令人困惑的;逃避的 | |
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274 portentous | |
adj.不祥的,可怕的,装腔作势的 | |
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275 extraordinarily | |
adv.格外地;极端地 | |
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276 cannons | |
n.加农炮,大炮,火炮( cannon的名词复数 ) | |
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277 reassuring | |
a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的,使人放心的 | |
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278 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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279 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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280 disastrous | |
adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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281 strenuously | |
adv.奋发地,费力地 | |
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282 bazaar | |
n.集市,商店集中区 | |
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283 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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284 irritable | |
adj.急躁的;过敏的;易怒的 | |
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285 crumpled | |
adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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286 dispersing | |
adj. 分散的 动词disperse的现在分词形式 | |
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287 twitched | |
vt.& vi.(使)抽动,(使)颤动(twitch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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288 ironical | |
adj.讽刺的,冷嘲的 | |
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289 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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290 apoplectic | |
adj.中风的;愤怒的;n.中风患者 | |
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291 suffocatingly | |
令人窒息地 | |
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292 prying | |
adj.爱打听的v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的现在分词 );撬开 | |
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293 abominable | |
adj.可厌的,令人憎恶的 | |
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294 bristling | |
a.竖立的 | |
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295 sleek | |
adj.光滑的,井然有序的;v.使光滑,梳拢 | |
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296 plumbed | |
v.经历( plumb的过去式和过去分词 );探究;用铅垂线校正;用铅锤测量 | |
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297 reiterated | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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298 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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299 voluptuous | |
adj.肉欲的,骄奢淫逸的 | |
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300 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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301 cub | |
n.幼兽,年轻无经验的人 | |
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302 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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303 invincibly | |
adv.难战胜地,无敌地 | |
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304 disorders | |
n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 );凌乱;骚乱;(身心、机能)失调 | |
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305 deflected | |
偏离的 | |
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306 wastefully | |
浪费地,挥霍地,耗费地 | |
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307 postal | |
adj.邮政的,邮局的 | |
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308 diffuse | |
v.扩散;传播;adj.冗长的;四散的,弥漫的 | |
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309 bracing | |
adj.令人振奋的 | |
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310 stewed | |
adj.焦虑不安的,烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 );煨;思考;担忧 | |
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311 elucidation | |
n.说明,阐明 | |
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312 lusts | |
贪求(lust的第三人称单数形式) | |
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313 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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314 lucidity | |
n.明朗,清晰,透明 | |
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315 conscientiously | |
adv.凭良心地;认真地,负责尽职地;老老实实 | |
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316 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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317 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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318 emancipated | |
adj.被解放的,不受约束的v.解放某人(尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚)( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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319 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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320 spine | |
n.脊柱,脊椎;(动植物的)刺;书脊 | |
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321 exponent | |
n.倡导者,拥护者;代表人物;指数,幂 | |
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322 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 | |
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