“At last they in an island did espy1
A seemly woman sitting by the shore,
That with great sorrow and sad agony
Seemed some great misfortune to deplore2;
And loud to them for succor3 called evermore.”
“Black his eye as the midnight sky.
White his neck as the driven snow,
Red his cheek as the morning light;—
Cold he lies in the ground below.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed, ys
“Each lonely scene shall thee restore,
For thee the tear be duly shed;
Belov’d till life can charm no more,
And mourned till Pity’s self be dead.”
Far to the northeast of Charles’s Isle6, sequestered7 from the rest, lies Norfolk Isle; and, however insignificant8 to most voyagers, to me, through sympathy, that lone5 island has become a spot made sacred by the strangest trials of humanity.
It was my first visit to the Encantadas. Two days had been spent ashore9 in hunting tortoises. There was not time to capture many; so on the third afternoon we loosed our sails. We were just in the act of getting under way, the uprooted10 anchor yet suspended and invisibly swaying beneath the wave, as the good ship gradually turned her heel to leave the isle behind, when the seaman11 who heaved with me at the windlass paused suddenly, and directed my attention to something moving on the land, not along the beach, but somewhat back, fluttering from a height.
In view of the sequel of this little story, be it here narrated14 how it came to pass, that an object which partly from its being so small was quite lost to every other man on board, still caught the eye of my handspike companion. The rest of the crew, myself included, merely stood up to our spikes16 in heaving, whereas, unwontedly exhilarated, at every turn of the ponderous17 windlass, my belted comrade leaped atop of it, with might and main giving a downward, thewey, perpendicular18 heave, his raised eye bent19 in cheery animation20 upon the slowly receding21 shore. Being high lifted above all others was the reason he perceived the object, otherwise unperceivable; and this elevation22 of his eye was owing to the elevation of his spirits; and this again—for truth must out—to a dram of Peruvian pisco, in guerdon for some kindness done, secretly administered to him that morning by our mulatto steward23. Now, certainly, pisco does a deal of mischief24 in the world; yet seeing that, in the present case, it was the means, though indirect, of rescuing a human being from the most dreadful fate, must we not also needs admit that sometimes pisco does a deal of good?
Glancing across the water in the direction pointed25 out, I saw some white thing hanging from an inland rock, perhaps half a mile from the sea.
“It is a bird; a white-winged bird; perhaps a—no; it is—it is a handkerchief!”
“Ay, a handkerchief!” echoed my comrade, and with a louder shout apprised27 the captain.
Quickly now—like the running out and training of a great gun—the long cabin spy-glass was thrust through the mizzen rigging from the high platform of the poop; whereupon a human figure was plainly seen upon the inland rock, eagerly waving towards us what seemed to be the handkerchief.
Our captain was a prompt, good fellow. Dropping the glass, he lustily ran forward, ordering the anchor to be dropped again; hands to stand by a boat, and lower away.
In a half-hour’s time the swift boat returned. It went with six and came with seven; and the seventh was a woman.
It is not artistic28 heartlessness, but I wish I could but draw in crayons; for this woman was a most touching29 sight; and crayons, tracing softly melancholy30 lines, would best depict31 the mournful image of the dark-damasked Chola widow.
Her story was soon told, and though given in her own strange language was as quickly understood; for our captain, from long trading on the Chilian coast, was well versed32 in the Spanish. A Cholo, or half-breed Indian woman of Payta in Peru, three years gone by, with her young new-wedded husband Felipe, of pure Castilian blood, and her one only Indian brother, Truxill, Hunilla had taken passage on the main in a French whaler, commanded by a joyous33 man; which vessel34, bound to the cruising grounds beyond the Enchanted35 Isles36, proposed passing close by their vicinity. The object of the little party was to procure37 tortoise oil, a fluid which for its great purity and delicacy38 is held in high estimation wherever known; and it is well known all along this part of the Pacific coast. With a chest of clothes, tools, cooking utensils39, a rude apparatus40 for trying out the oil, some casks of biscuit, and other things, not omitting two favorite dogs, of which faithful animal all the Cholos are very fond, Hunilla and her companions were safely landed at their chosen place; the Frenchman, according to the contract made ere sailing, engaged to take them off upon returning from a four months’ cruise in the westward41 seas; which interval42 the three adventurers deemed quite sufficient for their purposes.
On the isle’s lone beach they paid him in silver for their passage out, the stranger having declined to carry them at all except upon that condition; though willing to take every means to insure the due fulfillment of his promise. Felipe had striven hard to have this payment put off to the period of the ship’s return. But in vain. Still they thought they had, in another way, ample pledge of the good faith of the Frenchman. It was arranged that the expenses of the passage home should not be payable44 in silver, but in tortoises; one hundred tortoises ready captured to the returning captain’s hand. These the Cholos meant to secure after their own work was done, against the probable time of the Frenchman’s coming back; and no doubt in prospect45 already felt, that in those hundred tortoises—now somewhere ranging the isle’s interior—they possessed46 one hundred hostages. Enough: the vessel sailed; the gazing three on shore answered the loud glee of the singing crew; and ere evening, the French craft was hull47 down in the distant sea, its masts three faintest lines which quickly faded from Hunilla’s eye.
The stranger had given a blithesome48 promise, and anchored it with oaths; but oaths and anchors equally will drag; naught50 else abides51 on fickle53 earth but unkept promises of joy. Contrary winds from out unstable54 skies, or contrary moods of his more varying mind, or shipwreck55 and sudden death in solitary57 waves; whatever was the cause, the blithe49 stranger never was seen again.
Yet, however dire13 a calamity58 was here in store, misgivings59 of it ere due time never disturbed the Cholos’ busy mind, now all intent upon the toilsome matter which had brought them hither. Nay60, by swift doom61 coming like the thief at night, ere seven weeks went by, two of the little party were removed from all anxieties of land or sea. No more they sought to gaze with feverish62 fear, or still more feverish hope, beyond the present’s horizon line; but into the furthest future their own silent spirits sailed. By persevering63 labor64 beneath that burning sun, Felipe and Truxill had brought down to their hut many scores of tortoises, and tried out the oil, when, elated with their good success, and to reward themselves for such hard work, they, too hastily, made a catamaran, or Indian raft, much used on the Spanish main, and merrily started on a fishing trip, just without a long reef with many jagged gaps, running parallel with the shore, about half a mile from it. By some bad tide or hap26, or natural negligence65 of joyfulness66 (for though they could not be heard, yet by their gestures they seemed singing at the time) forced in deep water against that iron bar, the ill-made catamaran was overset, and came all to pieces; when dashed by broad-chested swells67 between their broken logs and the sharp teeth of the reef, both adventurers perished before Hunilla’s eyes.
Before Hunilla’s eyes they sank. The real woe68 of this event passed before her sight as some sham69 tragedy on the stage. She was seated on a rude bower70 among the withered71 thickets72, crowning a lofty cliff, a little back from the beach. The thickets were so disposed, that in looking upon the sea at large she peered out from among the branches as from the lattice of a high balcony. But upon the day we speak of here, the better to watch the adventure of those two hearts she loved, Hunilla had withdrawn73 the branches to one side, and held them so. They formed an oval frame, through which the bluely boundless74 sea rolled like a painted one. And there, the invisible painter painted to her view the wave-tossed and disjointed raft, its once level logs slantingly upheaved, as raking masts, and the four struggling arms indistinguishable among them; and then all subsided76 into smooth-flowing creamy waters, slowly drifting the splintered wreck56; while first and last, no sound of any sort was heard. Death in a silent picture; a dream of the eye; such vanishing shapes as the mirage77 shows.
So instant was the scene, so trance-like its mild pictorial78 effect, so distant from her blasted bower and her common sense of things, that Hunilla gazed and gazed, nor raised a finger or a wail79. But as good to sit thus dumb, in stupor80 staring on that dumb show, for all that otherwise might be done. With half a mile of sea between, how could her two enchanted arms aid those four fated ones? The distance long, the time one sand. After the lightning is beheld81, what fool shall stay the thunder-bolt? Felipe’s body was washed ashore, but Truxill’s never came; only his gay, braided hat of golden straw—that same sunflower thing he waved to her, pushing from the strand82—and now, to the last gallant83, it still saluted84 her. But Felipe’s body floated to the marge, with one arm encirclingly outstretched. Lock-jawed in grim death, the lover-husband softly clasped his bride, true to her even in death’s dream. Ah, heaven, when man thus keeps his faith, wilt85 thou be faithless who created the faithful one? But they cannot break faith who never plighted86 it.
It needs not to be said what nameless misery87 now wrapped the lonely widow. In telling her own story she passed this almost entirely88 over, simply recounting the event. Construe90 the comment of her features as you might, from her mere15 words little would you have weened that Hunilla was herself the heroine of her tale. But not thus did she defraud91 us of our tears. All hearts bled that grief could be so brave.
She but showed us her soul’s lid, and the strange ciphers92 thereon engraved93; all within, with pride’s timidity, was withheld94. Yet was there one exception. Holding out her small olive hand before her captain, she said in mild and slowest Spanish, “Se?or, I buried him;” then paused, struggled as against the writhed95 coilings of a snake, and cringing96 suddenly, leaped up, repeating in impassioned pain, “I buried him, my life, my soul!”
Doubtless, it was by half-unconscious, automatic motions of her hands, that this heavy-hearted one performed the final office for Felipe, and planted a rude cross of withered sticks—no green ones might be had—at the head of that lonely grave, where rested now in lasting97 uncomplaint and quiet haven98 he whom untranquil seas had overthrown99.
But some dull sense of another body that should be interred100, of another cross that should hallow another grave—unmade as yet—some dull anxiety and pain touching her undiscovered brother, now haunted the oppressed Hunilla. Her hands fresh from the burial earth, she slowly went back to the beach, with unshaped purposes wandering there, her spell-bound eye bent upon the incessant102 waves. But they bore nothing to her but a dirge103, which maddened her to think that murderers should mourn. As time went by, and these things came less dreamingly to her mind, the strong persuasions104 of her Romish faith, which sets peculiar105 store by consecrated106 urns107, prompted her to resume in waking earnest that pious108 search which had but been begun as in somnambulism. Day after day, week after week, she trod the cindery109 beach, till at length a double motive110 edged every eager glance. With equal longing111 she now looked for the living and the dead; the brother and the captain; alike vanished, never to return. Little accurate note of time had Hunilla taken under such emotions as were hers, and little, outside herself, served for calendar or dial. As to poor Crusoe in the self-same sea, no saint’s bell pealed112 forth113 the lapse114 of week or month; each day went by unchallenged; no chanticleer announced those sultry dawns, no lowing herds115 those poisonous nights. All wonted and steadily116 recurring117 sounds, human, or humanized by sweet fellowship with man, but one stirred that torrid trance—the cry of dogs; save which naught but the rolling sea invaded it, an all-pervading monotone; and to the widow that was the least loved voice she could have heard.
No wonder, that as her thoughts now wandered to the unreturning ship, and were beaten back again, the hope against hope so struggled in her soul, that at length she desperately118 said, “Not yet, not yet; my foolish heart runs on too fast.” So she forced patience for some further weeks. But to those whom earth’s sure indraft draws, patience or impatience119 is still the same.
Hunilla now sought to settle precisely120 in her mind, to an hour, how long it was since the ship had sailed; and then, with the same precision, how long a space remained to pass. But this proved impossible. What present day or month it was she could not say. Time was her labyrinth121, in which Hunilla was entirely lost.
And now follows—
Against my own purposes a pause descends122 upon me here. One knows not whether nature doth not impose some secrecy123 upon him who has been privy124 to certain things. At least, it is to be doubted whether it be good to blazon125 such. If some books are deemed most baneful126 and their sale forbid, how, then, with deadlier facts, not dreams of doting127 men? Those whom books will hurt will not be proof against events. Events, not books, should be forbid. But in all things man sows upon the wind, which bloweth just there whither it listeth; for ill or good, man cannot know. Often ill comes from the good, as good from ill.
When Hunilla—
Dire sight it is to see some silken beast long dally128 with a golden lizard129 ere she devour130. More terrible, to see how feline131 Fate will sometimes dally with a human soul, and by a nameless magic make it repulse132 a sane133 despair with a hope which is but mad. Unwittingly I imp89 this cat-like thing, sporting with the heart of him who reads; for if he feel not he reads in vain.
—“The ship sails this day, today,” at last said Hunilla to herself; “this gives me certain time to stand on; without certainty I go mad. In loose ignorance I have hoped and hoped; now in firm knowledge I will but wait. Now I live and no longer perish in bewilderings. Holy Virgin134, aid me! Thou wilt waft135 back the ship. Oh, past length of weary weeks—all to be dragged over—to buy the certainty of today, I freely give ye, though I tear ye from me!”
As mariners136, tost in tempest on some desolate137 ledge43, patch them a boat out of the remnants of their vessel’s wreck, and launch it in the self-same waves, see here Hunilla, this lone shipwrecked soul, out of treachery invoking138 trust. Humanity, thou strong thing, I worship thee, not in the laureled victor, but in this vanquished139 one.
Truly Hunilla leaned upon a reed, a real one; no metaphor140; a real Eastern reed. A piece of hollow cane141, drifted from unknown isles, and found upon the beach, its once jagged ends rubbed smoothly142 even as by sand-paper; its golden glazing143 gone. Long ground between the sea and land, upper and nether144 stone, the unvarnished substance was filed bare, and wore another polish now, one with itself, the polish of its agony. Circular lines at intervals145 cut all round this surface, divided it into six panels of unequal length. In the first were scored the days, each tenth one marked by a longer and deeper notch146; the second was scored for the number of sea-fowl eggs for sustenance147, picked out from the rocky nests; the third, how many fish had been caught from the shore; the fourth, how many small tortoises found inland; the fifth, how many days of sun; the sixth, of clouds; which last, of the two, was the greater one. Long night of busy numbering, misery’s mathematics, to weary her too-wakeful soul to sleep; yet sleep for that was none.
The panel of the days was deeply worn—the long tenth notches148 half effaced149, as alphabets of the blind. Ten thousand times the longing widow had traced her finger over the bamboo—dull flute150, which played, on, gave no sound—as if counting birds flown by in air would hasten tortoises creeping through the woods.
After the one hundred and eightieth day no further mark was seen; that last one was the faintest, as the first the deepest.
“There were more days,” said our Captain; “many, many more; why did you not go on and notch them, too, Hunilla?”
“Se?or, ask me not.”
“And meantime, did no other vessel pass the isle?”
“Nay, Se?or;—but—”
“You do not speak; but what, Hunilla?”
“Ask me not, Se?or.”
“You saw ships pass, far away; you waved to them; they passed on;—was that it, Hunilla?”
“Se?or, be it as you say.”
Braced151 against her woe, Hunilla would not, durst not trust the weakness of her tongue. Then when our Captain asked whether any whale-boats had—
But no, I will not file this thing complete for scoffing152 souls to quote, and call it firm proof upon their side. The half shall here remain untold153. Those two unnamed events which befell Hunilla on this isle, let them abide52 between her and her God. In nature, as in law, it may be libelous154 to speak some truths.
Still, how it was that, although our vessel had lain three days anchored nigh the isle, its one human tenant155 should not have discovered us till just upon the point of sailing, never to revisit so lone and far a spot, this needs explaining ere the sequel come.
The place where the French captain had landed the little party was on the further and opposite end of the isle. There, too, it was that they had afterwards built their hut. Nor did the widow in her solitude156 desert the spot where her loved ones had dwelt with her, and where the dearest of the twain now slept his last long sleep, and all her plaints awaked him not, and he of husbands the most faithful during life.
Now, high, broken land rises between the opposite extremities157 of the isle. A ship anchored at one side is invisible from the other. Neither is the isle so small, but a considerable company might wander for days through the wilderness158 of one side, and never be seen, or their halloos heard, by any stranger holding aloof159 on the other. Hence Hunilla, who naturally associated the possible coming of ships with her own part of the isle, might to the end have remained quite ignorant of the presence of our vessel, were it not for a mysterious presentiment160, borne to her, so our mariners averred161, by this isle’s enchanted air. Nor did the widow’s answer undo162 the thought.
“How did you come to cross the isle this morning, then, Hunilla?” said our Captain.
“Se?or, something came flitting by me. It touched my cheek, my heart, Se?or.”
“What do you say, Hunilla?”
“I have said, Se?or, something came through the air.”
It was a narrow chance. For when in crossing the isle Hunilla gained the high land in the centre, she must then for the first have perceived our masts, and also marked that their sails were being loosed, perhaps even heard the echoing chorus of the windlass song. The strange ship was about to sail, and she behind. With all haste she now descends the height on the hither side, but soon loses sight of the ship among the sunken jungles at the mountain’s base. She struggles on through the withered branches, which seek at every step to bar her path, till she comes to the isolated163 rock, still some way from the water. This she climbs, to reassure164 herself. The ship is still in plainest sight. But now, worn out with over tension, Hunilla all but faints; she fears to step down from her giddy perch165; she is fain to pause, there where she is, and as a last resort catches the turban from her head, unfurls and waves it over the jungles towards us.
During the telling of her story the mariners formed a voiceless circle round Hunilla and the Captain; and when at length the word was given to man the fastest boat, and pull round to the isle’s thither166 side, to bring away Hunilla’s chest and the tortoise-oil, such alacrity167 of both cheery and sad obedience168 seldom before was seen. Little ado was made. Already the anchor had been recommitted to the bottom, and the ship swung calmly to it.
But Hunilla insisted upon accompanying the boat as indispensable pilot to her hidden hut. So being refreshed with the best the steward could supply, she started with us. Nor did ever any wife of the most famous admiral, in her husband’s barge169, receive more silent reverence170 of respect than poor Hunilla from this boat’s crew.
Rounding many a vitreous cape171 and bluff172, in two hours’ time we shot inside the fatal reef; wound into a secret cove101, looked up along a green many-gabled lava173 wall, and saw the island’s solitary dwelling174.
It hung upon an impending175 cliff, sheltered on two sides by tangled176 thickets, and half-screened from view in front by juttings of the rude stairway, which climbed the precipice177 from the sea. Built of canes178, it was thatched with long, mildewed179 grass. It seemed an abandoned hay-rick, whose haymakers were now no more. The roof inclined but one way; the eaves coming to within two feet of the ground. And here was a simple apparatus to collect the dews, or rather doubly-distilled and finest winnowed180 rains, which, in mercy or in mockery, the night-skies sometimes drop upon these blighted181 Encantadas. All along beneath the eaves, a spotted182 sheet, quite weather-stained, was spread, pinned to short, upright stakes, set in the shallow sand. A small clinker, thrown into the cloth, weighed its middle down, thereby183 straining all moisture into a calabash placed below. This vessel supplied each drop of water ever drunk upon the isle by the Cholos. Hunilla told us the calabash, would sometimes, but not often, be half filled overnight. It held six quarts, perhaps. “But,” said she, “we were used to thirst. At sandy Payta, where I live, no shower from heaven ever fell; all the water there is brought on mules185 from the inland vales.”
Tied among the thickets were some twenty moaning tortoises, supplying Hunilla’s lonely larder186; while hundreds of vast tableted black bucklers, like displaced, shattered tomb-stones of dark slate187, were also scattered188 round. These were the skeleton backs of those great tortoises from which Felipe and Truxill had made their precious oil. Several large calabashes and two goodly kegs were filled with it. In a pot near by were the caked crusts of a quantity which had been permitted to evaporate. “They meant to have strained it off next day,” said Hunilla, as she turned aside.
I forgot to mention the most singular sight of all, though the first that greeted us after landing.
Some ten small, soft-haired, ringleted dogs, of a beautiful breed, peculiar to Peru, set up a concert of glad welcomings when we gained the beach, which was responded to by Hunilla. Some of these dogs had, since her widowhood, been born upon the isle, the progeny189 of the two brought from Payta. Owing to the jagged steeps and pitfalls190, tortuous191 thickets, sunken clefts192 and perilous193 intricacies of all sorts in the interior, Hunilla, admonished194 by the loss of one favorite among them, never allowed these delicate creatures to follow her in her occasional birds’-nests climbs and other wanderings; so that, through long habituation, they offered not to follow, when that morning she crossed the land, and her own soul was then too full of other things to heed195 their lingering behind. Yet, all along she had so clung to them, that, besides what moisture they lapped up at early daybreak from the small scoop-holes among the adjacent rocks, she had shared the dew of her calabash among them; never laying by any considerable store against those prolonged and utter droughts which, in some disastrous196 seasons, warp197 these isles.
Having pointed out, at our desire, what few things she would like transported to the ship—her chest, the oil, not omitting the live tortoises which she intended for a grateful present to our Captain—we immediately set to work, carrying them to the boat down the long, sloping stair of deeply-shadowed rock. While my comrades were thus employed, I looked and Hunilla had disappeared.
It was not curiosity alone, but, it seems to me, something different mingled198 with it, which prompted me to drop my tortoise, and once more gaze slowly around. I remembered the husband buried by Hunilla’s hands. A narrow pathway led into a dense199 part of the thickets. Following it through many mazes200, I came out upon a small, round, open space, deeply chambered there.
The mound201 rose in the middle; a bare heap of finest sand, like that unverdured heap found at the bottom of an hour-glass run out. At its head stood the cross of withered sticks; the dry, peeled bark still fraying202 from it; its transverse limb tied up with rope, and forlornly adroop in the silent air.
Hunilla was partly prostrate203 upon the grave; her dark head bowed, and lost in her long, loosened Indian hair; her hands extended to the cross-foot, with a little brass204 crucifix clasped between; a crucifix worn featureless, like an ancient graven knocker long plied184 in vain. She did not see me, and I made no noise, but slid aside, and left the spot.
A few moments ere all was ready for our going, she reappeared among us. I looked into her eyes, but saw no tear. There was something which seemed strangely haughty205 in her air, and yet it was the air of woe. A Spanish and an Indian grief, which would not visibly lament206. Pride’s height in vain abased207 to proneness208 on the rack; nature’s pride subduing209 nature’s torture.
Like pages the small and silken dogs surrounded her, as she slowly descended210 towards the beach. She caught the two most eager creatures in her arms:—“Mia Teeta! Mia Tomoteeta!” and fondling them, inquired how many could we take on board.
The mate commanded the boat’s crew; not a hard-hearted man, but his way of life had been such that in most things, even in the smallest, simple utility was his leading motive.
“We cannot take them all, Hunilla; our supplies are short; the winds are unreliable; we may be a good many days going to Tombez. So take those you have, Hunilla; but no more.”
She was in the boat; the oarsmen, too, were seated; all save one, who stood ready to push off and then spring himself. With the sagacity of their race, the dogs now seemed aware that they were in the very instant of being deserted212 upon a barren strand. The gunwales of the boat were high; its prow213—presented inland—was lifted; so owing to the water, which they seemed instinctively214 to shun215, the dogs could not well leap into the little craft. But their busy paws hard scraped the prow, as it had been some farmer’s door shutting them out from shelter in a winter storm. A clamorous216 agony of alarm. They did not howl, or whine217; they all but spoke218.
“Push off! Give way!” cried the mate. The boat gave one heavy drag and lurch219, and next moment shot swiftly from the beach, turned on her heel, and sped. The dogs ran howling along the water’s marge; now pausing to gaze at the flying boat, then motioning as if to leap in chase, but mysteriously withheld themselves; and again ran howling along the beach. Had they been human beings, hardly would they have more vividly220 inspired the sense of desolation. The oars211 were plied as confederate feathers of two wings. No one spoke. I looked back upon the beach, and then upon Hunilla, but her face was set in a stern dusky calm. The dogs crouching221 in her lap vainly licked her rigid222 hands. She never looked be her: but sat motionless, till we turned a promontory223 of the coast and lost all sights and sounds astern. She seemed as one who, having experienced the sharpest of mortal pangs224, was henceforth content to have all lesser225 heartstrings riven, one by one. To Hunilla, pain seemed so necessary, that pain in other beings, though by love and sympathy made her own, was unrepiningly to be borne. A heart of yearning226 in a frame of steel. A heart of earthly yearning, frozen by the frost which falleth from the sky.
The sequel is soon told. After a long passage, vexed227 by calms and baffling winds, we made the little port of Tombez in Peru, there to recruit the ship. Payta was not very distant. Our captain sold the tortoise oil to a Tombez merchant; and adding to the silver a contribution from all hands, gave it to our silent passenger, who knew not what the mariners had done.
The last seen of lone Hunilla she was passing into Payta town, riding upon a small gray ass12; and before her on the ass’s shoulders, she eyed the jointed75 workings of the beast’s armorial cross.
1 espy | |
v.(从远处等)突然看到 | |
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2 deplore | |
vt.哀叹,对...深感遗憾 | |
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3 succor | |
n.援助,帮助;v.给予帮助 | |
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4 cactus | |
n.仙人掌 | |
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5 lone | |
adj.孤寂的,单独的;唯一的 | |
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6 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
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7 sequestered | |
adj.扣押的;隐退的;幽静的;偏僻的v.使隔绝,使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 );扣押 | |
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8 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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9 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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10 uprooted | |
v.把(某物)连根拔起( uproot的过去式和过去分词 );根除;赶走;把…赶出家园 | |
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11 seaman | |
n.海员,水手,水兵 | |
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12 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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13 dire | |
adj.可怕的,悲惨的,阴惨的,极端的 | |
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14 narrated | |
v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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16 spikes | |
n.穗( spike的名词复数 );跑鞋;(防滑)鞋钉;尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 );偷偷地给某人的饮料加入(更多)酒精( 或药物);把尖状物钉入;打乱某人的计划 | |
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17 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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18 perpendicular | |
adj.垂直的,直立的;n.垂直线,垂直的位置 | |
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19 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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20 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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21 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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22 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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23 steward | |
n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
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24 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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25 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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26 hap | |
n.运气;v.偶然发生 | |
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27 apprised | |
v.告知,通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 );评价 | |
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28 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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29 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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30 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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31 depict | |
vt.描画,描绘;描写,描述 | |
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32 versed | |
adj. 精通,熟练 | |
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33 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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34 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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35 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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36 isles | |
岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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37 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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38 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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39 utensils | |
器具,用具,器皿( utensil的名词复数 ); 器物 | |
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40 apparatus | |
n.装置,器械;器具,设备 | |
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41 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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42 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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43 ledge | |
n.壁架,架状突出物;岩架,岩礁 | |
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44 payable | |
adj.可付的,应付的,有利益的 | |
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45 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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46 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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47 hull | |
n.船身;(果、实等的)外壳;vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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48 blithesome | |
adj.欢乐的,愉快的 | |
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49 blithe | |
adj.快乐的,无忧无虑的 | |
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50 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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51 abides | |
容忍( abide的第三人称单数 ); 等候; 逗留; 停留 | |
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52 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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53 fickle | |
adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的,不坚定的 | |
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54 unstable | |
adj.不稳定的,易变的 | |
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55 shipwreck | |
n.船舶失事,海难 | |
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56 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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57 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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58 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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59 misgivings | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕;疑虑,担心,恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 );疑惧 | |
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60 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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61 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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62 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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63 persevering | |
a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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64 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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65 negligence | |
n.疏忽,玩忽,粗心大意 | |
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66 joyfulness | |
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67 swells | |
增强( swell的第三人称单数 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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68 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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69 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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70 bower | |
n.凉亭,树荫下凉快之处;闺房;v.荫蔽 | |
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71 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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72 thickets | |
n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 );丛状物 | |
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73 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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74 boundless | |
adj.无限的;无边无际的;巨大的 | |
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75 jointed | |
有接缝的 | |
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76 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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77 mirage | |
n.海市蜃楼,幻景 | |
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78 pictorial | |
adj.绘画的;图片的;n.画报 | |
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79 wail | |
vt./vi.大声哀号,恸哭;呼啸,尖啸 | |
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80 stupor | |
v.昏迷;不省人事 | |
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81 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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82 strand | |
vt.使(船)搁浅,使(某人)困于(某地) | |
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83 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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84 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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85 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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86 plighted | |
vt.保证,约定(plight的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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87 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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88 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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89 imp | |
n.顽童 | |
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90 construe | |
v.翻译,解释 | |
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91 defraud | |
vt.欺骗,欺诈 | |
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92 ciphers | |
n.密码( cipher的名词复数 );零;不重要的人;无价值的东西 | |
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93 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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94 withheld | |
withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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95 writhed | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96 cringing | |
adj.谄媚,奉承 | |
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97 lasting | |
adj.永久的,永恒的;vbl.持续,维持 | |
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98 haven | |
n.安全的地方,避难所,庇护所 | |
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99 overthrown | |
adj. 打翻的,推倒的,倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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100 interred | |
v.埋,葬( inter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101 cove | |
n.小海湾,小峡谷 | |
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102 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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103 dirge | |
n.哀乐,挽歌,庄重悲哀的乐曲 | |
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104 persuasions | |
n.劝说,说服(力)( persuasion的名词复数 );信仰 | |
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105 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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106 consecrated | |
adj.神圣的,被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣,给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 );奉献 | |
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107 urns | |
n.壶( urn的名词复数 );瓮;缸;骨灰瓮 | |
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108 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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109 cindery | |
adj.灰烬的,煤渣的 | |
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110 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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111 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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112 pealed | |
v.(使)(钟等)鸣响,(雷等)发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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114 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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115 herds | |
兽群( herd的名词复数 ); 牧群; 人群; 群众 | |
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116 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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117 recurring | |
adj.往复的,再次发生的 | |
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118 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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119 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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120 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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121 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
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122 descends | |
v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 );下去;下降;下斜 | |
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123 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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124 privy | |
adj.私用的;隐密的 | |
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125 blazon | |
n.纹章,装饰;精确描绘;v.广布;宣布 | |
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126 baneful | |
adj.有害的 | |
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127 doting | |
adj.溺爱的,宠爱的 | |
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128 dally | |
v.荒废(时日),调情 | |
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129 lizard | |
n.蜥蜴,壁虎 | |
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130 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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131 feline | |
adj.猫科的 | |
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132 repulse | |
n.击退,拒绝;vt.逐退,击退,拒绝 | |
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133 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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134 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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135 waft | |
v.飘浮,飘荡;n.一股;一阵微风;飘荡 | |
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136 mariners | |
海员,水手(mariner的复数形式) | |
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137 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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138 invoking | |
v.援引( invoke的现在分词 );行使(权利等);祈求救助;恳求 | |
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139 vanquished | |
v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 );战胜;克服;抑制 | |
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140 metaphor | |
n.隐喻,暗喻 | |
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141 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
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142 smoothly | |
adv.平滑地,顺利地,流利地,流畅地 | |
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143 glazing | |
n.玻璃装配业;玻璃窗;上釉;上光v.装玻璃( glaze的现在分词 );上釉于,上光;(目光)变得呆滞无神 | |
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144 nether | |
adj.下部的,下面的;n.阴间;下层社会 | |
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145 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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146 notch | |
n.(V字形)槽口,缺口,等级 | |
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147 sustenance | |
n.食物,粮食;生活资料;生计 | |
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148 notches | |
n.(边缘或表面上的)V型痕迹( notch的名词复数 );刻痕;水平;等级 | |
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149 effaced | |
v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 );抹去;超越;使黯然失色 | |
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150 flute | |
n.长笛;v.吹笛 | |
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151 braced | |
adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 );撑牢;使自己站稳;振作起来 | |
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152 scoffing | |
n. 嘲笑, 笑柄, 愚弄 v. 嘲笑, 嘲弄, 愚弄, 狼吞虎咽 | |
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153 untold | |
adj.数不清的,无数的 | |
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154 libelous | |
adj.败坏名誉的,诽谤性的 | |
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155 tenant | |
n.承租人;房客;佃户;v.租借,租用 | |
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156 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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157 extremities | |
n.端点( extremity的名词复数 );尽头;手和足;极窘迫的境地 | |
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158 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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159 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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160 presentiment | |
n.预感,预觉 | |
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161 averred | |
v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 );证实;证明…属实;作为事实提出 | |
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162 undo | |
vt.解开,松开;取消,撤销 | |
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163 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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164 reassure | |
v.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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165 perch | |
n.栖木,高位,杆;v.栖息,就位,位于 | |
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166 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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167 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
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168 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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169 barge | |
n.平底载货船,驳船 | |
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170 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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171 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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172 bluff | |
v.虚张声势,用假象骗人;n.虚张声势,欺骗 | |
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173 lava | |
n.熔岩,火山岩 | |
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174 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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175 impending | |
a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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176 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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177 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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178 canes | |
n.(某些植物,如竹或甘蔗的)茎( cane的名词复数 );(用于制作家具等的)竹竿;竹杖 | |
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179 mildewed | |
adj.发了霉的,陈腐的,长了霉花的v.(使)发霉,(使)长霉( mildew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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180 winnowed | |
adj.扬净的,风选的v.扬( winnow的过去式和过去分词 );辨别;选择;除去 | |
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181 blighted | |
adj.枯萎的,摧毁的 | |
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182 spotted | |
adj.有斑点的,斑纹的,弄污了的 | |
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183 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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184 plied | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的过去式和过去分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
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185 mules | |
骡( mule的名词复数 ); 拖鞋; 顽固的人; 越境运毒者 | |
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186 larder | |
n.食物贮藏室,食品橱 | |
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187 slate | |
n.板岩,石板,石片,石板色,候选人名单;adj.暗蓝灰色的,含板岩的;vt.用石板覆盖,痛打,提名,预订 | |
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188 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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189 progeny | |
n.后代,子孙;结果 | |
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190 pitfalls | |
(捕猎野兽用的)陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 ); 意想不到的困难,易犯的错误 | |
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191 tortuous | |
adj.弯弯曲曲的,蜿蜒的 | |
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192 clefts | |
n.裂缝( cleft的名词复数 );裂口;cleave的过去式和过去分词;进退维谷 | |
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193 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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194 admonished | |
v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 );训诫;(温和地)责备;轻责 | |
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195 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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196 disastrous | |
adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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197 warp | |
vt.弄歪,使翘曲,使不正常,歪曲,使有偏见 | |
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198 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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199 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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200 mazes | |
迷宫( maze的名词复数 ); 纷繁复杂的规则; 复杂难懂的细节; 迷宫图 | |
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201 mound | |
n.土墩,堤,小山;v.筑堤,用土堆防卫 | |
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202 fraying | |
v.(使布、绳等)磨损,磨破( fray的现在分词 ) | |
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203 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
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204 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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205 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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206 lament | |
n.悲叹,悔恨,恸哭;v.哀悼,悔恨,悲叹 | |
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207 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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208 proneness | |
n.俯伏,倾向 | |
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209 subduing | |
征服( subdue的现在分词 ); 克制; 制服; 色变暗 | |
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210 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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211 oars | |
n.桨,橹( oar的名词复数 );划手v.划(行)( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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212 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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213 prow | |
n.(飞机)机头,船头 | |
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214 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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215 shun | |
vt.避开,回避,避免 | |
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216 clamorous | |
adj.吵闹的,喧哗的 | |
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217 whine | |
v.哀号,号哭;n.哀鸣 | |
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218 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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219 lurch | |
n.突然向前或旁边倒;v.蹒跚而行 | |
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220 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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221 crouching | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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222 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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223 promontory | |
n.海角;岬 | |
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224 pangs | |
突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 ); 悲痛 | |
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225 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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226 yearning | |
a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
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227 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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