The first thing you have to do is to catch your secretary. The genuine secretary is born, not made; and therefore you have got to catch him, not to appoint him. Appointing a secretary is pure vanity and vexation of spirit; you must find the right man made ready to your hand; and when you have found him you will soon see that he slips into the onerous4 duties of the secretariat as if to the manner born, by pure instinct. The perfect secretary is an urbane5 old gentleman of mature years and portly bearing, a dignified6 representative of British arch?ology, with plenty of money and plenty of leisure, possessing a heaven-born genius for organisation7, and utterly8 unhampered by any foolish views of his own about arch?ological research or any other kindred subject. The secretary who arch?ologises is lost. His business is not to discourse9 of early English windows or of pal10?olithic hatchets11, of buried villas13 or of Plantagenet pedigrees, of Roman tile-work or of dolichocephalic skulls15, but to provide abundant brakes, drags, and carriages, to take care that the owners of castles and baronial residences throw them open (with lunch provided) to the ardent16 student of British antiquities17, to see that all the old ladies have somebody to talk to, and all the young ones somebody to flirt18 with, and generally to superintend the morals, happiness, and personal comfort of some fifty assorted19 scientific enthusiasts20. The secretary who diverges21 from these his proper and elevated functions into trivial and puerile23 disquisitions upon the antiquity24 of man (when he ought rather to be admiring the juvenility25 of woman), or the precise date of the Anglo-Saxon conquest (when he should by rights be concentrating the whole force of his massive intellect upon the arduous26 task of arranging for dinner), proves himself at once unworthy of his high position, and should forthwith be deposed27 from the secretariat by public acclamation.
Having once entrapped28 your perfect secretary, you set him busily to work beforehand to make all the arrangements for your expected excursion, the arch?ologists generally cordially recognising the important principle that he pays all the expenses he incurs29 out of his own pocket, and drives splendid bargains on their account with hotel-keepers, coachmen, railway companies, and others to feed, lodge30, supply, and convey them at fabulously31 low prices throughout the whole expedition. You also understand that the secretary will call upon everybody in the neighbourhood you propose to visit, induce the rectors to throw open their churches, square the housekeepers32 of absentee dukes, and beard the owners of Elizabethan mansions33 in their own dens34. These little preliminaries being amicably35 settled, you get together your arch?ologists and set out upon your intended tour.
An arch?ologist, it should be further premised, has no necessary personal connection with arch?ology in any way. He (or she) is a human being, of assorted origin, age, and sex, known as an arch?ologist then and there on no other ground than the possession of a ticket (price half-a-guinea) for that particular arch?ological meeting. Who would not be a man (or woman) of science on such easy and unexacting terms? Most arch?ologists within my own private experience, indeed, are ladies of various ages, many of them elderly, but many more young and pretty, whose views about the styles of English architecture or the exact distinction between Durotriges and Damnonians are of the vaguest and most shadowy possible description. You all drive in brakes together to the various points of interest in the surrounding country. When you arrive at a point of interest, somebody or other with a bad cold in his head reads a dull paper on its origin and nature, in which there is fortunately no subsequent examination. If you are burning to learn all about it, you put your hand up to your ear, and assume an attitude of profound attention. If you are not burning with the desire for information, you stroll off casually37 about the grounds and gardens with the prettiest and pleasantest among the arch?ological sisters, whose acquaintance you have made on the way thither38. Sometimes it rains, and then you obtain an admirable chance of offering your neighbour the protection afforded by your brand-new silk umbrella. By-and-by the dull paper gets finished, and somebody who lives in an adjoining house volunteers to provide you with luncheon39. Then you adjourn40 to the parish church, where an old gentleman of feeble eyesight reads a long and tedious account of all the persons whose monuments are or are not to be found upon the walls of that poky little building. Nobody listens to him; but everybody carries away a vague impression that some one or other, temp. Henry the Second, married Adeliza, daughter and heiress of Sir Ralph de Thingumbob, and had issue thirteen stalwart sons and twenty-seven beautiful daughters, each founders41 of a noble family with a correspondingly varied42 pedigree. Finally, you take tea and ices upon somebody's lawn, by special invitation, and drive home, not without much laughter, in the cool of the evening to an excellent table d'h?te dinner at the marvellously cheap hotel, presided over by the ever-smiling and urbane secretary. That is what we mean nowadays by being a member of an arch?ological association.
It was on just such a pleasant excursion that we all went to Ogbury Barrows. I was overflowing43, myself, with bottled-up information on the subject of those two prehistoric44 tumuli; for Ogbury Barrows have been the hobby of my lifetime; but I didn't read a paper upon their origin and meaning, first, because the secretary very happily forgot to ask me, and secondly45, because I was much better employed in psychological research into the habits and manners of an extremely pretty pink-and-white arch?ologist who stood beside me. Instead, therefore, of boring her and my other companions with all my accumulated store of information about Ogbury Barrows, I locked it up securely in my own bosom46, with the fell design of finally venting47 it all at once in one vast flood upon the present article.
Ogbury Barrows, I would have said (had it not been for the praiseworthy negligence48 of our esteemed49 secretary), stand upon the very verge22 of a great chalk-down, overlooking a broad and fertile belt of valley, whose slopes are terraced in the quaintest50 fashion with long parallel lines of obviously human and industrial origin. The terracing must have been done a very long time ago indeed, for it is a device for collecting enough soil on a chalky hillside to grow corn in. Now, nobody ever tried to grow corn on open chalk-downs in any civilised period of history until the present century, because the downs are so much more naturally adapted for sheep-walks that the attempt to turn them into waving cornfields would never occur to anybody on earth except a barbarian51 or an advanced agriculturist. But when Ogbury Downs were originally terraced, I don't doubt that the primitive52 system of universal tribal54 warfare55 still existed everywhere in Britain. This system is aptly summed up in the familiar modern Black Country formula, 'Yon's a stranger. 'Eave 'arf a brick at him.' Each tribe was then perpetually at war with every other tribe on either side of it: a simple plan which rendered foreign tariffs56 quite unnecessary, and most effectually protected home industries. The consequence was, each district had to produce for its own tribe all the necessaries of life, however ill-adapted by nature for their due production: because traffic and barter57 did not yet exist, and the only form ever assumed by import trade was that of raiding on your neighbours' territories, and bringing back with you whatever you could lay hands on. So the people of the chalky Ogbury valley had perforce to grow corn for themselves, whether nature would or nature wouldn't; and, in order to grow it under such very unfavourable circumstances of soil and climate, they terraced off the entire hillside, by catching58 the silt59 as it washed slowly down, and keeping it in place by artificial barriers.
On the top of the down, overlooking this curious vale of prehistoric terraces, rise the twin heights of Ogbury Barrows, familiar landmarks60 to all the country side around for many miles. One of them is a tall, circular mound61 or tumulus surrounded by a deep and well-marked trench62: the other, which stands a little on one side, is long and narrow, shaped exactly like a modern grave, but of comparatively gigantic and colossal63 proportions. Even the little children of Ogbury village have noticed its close resemblance of shape and outline to the grassy64 hillocks in their own churchyard, and whisper to one another when they play upon its summit that a great giant in golden armour65 lies buried in a stone vault66 underneath67. But if only they knew the real truth, they would say instead that that big, ungainly, overgrown grave covers the remains68 of a short, squat69, dwarfish71 chieftain, akin2 in shape and feature to the Lapps and Finns, and about as much unlike a giant as human nature could easily manage. It maybe regarded as a general truth of history that the greatest men don't by any means always get the biggest monument.
The arch?ologists in becoming prints who went with us to the top of Ogbury Barrows sagaciously surmised72 (with demonstrative parasol) that 'these mounds73 must have been made a very long time ago, indeed.' So in fact they were: but though they stand now so close together, and look so much like sisters and contemporaries, one is ages older than the other, and was already green and grass-grown with immemorial antiquity when the fresh earth of its neighbour tumulus was first thrown up by its side, above the buried urn36 of some long-forgotten Celtic warrior74. Let us begin by considering the oldest first, and then pass on to its younger sister.
Ogbury Long Barrow is a very ancient monument indeed. Not, to be sure, one quarter so ancient as the days of the extremely old master who carved the mammoth75 on the fragments of his own tusk76 in the caves of the Dordogne, and concerning whom I have indited77 a discourse in an earlier portion of this volume: compared with that very antique personage, our long barrow on Ogbury hill-top may in fact be looked upon as almost modern. Still, when one isn't talking in geological language, ten or twenty thousand years may be fairly considered a very long time as time goes: and I have little doubt that from ten to twenty thousand years have passed since the short, squat chieftain aforesaid was first committed to his final resting-place in Ogbury Long Barrow. Two years since, we local arch?ologists—not in becoming prints this time—opened the barrow to see what was inside it. We found, as we expected, the 'stone vault' of the popular tradition, proving conclusively78 that some faint memory of the original interment had clung for all those long years around the grassy pile of that ancient tumulus. Its centre, in fact, was occupied by a sepulchral79 chamber80 built of big Sarsen stones from the surrounding hillsides; and in the midst of the house of death thus rudely constructed lay the mouldering81 skeleton of its original possessor—an old prehistoric Mongoloid chieftain. When I stood for the first moment within that prim53?val palace of the dead, never before entered by living man for a hundred centuries, I felt, I must own, something like a burglar, something like a body-snatcher, something like a resurrection man, but most of all like a happy arch?ologist.
The big stone hut in which we found ourselves was, in fact, a buried cromlech, covered all over (until we opened it) by the earth of the barrow. Almost every cromlech, wherever found, was once, I believe, the central chamber of just such a long barrow: but in some instances wind and rain have beaten down and washed away the surrounding earth (and then we call it a 'Druidical monument'), while in others the mound still encloses its original deposit (and then we call it merely a prehistoric tumulus). As a matter of fact, even the Druids themselves are quite modern and common-place personages compared with the short, squat chieftains of the long barrows. For all the indications we found in the long barrow at Ogbury (as in many others we had opened elsewhere) led us at once to the strange conclusion that our new acquaintance, the skeleton, had once been a living cannibal king of the newer stone-age in Britain.
The only weapons or implements82 we could discover in the barrow were two neatly84 chipped flint arrowheads, and a very delicate ground greenstone hatchet12, or tomahawk. These were the weapons of the dead chief, laid beside him in the stone chamber where we found his skeleton, for his future use in his underground existence. A piece or two of rude hand-made pottery85, no doubt containing food and drink for the ghost, had also been placed close to his side: but they had mouldered86 away with time and damp, till it was quite impossible to recover more than a few broken and shapeless fragments. There was no trace of metal in any way: whereas if the tribesmen of our friend the skeleton had known at all the art of smelting87, we may be sure some bronze axe88 or spearhead would have taken the place of the flint arrows and the greenstone tomahawk: for savages90 always bury a man's best property together with his corpse91, while civilised men take care to preserve it with pious92 care in their own possession, and to fight over it strenuously93 in the court of probate.
The chief's own skeleton lay, or rather squatted94, in the most undignified attitude, in the central chamber. His people when they put him there evidently considered that he was to sit at his ease, as he had been accustomed to do in his lifetime, in the ordinary savage89 squatting95 position, with his knees tucked up till they reached his chin, and his body resting entirely96 on the heels and haunches. The skeleton was entire: but just outside and above the stone vault we came upon a number of other bones, which told another and very different story. Some of them were the bones of the old prehistoric short-horned ox: others belonged to wild boars, red deer, and sundry97 similar animals, for the most part skulls and feet only, the relics98 of the savage funeral feast. It was clear that as soon as the builders of the barrow had erected100 the stone chamber of their dead chieftain, and placed within it his honoured remains, they had held a great banquet on the spot, and, after killing101 oxen and chasing red deer, had eaten all the eatable portions, and thrown the skulls, horns, and hoofs102 on top of the tomb, as offerings to the spirit of their departed master. But among these relics of the funeral baked meats there were some that specially103 attracted our attention—a number of broken human skulls, mingled104 indiscriminately with the horns of deer and the bones of oxen. It was impossible to look at them for a single moment, and not to recognise that we had here the veritable remains of a cannibal feast, a hundred centuries ago, on Ogbury hill-top.
Each skull14 was split or fractured, not clean cut, as with a sword or bullet, but hacked105 and hewn with some blunt implement83, presumably either a club or a stone tomahawk. The skull of the great chief inside was entire and his skeleton unmutilated: but we could see at a glance that the remains we found huddled106 together on the top were those of slaves or prisoners of war, sacrificed beside the dead chieftain's tomb, and eaten with the other products of the chase by his surviving tribesmen. In an inner chamber behind the chieftain's own hut we came upon yet a stranger relic99 of primitive barbarism. Two complete human skeletons squatted there in the same curious attitude as their lord's, as if in attendance upon him in a neighbouring ante-chamber. They were the skeletons of women—so our professional bone-scanner immediately told us—and each of their skulls had been carefully cleft109 right down the middle by a single blow from a sharp stone hatchet. But they were not the victims intended for the pièce de résistance at the funeral banquet. They were clearly the two wives of the deceased chieftain, killed on his tomb by his son and successor, in order to accompany their lord and master in his new life underground as they had hitherto done in his rude wooden palace on the surface of the middle earth.
We covered up the reopened sepulchre of the old cannibal savage king (after abstracting for our local museum the arrowheads and tomahawk, as well as the skull of the very ancient Briton himself), and when our arch?ological society, ably led by the esteemed secretary, stood two years later on the desecrated110 tomb, the grass had grown again as green as ever, and not a sign remained of the sacrilegious act in which one of the party then assembled there had been a prime actor. Looking down from the summit of the long barrow on that bright summer morning, over the gay group of picnicking arch?ologists, it was a curious contrast to reinstate in fancy the scene at that first installation of the Ogbury monument. In my mind's eye I saw once more the howling band of naked, yellow-faced and yellow-limbed savages surge up the terraced slopes of Ogbury Down; I saw them bear aloft, with beating of breasts and loud gesticulations, the bent111 corpse of their dead chieftain; I saw the terrified and fainting wives haled along by thongs112 of raw oxhide, and the weeping prisoners driven passively like sheep to the slaughter113; I saw the fearful orgy of massacre114 and rapine around the open tumulus, the wild priest shattering with his gleaming tomahawk the skulls of his victims, the fire of gorse and low brushwood prepared to roast them, the heads and feet flung carelessly on top of the yet uncovered stone chamber, the awful dance of blood-stained cannibals around the mangled115 remains of men and oxen, and finally the long task of heaping up above the stone hut of the dead king the earthen mound that was never again to be opened to the light of day till, ten thousand years later, we modern Britons invaded with our prying116, sacrilegious mattock the sacred privacy of that cannibal ghost. All this passed like a vision before my mind's eye; but I didn't mention anything of it at that particular moment to my fellow-arch?ologists, because I saw they were all much more interested in the pigeon-pie and the funny story about an exalted117 personage and a distinguished118 actress with which the model secretary was just then duly entertaining them.
Five thousand years or so slowly wore away, from the date of the erection of the long barrow, and a new race had come to occupy the soil of England, and had driven away or reduced to slavery the short, squat, yellow-skinned cannibals of the earlier epoch119. They were a pastoral and agricultural people, these new comers, acquainted with the use and abuse of bronze, and far more civilised in every way than their darker predecessors120. No trace remains behind to tell us now by what fierce onslaught the Celtic invaders—for the bronze-age folk were presumably Celts—swept through the little Ogbury valley, and brained the men of the older race, while they made slaves of the younger women and serviceable children. Nothing now stands to tell us anything of the long years of Celtic domination, except the round barrow on the bare down, just as green and as grass-grown nowadays as its far earlier and more primitive neighbour.
We opened the Ogbury round barrow at the same time as the other, and found in it, as we expected, no bones or skeleton of any sort, broken or otherwise, but simply a large cinerary urn. The urn was formed of coarse hand-made earthenware121, very brittle122 by long burial in the earth, but not by any means so old or porous123 as the fragments we had discovered in the long barrow. A pretty pattern ran round its edge—a pattern in the simplest and most primitive style of ornamentation; for it consisted merely of the print of the potter's thumb-nail, firmly pressed into the moist clay before baking. Beside the urn lay a second specimen124 of early pottery, one of those curious perforated jars which antiquaries call by the very question-begging name of incense-cups; and within it we discovered the most precious part of all our 'find,' a beautiful wedge-shaped bronze hatchet, and three thin gold beads125. Having no consideration for the feelings of the ashes, we promptly126 appropriated both hatchet and beads, and took the urn and cup as a peace-offering to the lord of the manor127 for our desecration128 of a tomb (with his full consent) on the land of his fathers.
Why did these bronze-age people burn instead of burying their dead? Why did they anticipate the latest fashionable mode of disposal of corpses129, and go in for cremation130 with such thorough conviction? They couldn't have been influenced by those rather unpleasant sanitary131 considerations which so profoundly agitated132 the mind of 'Graveyard133 Walker.' Sanitation134 was still in a very rudimentary state in the year five thousand B.C.; and the ingenious Celt, who is still given to 'waking' his neighbours, when they die of small-pox, with a sublime135 indifference136 to the chances of infection, must have had some other and more powerful reason for adopting the comparatively unnatural137 system of cremation in preference to that of simple burial. The change, I believe, was due to a further development of religious ideas on the part of the Celtic tribesmen above that of the primitive stone-age cannibals.
When men began to bury their dead, they did so in the firm belief in another life, which life was regarded as the exact counterpart of this present one. The unsophisticated savage, holding that in that equal sky his faithful dog would bear him company, naturally enough had the dog in question killed and buried with him, in order that it might follow him to the happy hunting-grounds. Clearly, you can't hunt without your arrows and your tomahawk; so the flint weapons and the trusty bow accompanied their owner in his new dwelling138-place. The wooden haft, the deer-sinew bow-string, the perishable139 articles of food and drink have long since decayed within the damp tumulus: but the harder stone and earthenware articles have survived till now, to tell the story of that crude and simple early faith. Very crude and illogical indeed it was, however, for it is quite clear that the actual body of the dead man was thought of as persisting to live a sort of underground life within the barrow. A stone hut was constructed for its use; real weapons and implements were left by its side; and slaves and wives were ruthlessly massacred, as still in Ashantee, in order that their bodies might accompany the corpse of the buried master in his subterranean140 dwelling. In all this we have clear evidence of a very inconsistent, savage, materialistic141 belief, not indeed in the immortality142 of the soul, but in the continued underground life of the dead body.
With the progress of time, however, men's ideas upon these subjects began to grow more definite and more consistent. Instead of the corpse, we get the ghost; instead of the material underground world, we get the idealised and sublimated143 conception of a shadowy Hades, a world of shades, a realm of incorporeal144, disembodied spirits. With the growth of the idea in this ghostly nether145 world, there arises naturally the habit of burning the dead in order fully108 to free the liberated146 spirit from the earthly chains that clog148 and bind149 it. It is, indeed, a very noticeable fact that wherever this belief in a world of shades is implicitly150 accepted, there cremation follows as a matter of course; while wherever (among savage or barbaric races) burial is practised, there a more materialistic creed151 of bodily survival necessarily accompanies it. To carry out this theory to its full extent, not only must the body itself be burnt, but also all its belongings152 with it. Ghosts are clothed in ghostly clothing; and the question has often been asked of modern spiritualists by materialistic scoffers, 'Where do the ghosts get their coats and dresses?' The true believer in cremation and the shadowy world has no difficulty at all in answering that crucial inquiry153; he would say at once, 'They are the ghosts of the clothes that were burnt with the body.' In the gossiping story of Periander, as veraciously154 retailed155 for us by that dear old grandmotherly scandalmonger, Herodotus, the shade of Melissa refuses to communicate with her late husband, by medium or otherwise, on the ground that she found herself naked and shivering with cold, because the garments buried with her had not been burnt, and therefore were of no use to her in the world of shades. So Periander, to put a stop to this sad state of spiritual destitution156, requisitioned all the best dresses of the Corinthian ladies, burnt them bodily in a great trench, and received an immediate107 answer from the gratified shade, who was thenceforth enabled to walk about in the principal promenades157 of Hades among the best-dressed ghosts of that populous158 quarter.
The belief which thus survived among the civilised Greeks of the age of the Despots is shared still by Fijis and Karens, and was derived159 by all in common from early ancestors of like faith with the founders of Ogbury round barrow. The weapons were broken and the clothes burnt, to liberate147 their ghosts into the world of spirits, just as now, in Fiji, knives and axes have their spiritual counterparts, which can only be released when the material shape is destroyed or purified by the action of fire. Everything, in such a state, is supposed to possess a soul of its own; and the fire is the chosen mode for setting the soul free from all clogging160 earthly impurities161. So till yesterday, in the rite162 of suttee, the Hindoo widow immolated163 herself upon her husband's pyre, in order that her spirit might follow him unhampered to the world of ghosts whither he was bound. Thus the twin barrows on Ogbury hillside bridge over for us two vast epochs of human culture, both now so remote as to merge164 together mentally to the casual eyes of modern observers, but yet in reality marking in their very shape and disposition165 an immense, long, and slow advance of human reason. For just as the long barrow answers in form to the buried human corpse and the chambered hut that surrounds and encloses it, so does the round barrow answer in form to the urn containing the calcined ashes of the cremated166 barbarian. And is it not a suggestive fact that when we turn to the little graveyard by the church below we find the Christian167 belief in the resurrection of the body, as opposed to the pagan belief in the immortality of the soul, once more bringing us back to the small oblong mound which is after all but the dwarfed168 and humbler modern representative of the long barrow? So deep is the connection between that familiar shape and the practice of inhumation that the dwarf70 long barrow seems everywhere to have come into use again throughout all Europe, after whole centuries of continued cremation, as the natural concomitant and necessary mark of Christian burial.
This is what I would have said, if I had been asked, at Ogbury Barrows. But I wasn't asked; so I devoted169 myself instead to psychological research, and said nothing.
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1 deter | |
vt.阻止,使不敢,吓住 | |
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2 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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3 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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4 onerous | |
adj.繁重的 | |
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5 urbane | |
adj.温文尔雅的,懂礼的 | |
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6 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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7 organisation | |
n.组织,安排,团体,有机休 | |
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8 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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9 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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10 pal | |
n.朋友,伙伴,同志;vi.结为友 | |
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11 hatchets | |
n.短柄小斧( hatchet的名词复数 );恶毒攻击;诽谤;休战 | |
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12 hatchet | |
n.短柄小斧;v.扼杀 | |
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13 villas | |
别墅,公馆( villa的名词复数 ); (城郊)住宅 | |
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14 skull | |
n.头骨;颅骨 | |
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15 skulls | |
颅骨( skull的名词复数 ); 脑袋; 脑子; 脑瓜 | |
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16 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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17 antiquities | |
n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 );古迹;古人们;古代的风俗习惯 | |
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18 flirt | |
v.调情,挑逗,调戏;n.调情者,卖俏者 | |
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19 assorted | |
adj.各种各样的,各色俱备的 | |
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20 enthusiasts | |
n.热心人,热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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21 diverges | |
分开( diverge的第三人称单数 ); 偏离; 分歧; 分道扬镳 | |
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22 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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23 puerile | |
adj.幼稚的,儿童的 | |
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24 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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25 juvenility | |
n.年轻,不成熟 | |
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26 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 );(在法庭上)宣誓作证 | |
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v.使陷入圈套,使入陷阱( entrap的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29 incurs | |
遭受,招致,引起( incur的第三人称单数 ) | |
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30 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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31 fabulously | |
难以置信地,惊人地 | |
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35 amicably | |
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36 urn | |
n.(有座脚的)瓮;坟墓;骨灰瓮 | |
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37 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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38 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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39 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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40 adjourn | |
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42 varied | |
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43 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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44 prehistoric | |
adj.(有记载的)历史以前的,史前的,古老的 | |
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45 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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46 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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47 venting | |
消除; 泄去; 排去; 通风 | |
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48 negligence | |
n.疏忽,玩忽,粗心大意 | |
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49 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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50 quaintest | |
adj.古色古香的( quaint的最高级 );少见的,古怪的 | |
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51 barbarian | |
n.野蛮人;adj.野蛮(人)的;未开化的 | |
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52 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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53 prim | |
adj.拘泥形式的,一本正经的;n.循规蹈矩,整洁;adv.循规蹈矩地,整洁地 | |
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54 tribal | |
adj.部族的,种族的 | |
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55 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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56 tariffs | |
关税制度; 关税( tariff的名词复数 ); 关税表; (旅馆或饭店等的)收费表; 量刑标准 | |
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57 barter | |
n.物物交换,以货易货,实物交易 | |
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58 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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59 silt | |
n.淤泥,淤沙,粉砂层,泥沙层;vt.使淤塞;vi.被淤塞 | |
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60 landmarks | |
n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 );目标;(标志重要阶段的)里程碑 ~ (in sth);有历史意义的建筑物(或遗址) | |
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61 mound | |
n.土墩,堤,小山;v.筑堤,用土堆防卫 | |
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62 trench | |
n./v.(挖)沟,(挖)战壕 | |
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63 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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64 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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65 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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66 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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67 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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68 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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69 squat | |
v.蹲坐,蹲下;n.蹲下;adj.矮胖的,粗矮的 | |
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70 dwarf | |
n.矮子,侏儒,矮小的动植物;vt.使…矮小 | |
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71 dwarfish | |
a.像侏儒的,矮小的 | |
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72 surmised | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 );揣测;猜想 | |
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73 mounds | |
土堆,土丘( mound的名词复数 ); 一大堆 | |
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74 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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75 mammoth | |
n.长毛象;adj.长毛象似的,巨大的 | |
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76 tusk | |
n.獠牙,长牙,象牙 | |
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77 indited | |
v.写(文章,信等)创作,赋诗,创作( indite的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78 conclusively | |
adv.令人信服地,确凿地 | |
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79 sepulchral | |
adj.坟墓的,阴深的 | |
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80 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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81 mouldering | |
v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 );腐烂,崩塌 | |
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82 implements | |
n.工具( implement的名词复数 );家具;手段;[法律]履行(契约等)v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 );执行;贯彻;使生效 | |
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83 implement | |
n.(pl.)工具,器具;vt.实行,实施,执行 | |
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84 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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85 pottery | |
n.陶器,陶器场 | |
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86 mouldered | |
v.腐朽( moulder的过去式和过去分词 );腐烂,崩塌 | |
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87 smelting | |
n.熔炼v.熔炼,提炼(矿石)( smelt的现在分词 ) | |
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88 axe | |
n.斧子;v.用斧头砍,削减 | |
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89 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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90 savages | |
未开化的人,野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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91 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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92 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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93 strenuously | |
adv.奋发地,费力地 | |
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94 squatted | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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95 squatting | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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96 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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97 sundry | |
adj.各式各样的,种种的 | |
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98 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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99 relic | |
n.神圣的遗物,遗迹,纪念物 | |
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100 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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101 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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102 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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103 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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104 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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105 hacked | |
生气 | |
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106 huddled | |
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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107 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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108 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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109 cleft | |
n.裂缝;adj.裂开的 | |
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110 desecrated | |
毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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112 thongs | |
的东西 | |
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113 slaughter | |
n.屠杀,屠宰;vt.屠杀,宰杀 | |
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114 massacre | |
n.残杀,大屠杀;v.残杀,集体屠杀 | |
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115 mangled | |
vt.乱砍(mangle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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116 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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117 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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118 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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119 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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120 predecessors | |
n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 );前辈;(被取代的)原有事物;前身 | |
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121 earthenware | |
n.土器,陶器 | |
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122 brittle | |
adj.易碎的;脆弱的;冷淡的;(声音)尖利的 | |
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123 porous | |
adj.可渗透的,多孔的 | |
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124 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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125 beads | |
n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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126 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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127 manor | |
n.庄园,领地 | |
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128 desecration | |
n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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129 corpses | |
n.死尸,尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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130 cremation | |
n.火葬,火化 | |
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131 sanitary | |
adj.卫生方面的,卫生的,清洁的,卫生的 | |
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132 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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133 graveyard | |
n.坟场 | |
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134 sanitation | |
n.公共卫生,环境卫生,卫生设备 | |
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135 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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136 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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137 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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138 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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139 perishable | |
adj.(尤指食物)易腐的,易坏的 | |
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140 subterranean | |
adj.地下的,地表下的 | |
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141 materialistic | |
a.唯物主义的,物质享乐主义的 | |
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142 immortality | |
n.不死,不朽 | |
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143 sublimated | |
v.(使某物质)升华( sublimate的过去式和过去分词 );使净化;纯化 | |
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144 incorporeal | |
adj.非物质的,精神的 | |
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145 nether | |
adj.下部的,下面的;n.阴间;下层社会 | |
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146 liberated | |
a.无拘束的,放纵的 | |
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147 liberate | |
v.解放,使获得自由,释出,放出;vt.解放,使获自由 | |
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148 clog | |
vt.塞满,阻塞;n.[常pl.]木屐 | |
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149 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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150 implicitly | |
adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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151 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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152 belongings | |
n.私人物品,私人财物 | |
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153 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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154 veraciously | |
adv.诚实地 | |
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155 retailed | |
vt.零售(retail的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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156 destitution | |
n.穷困,缺乏,贫穷 | |
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157 promenades | |
n.人行道( promenade的名词复数 );散步场所;闲逛v.兜风( promenade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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158 populous | |
adj.人口稠密的,人口众多的 | |
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159 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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160 clogging | |
堵塞,闭合 | |
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161 impurities | |
不纯( impurity的名词复数 ); 不洁; 淫秽; 杂质 | |
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162 rite | |
n.典礼,惯例,习俗 | |
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163 immolated | |
v.宰杀…作祭品( immolate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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164 merge | |
v.(使)结合,(使)合并,(使)合为一体 | |
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165 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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166 cremated | |
v.火葬,火化(尸体)( cremate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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168 dwarfed | |
vt.(使)显得矮小(dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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169 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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