FROM the inertness1, or what we may term the vegetative character, of his ordinary mood, Clifford would perhaps have been content to spend one day after another, interminably — or, at least, throughout the summer-time — in just the kind of life described in the preceding pages. Fancying, however, that it might be for his benefit occasionally to diversify2 the scene, Phoebe sometimes suggested that he should look out upon the life of the street. For this purpose, they used to mount the staircase together, to the second story of the house, where, at the termination of a wide entry, there was an arched window, of uncommonly3 large dimensions, shaded by a pair of curtains. It opened above the porch, where there had formerly4 been a balcony, the balustrade of which had long since gone to decay, and been removed. At this arched window, throwing it open, but keeping himself in comparative obscurity by means of the curtain, Clifford had an opportunity of witnessing such a portion of the great world’s movement as might be supposed to roll through one of the retired5 streets of a not very populous6 city. But he and Phoebe made a sight as well worth seeing as any that the city could exhibit. The pale, gray, childish, aged7, melancholy8, yet often simply cheerful, and sometimes delicately intelligent aspect of Clifford, peering from behind the faded crimson10 of the curtain — watching the monotony of every-day occurrences with a kind of inconsequential interest and earnestness, and, at every petty throb11 of his sensibility, turning for sympathy to the eyes of the bright young girl!
If once he were fairly seated at the window, even Pyncheon Street would hardly be so dull and lonely but that, somewhere or other along its extent, Clifford might discover matter to occupy his eye, and titillate12, if not engross13, his observation. Things familiar to the youngest child that had begun its outlook at existence seemed strange to him. A cab; an omnibus, with its populous interior, dropping here and there a passenger, and picking up another, and thus typifying that vast rolling vehicle, the world, the end of whose journey is everywhere and nowhere; these objects he followed eagerly with his eyes, but forgot them before the dust raised by the horses and wheels had settled along their track. As regarded novelties (among which cabs and omnibuses were to be reckoned), his mind appeared to have lost its proper gripe and retentiveness14. Twice or thrice, for example, during the sunny hours of the day, a water-cart went along by the Pyncheon House, leaving a broad wake of moistened earth, instead of the white dust that had risen at a lady’s lightest footfall; it was like a summer shower, which the city authorities had caught and tamed, and compelled it into the commonest routine of their convenience. With the water-cart Clifford could never grow familiar; it always affected15 him with just the same surprise as at first. His mind took an apparently16 sharp impression from it, but lost the recollection of this perambulatory shower, before its next reappearance, as completely as did the street itself, along which the heat so quickly strewed17 white dust again. It was the same with the railroad. Clifford could hear the obstreperous18 howl of the steam-devil, and, by leaning a little way from the arched window, could catch a glimpse of the trains of cars, flashing a brief transit19 across the extremity20 of the street. The idea of terrible energy thus forced upon him was new at every recurrence21, and seemed to affect him as disagreeably, and with almost as much surprise, the hundredth time as the first.
Nothing gives a sadder sense of decay than this loss or suspension of the power to deal with unaccustomed things, and to keep up with the swiftness of the passing moment. It can merely be a suspended animation23; for, were the power actually to perish, there would be little use of immortality24. We are less than ghosts, for the time being, whenever this calamity26 befalls us.
Clifford was indeed the most inveterate27 of conservatives. All the antique fashions of the street were dear to him; even such as were characterized by a rudeness that would naturally have annoyed his fastidious senses. He loved the old rumbling28 and jolting29 carts, the former track of which he still found in his long-buried remembrance, as the observer of to-day finds the wheel-tracks of ancient vehicles in Herculaneum. The butcher’s cart, with its snowy canopy30, was an acceptable object; so was the fish-cart, heralded31 by its horn; so, likewise, was the countryman’s cart of vegetables, plodding32 from door to door, with long pauses of the patient horse, while his owner drove a trade in turnips33, carrots, summer-squashes, string-beans, green peas, and new potatoes, with half the housewives of the neighborhood. The baker’s cart, with the harsh music of its bells, had a pleasant effect on Clifford, because, as few things else did, it jingled34 the very dissonance of yore. One afternoon a scissor-grinder chanced to set his wheel a-going under the Pyncheon Elm, and just in front of the arched window. Children came running with their mothers’ scissors, or the carving-knife, or the paternal35 razor, or anything else that lacked an edge (except, indeed, poor Clifford’s wits), that the grinder might apply the article to his magic wheel, and give it back as good as new. Round went the busily revolving36 machinery37, kept in motion by the scissor-grinder’s foot, and wore away the hard steel against the hard stone, whence issued an intense and spiteful prolongation of a hiss38 as fierce as those emitted by Satan and his compeers in Pandemonium39, though squeezed into smaller compass. It was an ugly, little, venomous serpent of a noise, as ever did petty violence to human ears. But Clifford listened with rapturous delight. The sound, however disagreeable, had very brisk life in it, and, together with the circle of curious children watching the revolutions of the wheel, appeared to give him a more vivid sense of active, bustling40, and sunshiny existence than he had attained41 in almost any other way. Nevertheless, its charm lay chiefly in the past; for the scissor-grinder’s wheel had hissed42 in his childish ears.
He sometimes made doleful complaint that there were no stage-coaches nowadays. And he asked in an injured tone what had become of all those old square-topped chaises, with wings sticking out on either side, that used to be drawn43 by a plough-horse, and driven by a farmer’s wife and daughter, peddling44 whortle-berries and blackberries about the town. Their disappearance45 made him doubt, he said, whether the berries had not left off growing in the broad pastures and along the shady country lanes.
But anything that appealed to the sense of beauty, in however humble46 a way, did not require to be recommended by these old associations. This was observable when one of those Italian boys (who are rather a modern feature of our streets) came along with his barrel-organ, and stopped under the wide and cool shadows of the elm. With his quick professional eye he took note of the two faces watching him from the arched window, and, opening his instrument, began to scatter47 its melodies abroad. He had a monkey on his shoulder, dressed in a Highland48 plaid; and, to complete the sum of splendid attractions wherewith he presented himself to the public, there was a company of little figures, whose sphere and habitation was in the mahogany case of his organ, and whose principle of life was the music which the Italian made it his business to grind out. In all their variety of occupation — the cobbler, the blacksmith, the soldier, the lady with her fan, the toper with his bottle, the milkmaid sitting by her, cow — this fortunate little society might truly be said to enjoy a harmonious49 existence, and to make life literally50 a dance. The Italian turned a crank; and, behold51! every one of these small individuals started into the most curious vivacity52. The cobbler wrought53 upon a shoe; the blacksmith hammered his iron, the soldier waved his glittering blade; the lady raised a tiny breeze with her fan; the jolly toper swigged lustily at his bottle; a scholar opened his book with eager thirst for knowledge, and turned his head to and fro along the page; the milkmaid energetically drained her cow; and a miser54 counted gold into his strong-box — all at the same turning of a crank. Yes; and, moved by the self-same impulse, a lover saluted55 his mistress on her lips! Possibly some cynic, at once merry and bitter, had desired to signify, in this pantomimic scene, that we mortals, whatever our business or amusement — however serious, however trifling56 — all dance to one identical tune57, and, in spite of our ridiculous activity, bring nothing finally to pass. For the most remarkable58 aspect of the affair was, that, at the cessation of the music, everybody was petrified59 at once, from the most extravagant60 life into a dead torpor61. Neither was the cobbler’s shoe finished, nor the blacksmith’s iron shaped out; nor was there a drop less of brandy in the toper’s bottle, nor a drop more of milk in the milkmaid’s pail, nor one additional coin in the miser’s strong-box, nor was the scholar a page deeper in his book. All were precisely62 in the same condition as before they made themselves so ridiculous by their haste to toil63, to enjoy, to accumulate gold, and to become wise. Saddest of all, moreover, the lover was none the happier for the maiden’s granted kiss! But, rather than swallow this last too acrid64 ingredient, we reject the whole moral of the show.
The monkey, meanwhile, with a thick tail curling out into preposterous65 prolixity66 from beneath his tartans, took his station at the Italian’s feet. He turned a wrinkled and abominable67 little visage to every passer-by, and to the circle of children that soon gathered round, and to Hepzibah’s shop-door, and upward to the arched window, whence Phoebe and Clifford were looking down. Every moment, also, he took off his Highland bonnet68, and performed a bow and scrape. Sometimes, moreover, he made personal application to individuals, holding out his small black palm, and otherwise plainly signifying his excessive desire for whatever filthy69 lucre70 might happen to be in anybody’s pocket. The mean and low, yet strangely man-like expression of his wilted71 countenance72; the prying73 and crafty74 glance, that showed him ready to gripe at every miserable75 advantage; his enormous tail (too enormous to be decently concealed76 under his gabardine), and the deviltry of nature which it betokened77 — take this monkey just as he was, in short, and you could desire no better image of the Mammon of copper78 coin, symbolizing79 the grossest form of the love of money. Neither was there any possibility of satisfying the covetous80 little devil. Phoebe threw down a whole handful of cents, which he picked up with joyless eagerness, handed them over to the Italian for safekeeping, and immediately recommenced a series of pantomimic petitions for more.
Doubtless, more than one New–Englander — or, let him be of what country he might, it is as likely to be the case — passed by, and threw a look at the monkey, and went on, without imagining how nearly his own moral condition was here exemplified. Clifford, however, was a being of another order. He had taken childish delight in the music, and smiled, too, at the figures which it set in motion. But, after looking awhile at the long-tailed imp9, he was so shocked by his horrible ugliness, spiritual as well as physical, that he actually began to shed tears; a weakness which men of merely delicate endowments, and destitute81 of the fiercer, deeper, and more tragic82 power of laughter, can hardly avoid, when the worst and meanest aspect of life happens to be presented to them.
Pyncheon Street was sometimes enlivened by spectacles of more imposing83 pretensions84 than the above, and which brought the multitude along with them. With a shivering repugnance85 at the idea of personal contact with the world, a powerful impulse still seized on Clifford, whenever the rush and roar of the human tide grew strongly audible to him. This was made evident, one day, when a political procession, with hundreds of flaunting86 banners, and drums, fifes, clarions, and cymbals87, reverberating88 between the rows of buildings, marched all through town, and trailed its length of trampling89 footsteps, and most infrequent uproar90, past the ordinarily quiet House of the Seven Gables. As a mere22 object of sight, nothing is more deficient91 in picturesque92 features than a procession seen in its passage through narrow streets. The spectator feels it to be fool’s play, when he can distinguish the tedious commonplace of each man’s visage, with the perspiration93 and weary self-importance on it, and the very cut of his pantaloons, and the stiffness or laxity of his shirt-collar, and the dust on the back of his black coat. In order to become majestic94, it should be viewed from some vantage point, as it rolls its slow and long array through the centre of a wide plain, or the stateliest public square of a city; for then, by its remoteness, it melts all the petty personalities95, of which it is made up, into one broad mass of existence — one great life — one collected body of mankind, with a vast, homogeneous spirit animating96 it. But, on the other hand, if an impressible person, standing97 alone over the brink98 of one of these processions, should behold it, not in its atoms, but in its aggregate99 — as a mighty100 river of life, massive in its tide, and black with mystery, and, out of its depths, calling to the kindred depth within him — then the contiguity101 would add to the effect. It might so fascinate him that he would hardly be restrained from plunging102 into the surging stream of human sympathies.
So it proved with Clifford. He shuddered103; he grew pale; he threw an appealing look at Hepzibah and Phoebe, who were with him at the window. They comprehended nothing of his emotions, and supposed him merely disturbed by the unaccustomed tumult104. At last, with tremulous limbs, he started up, set his foot on the window-sill, and in an instant more would have been in the unguarded balcony. As it was, the whole procession might have seen him, a wild, haggard figure, his gray locks floating in the wind that waved their banners; a lonely being, estranged105 from his race, but now feeling himself man again, by virtue106 of the irrepressible instinct that possessed107 him. Had Clifford attained the balcony, he would probably have leaped into the street; but whether impelled108 by the species of terror that sometimes urges its victim over the very precipice109 which he shrinks from, or by a natural magnetism110, tending towards the great centre of humanity, it were not easy to decide. Both impulses might have wrought on him at once.
But his companions, affrighted by his gesture — which was that of a man hurried away in spite of himself — seized Clifford’s garment and held him back. Hepzibah shrieked111. Phoebe, to whom all extravagance was a horror, burst into sobs112 and tears.
“Clifford, Clifford! are you crazy?” cried his sister.
“I hardly know, Hepzibah,” said Clifford, drawing a long breath. “Fear nothing — it is over now — but had I taken that plunge113, and survived it, methinks it would have made me another man!”
Possibly, in some sense, Clifford may have been right. He needed a shock; or perhaps he required to take a deep, deep plunge into the ocean of human life, and to sink down and be covered by its profoundness, and then to emerge, sobered, invigorated, restored to the world and to himself. Perhaps again, he required nothing less than the great final remedy — death!
A similar yearning114 to renew the broken links of brotherhood115 with his kind sometimes showed itself in a milder form; and once it was made beautiful by the religion that lay even deeper than itself. In the incident now to be sketched116, there was a touching117 recognition, on Clifford’s part, of God’s care and love towards him — towards this poor, forsaken118 man, who, if any mortal could, might have been pardoned for regarding himself as thrown aside, forgotten, and left to be the sport of some fiend, whose playfulness was an ecstasy119 of mischief120.
It was the Sabbath morning; one of those bright, calm Sabbaths, with its own hallowed atmosphere, when Heaven seems to diffuse121 itself over the earth’s face in a solemn smile, no less sweet than solemn. On such a Sabbath morn, were we pure enough to be its medium, we should be conscious of the earth’s natural worship ascending122 through our frames, on whatever spot of ground we stood. The church-bells, with various tones, but all in harmony, were calling out and responding to one another —“It is the Sabbath!— The Sabbath!— Yea; the Sabbath!”— and over the whole city the bells scattered123 the blessed sounds, now slowly, now with livelier joy, now one bell alone, now all the bells together, crying earnestly —“It is the Sabbath!” and flinging their accents afar off, to melt into the air and pervade124 it with the holy word. The air with God’s sweetest and tenderest sunshine in it, was meet for mankind to breathe into their hearts, and send it forth125 again as the utterance126 of prayer.
Clifford sat at the window with Hepzibah, watching the neighbors as they stepped into the street. All of them, however unspiritual on other days, were transfigured by the Sabbath influence; so that their very garments — whether it were an old man’s decent coat well brushed for the thousandth time, or a little boy’s first sack and trousers finished yesterday by his mother’s needle — had somewhat of the quality of ascension-robes. Forth, likewise, from the portal of the old house stepped Phoebe, putting up her small green sunshade, and throwing upward a glance and smile of parting kindness to the faces at the arched window. In her aspect there was a familiar gladness, and a holiness that you could play with, and yet reverence127 it as much as ever. She was like a prayer, offered up in the homeliest beauty of one’s mother-tongue. Fresh was Phoebe, moreover, and airy and sweet in her apparel; as if nothing that she wore — neither her gown, nor her small straw bonnet, nor her little kerchief, any more than her snowy stockings — had ever been put on before; or, if worn, were all the fresher for it, and with a fragrance128 as if they had lain among the rose-buds.
The girl waved her hand to Hepzibah and Clifford, and went up the street; a religion in herself, warm, simple, true, with a substance that could walk on earth, and a spirit that was capable of heaven.
“Hepzibah,” asked Clifford, after watching Phoebe to the corner, “do you never go to church?”
“No, Clifford!” she replied —“not these many, many years!”
“Were I to be there,” he rejoined, “it seems to me that I could pray once more, when so many human souls were praying all around me!”
She looked into Clifford’s face, and beheld129 there a soft natural effusion; for his heart gushed130 out, as it were, and ran over at his eyes, in delightful131 reverence for God, and kindly132 affection for his human brethren. The emotion communicated itself to Hepzibah. She yearned133 to take him by the hand, and go and kneel down, they two together — both so long separate from the world, and, as she now recognized, scarcely friends with Him above — to kneel down among the people, and be reconciled to God and man at once.
“Dear brother,” said she earnestly, “let us go! We belong nowhere. We have not a foot of space in any church to kneel upon; but let us go to some place of worship, even if we stand in the broad aisle134. Poor and forsaken as we are, some pew-door will be opened to us!”
So Hepzibah and her brother made themselves, ready — as ready as they could in the best of their old-fashioned garments, which had hung on pegs135, or been laid away in trunks, so long that the dampness and mouldy smell of the past was on them — made themselves ready, in their faded bettermost, to go to church. They descended136 the staircase together — gaunt, sallow Hepzibah, and pale, emaciated137, age-stricken Clifford! They pulled open the front door, and stepped across the threshold, and felt, both of them, as if they were standing in the presence of the whole world, and with mankind’s great and terrible eye on them alone. The eye of their Father seemed to be withdrawn138, and gave them no encouragement. The warm sunny air of the street made them shiver. Their hearts quaked within them at the idea of taking one step farther.
“It cannot be, Hepzibah!— it is too late,” said Clifford with deep sadness. “We are ghosts! We have no right among human beings — no right anywhere but in this old house, which has a curse on it, and which, therefore, we are doomed139 to haunt! And, besides,” he continued, with a fastidious sensibility, inalienably characteristic of the man,” it would not be fit nor beautiful to go! It is an ugly thought that I should be frightful140 to my fellow-beings, and that children would cling to their mothers’ gowns at sight of me!”
They shrank back into the dusky passage-way, and closed the door. But, going up the staircase again, they found the whole interior of the house tenfold, more dismal141, and the air closer and heavier, for the glimpse and breath of freedom which they had just snatched. They could not flee; their jailer had but left the door ajar in mockery, and stood behind it to watch them stealing out. At the threshold, they felt his pitiless gripe upon them. For, what other dungeon142 is so dark as one’s own heart! What jailer so inexorable as one’s self!
But it would be no fair picture of Clifford’s state of mind were we to represent him as continually or prevailingly wretched. On the contrary, there was no other man in the city, we are bold to affirm, of so much as half his years, who enjoyed so many lightsome and griefless moments as himself. He had no burden of care upon him; there were none of those questions and contingencies143 with the future to be settled which wear away all other lives, and render them not worth having by the very process of providing for their support. In this respect he was a child — a child for the whole term of his existence, be it long or short. Indeed, his life seemed to be standing still at a period little in advance of childhood, and to cluster all his reminiscences about that epoch144; just as, after the torpor of a heavy blow, the sufferer’s reviving consciousness goes back to a moment considerably145 behind the accident that stupefied him. He sometimes told Phoebe and Hepzibah his dreams, in which he invariably played the part of a child, or a very young man. So vivid were they, in his relation of them, that he once held a dispute with his sister as to the particular figure or print of a chintz morning-dress which he had seen their mother wear, in the dream of the preceding night. Hepzibah, piquing146 herself on a woman’s accuracy in such matters, held it to be slightly different from what Clifford described; but, producing the very gown from an old trunk, it proved to be identical with his remembrance of it. Had Clifford, every time that he emerged out of dreams so lifelike, undergone the torture of transformation147 from a boy into an old and broken man, the daily recurrence of the shock would have been too much to bear. It would have caused an acute agony to thrill from the morning twilight148, all the day through, until bedtime; and even then would have mingled149 a dull, inscrutable pain and pallid150 hue151 of misfortune with the visionary bloom and adolescence152 of his slumber153. But the nightly moonshine interwove itself with the morning mist, and enveloped154 him as in a robe, which he hugged about his person, and seldom let realities pierce through; he was not often quite awake, but slept open-eyed, and perhaps fancied himself most dreaming then.
Thus, lingering always so near his childhood, he had sympathies with children, and kept his heart the fresher thereby155, like a reservoir into which rivulets156 were pouring not far from the fountain-head. Though prevented, by a subtile sense of propriety157, from desiring to associate with them, he loved few things better than to look out of the arched window and see a little girl driving her hoop158 along the sidewalk, or schoolboys at a game of ball. Their voices, also, were very pleasant to him, heard at a distance, all swarming159 and intermingling together as flies do in a sunny room.
Clifford would, doubtless, have been glad to share their sports. One afternoon he was seized with an irresistible160 desire to blow soap-bubbles; an amusement, as Hepzibah told Phoebe apart, that had been a favorite one with her brother when they were both children. Behold him, therefore, at the arched window, with an earthen pipe in his mouth! Behold him, with his gray hair, and a wan161, unreal smile over his countenance, where still hovered162 a beautiful grace, which his worst enemy must have acknowledged to be spiritual and immortal25, since it had survived so long! Behold him, scattering163 airy spheres abroad from the window into the street! Little impalpable worlds were those soap-bubbles, with the big world depicted164, in hues165 bright as imagination, on the nothing of their surface. It was curious to see how the passers-by regarded these brilliant fantasies, as they came floating down, and made the dull atmosphere imaginative about them. Some stopped to gaze, and perhaps, carried a pleasant recollection of the bubbles onward166 as far as the street-corner; some looked angrily upward, as if poor Clifford wronged them by setting an image of beauty afloat so near their dusty pathway. A great many put out their fingers or their walking-sticks to touch, withal; and were perversely167 gratified, no doubt, when the bubble, with all its pictured earth and sky scene, vanished as if it had never been.
At length, just as an elderly gentleman of very dignified168 presence happened to be passing, a large bubble sailed majestically169 down, and burst right against his nose! He looked up — at first with a stern, keen glance, which penetrated170 at once into the obscurity behind the arched window — then with a smile which might be conceived as diffusing171 a dog-day sultriness for the space of several yards about him.
“Aha, Cousin Clifford!” cried Judge Pyncheon. “What! still blowing soap-bubbles!”
The tone seemed as if meant to be kind and soothing172, but yet had a bitterness of sarcasm173 in it. As for Clifford, an absolute palsy of fear came over him. Apart from any definite cause of dread174 which his past experience might have given him, he felt that native and original horror of the excellent Judge which is proper to a weak, delicate, and apprehensive175 character in the presence of massive strength. Strength is incomprehensible by weakness, and, therefore, the more terrible. There is no greater bugbear than a strong-willed relative in the circle of his own connections.
收听单词发音 |
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inertness
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| n.不活泼，没有生气；惰性；惯量 | |
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diversify
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| v.（使）不同，（使）变得多样化 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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formerly
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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imp
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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titillate
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| v.挑逗；使兴奋 | |
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engross
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| v.使全神贯注 | |
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retentiveness
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| n.有记性；记性强；保持力；好记性 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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strewed
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| v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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obstreperous
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transit
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extremity
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recurrence
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mere
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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immortality
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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calamity
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inveterate
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rumbling
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jolting
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canopy
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heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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32
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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33
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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34
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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35
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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36
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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37
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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38
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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39
pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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40
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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41
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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42
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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43
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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44
peddling
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| 忙于琐事的，无关紧要的 | |
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45
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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46
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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47
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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48
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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49
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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50
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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51
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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52
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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53
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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54
miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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55
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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56
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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57
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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58
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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59
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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60
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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61
torpor
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| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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62
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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63
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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64
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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65
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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66
prolixity
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| n.冗长，罗嗦 | |
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67
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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68
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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69
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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70
lucre
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| n.金钱，财富 | |
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71
wilted
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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73
prying
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| 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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74
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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75
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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76
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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77
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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79
symbolizing
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| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的现在分词 ) | |
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80
covetous
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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81
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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82
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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83
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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84
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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85
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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86
flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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87
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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88
reverberating
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的现在分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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89
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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90
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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91
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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92
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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93
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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94
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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95
personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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96
animating
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| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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97
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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98
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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99
aggregate
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| adj.总计的，集合的；n.总数；v.合计；集合 | |
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100
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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101
contiguity
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| n.邻近，接壤 | |
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102
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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103
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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104
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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105
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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106
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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107
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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108
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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110
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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111
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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113
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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114
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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115
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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116
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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117
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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118
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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119
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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120
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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121
diffuse
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| v.扩散；传播；adj.冗长的；四散的，弥漫的 | |
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122
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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123
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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124
pervade
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| v.弥漫，遍及，充满，渗透，漫延 | |
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125
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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126
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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127
reverence
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| 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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128
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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129
beheld
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| 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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130
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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131
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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132
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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133
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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135
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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136
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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137
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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138
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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139
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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140
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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141
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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142
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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143
contingencies
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| n.偶然发生的事故，意外事故( contingency的名词复数 )；以备万一 | |
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144
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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145
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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146
piquing
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的现在分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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147
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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148
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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149
mingled
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| 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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150
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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151
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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152
adolescence
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| n.青春期，青少年 | |
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153
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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154
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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156
rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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157
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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158
hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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159
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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160
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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161
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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162
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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163
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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164
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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165
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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166
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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167
perversely
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| adv. 倔强地 | |
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168
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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169
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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170
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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171
diffusing
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| （使光）模糊，漫射，漫散( diffuse的现在分词 )； （使）扩散； （使）弥漫； （使）传播 | |
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172
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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173
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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174
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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175
apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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