For days Lucian lay in a swoon of pleasure, smiling when he was addressed, sauntering happily in the sunlight, hugging recollection warm to his heart. Annie had told him that she was going on a visit to her married sister, and said, with a caress1, that he must be patient. He protested against her absence, but she fondled him, whispering her charms in his ear till he gave in and then they said good-bye, Lucian adoring on his knees. The parting was as strange as the meeting, and that night when he laid his work aside, and let himself sink deep into the joys of memory, all the encounter seemed as wonderful and impossible as magic.
“And you really don’t mean to do anything about those rascals2?” said his father.
“Rascals? Which rascals? Oh, you mean Beit. I had forgotten all about it. No; I don’t think I shall trouble. They’re not worth powder and shot.”
And he returned to his dream, pacing slowly from the medlar to the quince and back again. It seemed trivial to be interrupted by such questions; he had not even time to think of the book he had recommenced so eagerly, much less of this labor3 of long ago. He recollected4 without interest that it cost him many pains, that it was pretty good here and there, and that it had been stolen, and it seemed that there was nothing more to be said on the matter. He wished to think of the darkness in the lane, of the kind voice that spoke5 to him, of the kind hand that sought his own, as he stumbled on the rough way. So far, it was wonderful. Since he had left school and lost the company of the worthy6 barbarians8 who had befriended him there, he had almost lost the sense of kinship with humanity; he had come to dread9 the human form as men dread the hood10 of the cobra. To Lucian a man or a woman meant something that stung, that spoke words that rankled11, and poisoned his life with scorn. At first such malignity12 shocked him: he would ponder over words and glances and wonder if he were not mistaken, and he still sought now and then for sympathy. The poor boy had romantic ideas about women; he believed they were merciful and pitiful, very kind to the unlucky and helpless. Men perhaps had to be different; after all, the duty of a man was to get on in the world, or, in plain language, to make money, to be successful; to cheat rather than to be cheated, but always to be successful; and he could understand that one who fell below this high standard must expect to be severely14 judged by his fellows. For example, there was young Bennett, Miss Spurry’s nephew. Lucian had met him once or twice when he was spending his holidays with Miss Spurry, and the two young fellows compared literary notes together. Bennett showed some beautiful things he had written, over which Lucian had grown both sad and enthusiastic. It was such exquisite16 magic verse, and so much better than anything he ever hoped to write, that there was a touch of anguish17 in his congratulations. But when Bennett, after many vain prayers to his aunt, threw up a safe position in the bank, and betook himself to a London garret, Lucian was not surprised at the general verdict.
Mr. Dixon, as a clergyman, viewed the question from a high standpoint and found it all deplorable, but the general opinion was that Bennett was a hopeless young lunatic. Old Mr. Gervase went purple when his name was mentioned, and the young Dixons sneered19 very merrily over the adventure.
“I always thought he was a beastly young ass,” said Edward Dixon, “but I didn’t think he’d chuck away his chances like that. Said he couldn’t stand a bank! I hope he’ll be able to stand bread and water. That’s all those littery fellows get, I believe, except Tennyson and Mark Twain and those sort of people.”
Lucian of course sympathized with the unfortunate Bennett, but such judgments20 were after all only natural. The young man might have stayed in the bank and succeeded to his aunt’s thousand a year, and everybody would have called him a very nice young fellow —“clever, too.” But he had deliberately21 chosen, as Edward Dixon had said, to chuck his chances away for the sake of literature; piety22 and a sense of the main chance had alike pointed23 the way to a delicate course of wheedling24, to a little harmless practicing on Miss Spurry’s infirmities, to frequent compliances of a soothing25 nature, and the “young ass” had been blind to the direction of one and the other. It seemed almost right that the vicar should moralize, that Edward Dixon should sneer18, and that Mr. Gervase should grow purple with contempt. Men, Lucian thought, were like judges, who may pity the criminal in their hearts, but are forced to vindicate26 the outraged27 majesty29 of the law by a severe sentence. He felt the same considerations applied30 to his own case; he knew that his father should have had more money, that his clothes should be newer and of a better cut, that he should have gone to the university and made good friends. If such had been his fortune he could have looked his fellow-men proudly in the face, upright and unashamed. Having put on the whole armor of a first-rate West End tailor, with money in his purse, having taken anxious thought for the morrow, and having some useful friends and good prospects31; in such a case he might have held his head high in a gentlemanly and Christian32 community. As it was he had usually avoided the reproachful glance of his fellows, feeling that he deserved their condemnation33. But he had cherished for a long time his romantic sentimentalities about women; literary conventions borrowed from the minor35 poets and pseudo-medievalists, or so he thought afterwards. But, fresh from school, wearied a little with the perpetual society of barbarian7 though worthy boys, he had in his soul a charming image of womanhood, before which he worshipped with mingled36 passion and devotion. It was a nude37 figure, perhaps, but the shining arms were to be wound about the neck of a vanquished38 knight39; there was rest for the head of a wounded lover; the hands were stretched forth40 to do works of pity, and the smiling lips were to murmur41 not love alone, but consolation42 in defeat. Here was the refuge for a broken heart; here the scorn of men would but make tenderness increase; here was all pity and all charity with loving-kindness. It was a delightful43 picture, conceived in the “come rest on this bosom44,” and “a ministering angel thou” manner, with touches of allurement45 that made devotion all the sweeter. He soon found that he had idealized a little; in the affair of young Bennett, while the men were contemptuous the women were virulent46. He had been rather fond of Agatha Gervase, and she, so other ladies said, had “set her cap” at him. Now, when he rebelled, and lost the goodwill47 of his aunt, dear Miss Spurry, Agatha insulted him with all conceivable rapidity. “After all, Mr. Bennett,” she said, “you will be nothing better than a beggar; now, will you? You mustn’t think me cruel, but I can’t help speaking the truth. Write books!” Her expression filled up the incomplete sentence; she waggled with indignant emotion. These passages came to Lucian’s ears, and indeed the Gervases boasted of “how well poor Agatha had behaved.”
“Never mind, Gathy,” old Gervase had observed. “If the impudent48 young puppy comes here again, we’ll see what Thomas can do with the horse-whip.”
“Poor dear child,” Mrs. Gervase added in telling the tale, “and she was so fond of him too. But of course it couldn’t go on after his shameful49 behavior.”
But Lucian was troubled; he sought vainly for the ideal womanly, the tender note of “come rest on this bosom.” Ministering angels, he felt convinced, do not rub red pepper and sulfuric acid into the wounds of suffering mortals.
Then there was the case of Mr. Vaughan, a squire50 in the neighborhood, at whose board all the aristocracy of Caermaen had feasted for years. Mr. Vaughan had a first-rate cook, and his cellar was rare, and he was never so happy as when he shared his good things with his friends. His mother kept his house, and they delighted all the girls with frequent dances, while the men sighed over the amazing champagne51. Investments proved disastrous52, and Mr. Vaughan had to sell the grey manor-house by the river. He and his mother took a little modern stucco villa53 in Caermaen, wishing to be near their dear friends. But the men were “very sorry; rough on you, Vaughan. Always thought those Patagonians were risky54, but you wouldn’t hear of it. Hope we shall see you before very long; you and Mrs. Vaughan must come to tea some day after Christmas.”
“Of course we are all very sorry for them,” said Henrietta Dixon. “No, we haven’t called on Mrs. Vaughan yet. They have no regular servant, you know; only a woman in the morning. I hear old mother Vaughan, as Edward will call her, does nearly everything. And their house is absurdly small; it’s little more than a cottage. One really can’t call it a gentleman’s house.”
Then Mr. Vaughan, his heart in the dust, went to the Gervases and tried to borrow five pounds of Mr. Gervase. He had to be ordered out of the house, and, as Edith Gervase said, it was all very painful; “he went out in such a funny way,” she added, “just like the dog when he’s had a whipping. Of course it’s sad, even if it is all his own fault, as everybody says, but he looked so ridiculous as he was going down the steps that I couldn’t help laughing.” Mr. Vaughan heard the ringing, youthful laughter as he crossed the lawn.
Young girls like Henrietta Dixon and Edith Gervase naturally viewed the Vaughans’ comical position with all the high spirits of their age, but the elder ladies could not look at matters in this frivolous55 light.
“Hush, dear, hush,” said Mrs. Gervase, “it’s all too shocking to be a laughing matter. Don’t you agree with me, Mrs. Dixon? The sinful extravagance that went on at Pentre always frightened me. You remember that ball they gave last year? Mr. Gervase assured me that the champagne must have cost at least a hundred and fifty shillings the dozen.”
“It’s dreadful, isn’t it,” said Mrs. Dixon, “when one thinks of how many poor people there are who would be thankful for a crust of bread?”
“Yes, Mrs. Dixon,” Agatha joined in, “and you know how absurdly the Vaughans spoilt the cottagers. Oh, it was really wicked; one would think Mr. Vaughan wished to make them above their station. Edith and I went for a walk one day nearly as far as Pentre, and we begged a glass of water of old Mrs. Jones who lives in that pretty cottage near the brook56. She began praising the Vaughans in the most fulsome57 manner, and showed us some flannel58 things they had given her at Christmas. I assure you, my dear Mrs. Dixon, the flannel was the very best quality; no lady could wish for better. It couldn’t have cost less than half-a-crown a yard.”
“I know, my dear, I know. Mr. Dixon always said it couldn’t last. How often I have heard him say that the Vaughans were pauperizing all the common people about Pentre, and putting every one else in a most unpleasant position. Even from a worldly point of view it was very poor taste on their part. So different from the true charity that Paul speaks of.”
“I only wish they had given away nothing worse than flannel,” said Miss Colley, a young lady of very strict views. “But I assure you there was a perfect orgy, I can call it nothing else, every Christmas. Great joints59 of prime beef, and barrels of strong beer, and snuff and tobacco distributed wholesale60; as if the poor wanted to be encouraged in their disgusting habits. It was really impossible to go through the village for weeks after; the whole place was poisoned with the fumes61 of horrid62 tobacco pipes.”
“Well, we see how that sort of thing ends,” said Mrs. Dixon, summing up judicially63. “We had intended to call, but I really think it would be impossible after what Mrs. Gervase has told us. The idea of Mr. Vaughan trying to sponge on poor Mr. Gervase in that shabby way! I think meanness of that kind is so hateful.”
It was the practical side of all this that astonished Lucian. He saw that in reality there was no high-flown quixotism in a woman’s nature; the smooth arms, made he had thought for caressing64, seemed muscular; the hands meant for the doing of works of pity in his system, appeared dexterous65 in the giving of “stingers,” as Barnes might say, and the smiling lips could sneer with great ease. Nor was he more fortunate in his personal experiences. As has been told, Mrs. Dixon spoke of him in connection with “judgments,” and the younger ladies did not exactly cultivate his acquaintance. Theoretically they “adored” books and thought poetry “too sweet,” but in practice they preferred talking about mares and fox-terriers and their neighbors.
They were nice girls enough, very like other young ladies in other country towns, content with the teaching of their parents, reading the Bible every morning in their bedrooms, and sitting every Sunday in church amongst the well-dressed “sheep” on the right hand. It was not their fault if they failed to satisfy the ideal of an enthusiastic dreamy boy, and indeed, they would have thought his feigned67 woman immodest, absurdly sentimental34, a fright (“never wears stays, my dear”) and horrid.
At first he was a good deal grieved at the loss of that charming tender woman, the work of his brain. When the Miss Dixons went haughtily68 by with a scornful waggle, when the Miss Gervases passed in the wagonette laughing as the mud splashed him, the poor fellow would look up with a face of grief that must have been very comic; “like a dying duck,” as Edith Gervase said. Edith was really very pretty, and he would have liked to talk to her, even about fox-terriers, if she would have listened. One afternoon at the Dixons’ he really forced himself upon her, and with all the obtuseness69 of an enthusiastic boy tried to discuss the Lotus Eaters of Tennyson. It was too absurd. Captain Kempton was making signals to Edith all the time, and Lieutenant70 Gatwick had gone off in disgust, and he had promised to bring her a puppy “by Vick out of Wasp71.” At last the poor girl could bear it no longer:
“Yes, it’s very sweet,” she said at last. “When did you say you were going to London, Mr. Taylor?”
It was about the time that his disappointment became known to everybody, and the shot told. He gave her a piteous look and slunk off, “just like the dog when he’s had a whipping,” to use Edith’s own expression. Two or three lessons of this description produced their due effect; and when he saw a male Dixon or Gervase approaching him he bit his lip and summoned up his courage. But when he descried72 a “ministering angel” he made haste and hid behind a hedge or took to the woods. In course of time the desire to escape became an instinct, to be followed as a matter of course; in the same way he avoided the adders73 on the mountain. His old ideals were almost if not quite forgotten; he knew that the female of the bête humaine, like the adder74, would in all probability sting, and he therefore shrank from its trail, but without any feeling of special resentment75. The one had a poisoned tongue as the other had a poisoned fang76, and it was well to leave them both alone. Then had come that sudden fury of rage against all humanity, as he went out of Caermaen carrying the book that had been stolen from him by the enterprising Beit. He shuddered77 as he though of how nearly he had approached the verge78 of madness, when his eyes filled with blood and the earth seemed to burn with fire. He remembered how he had looked up to the horizon and the sky was blotched with scarlet79; and the earth was deep red, with red woods and red fields. There was something of horror in the memory, and in the vision of that wild night walk through dim country, when every shadow seemed a symbol of some terrible impending80 doom81. The murmur of the brook, the wind shrilling83 through the wood, the pale light flowing from the moldered trunks, and the picture of his own figure fleeing and fleeting84 through the shades; all these seemed unhappy things that told a story in fatal hieroglyphics85. And then the life and laws of the sunlight had passed away, and the resurrection and kingdom of the dead began. Though his limbs were weary, he had felt his muscles grow strong as steel; a woman, one of the hated race, was beside him in the darkness, and the wild beast woke within him, ravening86 for blood and brutal87 lust88; all the raging desires of the dim race from which he came assailed89 his heart. The ghosts issued out from the weird90 wood and from the caves in the hills, besieging91 him, as he had imagined the spiritual legion besieging Caermaen, beckoning92 him to a hideous93 battle and a victory that he had never imagined in his wildest dreams. And then out of the darkness the kind voice spoke again, and the kind hand was stretched out to draw him up from the pit. It was sweet to think of that which he had found at last; the boy’s picture incarnate94, all the passion and compassion95 of his longing96, all the pity and love and consolation. She, that beautiful passionate97 woman offering up her beauty in sacrifice to him, she was worthy indeed of his worship. He remembered how his tears had fallen upon her breast, and how tenderly she had soothed98 him, whispering those wonderful unknown words that sang to his heart. And she had made herself defenseless before him, caressing and fondling the body that had been so despised. He exulted99 in the happy thought that he had knelt down on the ground before her, and had embraced her knees and worshipped. The woman’s body had become his religion; he lay awake at night looking into the darkness with hungry eyes; wishing for a miracle, that the appearance of the so-desired form might be shaped before him. And when he was alone in quiet places in the wood, he fell down again on his knees, and even on his face, stretching out vain hands in the air, as if they would feel her flesh. His father noticed in those days that the inner pocket of his coat was stuffed with papers; he would see Lucian walking up and down in a secret shady place at the bottom of the orchard100, reading from his sheaf of manuscript, replacing the leaves, and again drawing them out. He would walk a few quick steps, and pause as if enraptured101, gazing in the air as if he looked through the shadows of the world into some sphere of glory, feigned by his thought. Mr. Taylor was almost alarmed at the sight; he concluded of course that Lucian was writing a book. In the first place, there seemed something immodest in seeing the operation performed under one’s eyes; it was as if the “make-up” of a beautiful actress were done on the stage, in full audience; as if one saw the rounded calves103 fixed104 in position, the fleshings drawn105 on, the voluptuous106 outlines of the figure produced by means purely107 mechanical, blushes mantling108 from the paint-pot, and the golden tresses well secured by the wigmaker. Books, Mr. Taylor thought, should swim into one’s ken13 mysteriously; they should appear all printed and bound, without apparent genesis; just as children are suddenly told that they have a little sister, found by mamma in the garden. But Lucian was not only engaged in composition; he was plainly rapturous, enthusiastic; Mr. Taylor saw him throw up his hands, and bow his head with strange gesture. The parson began to fear that his son was like some of those mad Frenchmen of whom he had read, young fellows who had a sort of fury of literature, and gave their whole lives to it, spending days over a page, and years over a book, pursuing art as Englishmen pursue money, building up a romance as if it were a business. Now Mr. Taylor held firmly by the “walking-stick” theory; he believed that a man of letters should have a real profession, some solid employment in life. “Get something to do,” he would have liked to say, “and then you can write as much as you please. Look at Scott, look at Dickens and Trollope.” And then there was the social point of view; it might be right, or it might be wrong, but there could be no doubt that the literary man, as such, was not thought much of in English society. Mr. Taylor knew his Thackeray, and he remembered that old Major Pendennis, society personified, did not exactly boast of his nephew’s occupation. Even Warrington was rather ashamed to own his connection with journalism109, and Pendennis himself laughed openly at his novel-writing as an agreeable way of making money, a useful appendage110 to the cultivation111 of dukes, his true business in life. This was the plain English view, and Mr. Taylor was no doubt right enough in thinking it good, practical common sense. Therefore when he saw Lucian loitering and sauntering, musing112 amorously113 over his manuscript, exhibiting manifest signs of that fine fury which Britons have ever found absurd, he felt grieved at heart, and more than ever sorry that he had not been able to send the boy to Oxford114.
“B.N.C. would have knocked all this nonsense out of him,” he thought. “He would have taken a double First like my poor father and made something of a figure in the world. However, it can’t be helped.” The poor man sighed, and lit his pipe, and walked in another part of the garden.
But he was mistaken in his diagnosis115 of the symptoms. The book that Lucian had begun lay unheeded in the drawer; it was a secret work that he was engaged on, and the manuscripts that he took out of that inner pocket never left him day or night. He slept with them next to his heart, and he would kiss them when he was quite alone, and pay them such devotion as he would have paid to her whom they symbolized116. He wrote on these leaves a wonderful ritual of praise and devotion; it was the liturgy117 of his religion. Again and again he copied and recopied this madness of a lover; dallying118 all days over the choice of a word, searching for more exquisite phrases. No common words, no such phrases as he might use in a tale would suffice; the sentences of worship must stir and be quickened, they must glow and burn, and be decked out as with rare work of jewelry119. Every part of that holy and beautiful body must be adored; he sought for terms of extravagant120 praise, he bent121 his soul and mind low before her, licking the dust under her feet, abased122 and yet rejoicing as a Templar before the image of Baphomet. He exulted more especially in the knowledge that there was nothing of the conventional or common in his ecstasy124; he was not the fervent125, adoring lover of Tennyson’s poems, who loves with passion and yet with a proud respect, with the love always of a gentleman for a lady. Annie was not a lady; the Morgans had farmed their land for hundreds of years; they were what Miss Gervase and Miss Colley and the rest of them called common people. Tennyson’s noble gentleman thought of their ladies with something of reticence126; they imagined them dressed in flowing and courtly robes, walking with slow dignity; they dreamed of them as always stately, the future mistresses of their houses, mothers of their heirs. Such lovers bowed, but not too low, remembering their own honor, before those who were to be equal companions and friends as well as wives. It was not such conceptions as these that he embodied127 in the amazing emblems128 of his ritual; he was not, he told himself, a young officer, “something in the city,” or a rising barrister engaged to a Miss Dixon or a Miss Gervase. He had not thought of looking out for a nice little house in a good residential129 suburb where they would have pleasant society; there were to be no consultations130 about wall-papers, or jocose131 whispers from friends as to the necessity of having a room that would do for a nursery. No glad young thing had leant on his arm while they chose the suite132 in white enamel133, and china for “our bedroom,” the modest salesman doing his best to spare their blushes. When Edith Gervase married she would get mamma to look out for two really good servants, “as we must begin quietly,” and mamma would make sure that the drains and everything were right. Then her “girl friends” would come on a certain solemn day to see all her “lovely things.” “Two dozen of everything!” “Look, Ethel, did you ever see such ducky frills?” “And that insertion, isn’t it quite too sweet?” “My dear Edith, you are a lucky girl.” “All the underlinen specially123 made by Madame Lulu!” “What delicious things!” “I hope he knows what a prize he is winning.” “Oh! do look at those lovely ribbon-bows!” “You darling, how happy you must be.” “Real Valenciennes!” Then a whisper in the lady’s ear, and her reply, “Oh, don’t, Nelly!” So they would chirp134 over their treasures, as in Rabelais they chirped135 over their cups; and every thing would be done in due order till the wedding-day, when mamma, who had strained her sinews and the commandments to bring the match about, would weep and look indignantly at the unhappy bridegroom. “I hope you’ll be kind to her, Robert.” Then in a rapid whisper to the bride: “Mind, you insist on Wyman’s flushing the drains when you come back; servants are so careless and dirty too. Don’t let him go about by himself in Paris. Men are so queer, one never knows. You have got the pills?” And aloud, after these secreta, “God bless you, my dear; good-bye! cluck, cluck, good-bye!”
There were stranger things written in the manuscript pages that Lucian cherished, sentences that burnt and glowed like “coals of fire which hath a most vehement136 flame.” There were phrases that stung and tingled137 as he wrote them, and sonorous139 words poured out in ecstasy and rapture102, as in some of the old litanies. He hugged the thought that a great part of what he had invented was in the true sense of the word occult: page after page might have been read aloud to the uninitiated without betraying the inner meaning. He dreamed night and day over these symbols, he copied and recopied the manuscript nine times before he wrote it out fairly in a little book which he made himself of a skin of creamy vellum. In his mania140 for acquirements that should be entirely141 useless he had gained some skill in illumination, or limning142 as he preferred to call it, always choosing the obscurer word as the obscurer arts. First he set himself to the severe practice of the text; he spent many hours and days of toil143 in struggling to fashion the serried144 columns of black letter, writing and rewriting till he could shape the massive character with firm true hand. He cut his quills145 with the patience of a monk146 in the scriptorium, shaving and altering the nib147, lightening and increasing the pressure and flexibility148 of the points, till the pen satisfied him, and gave a stroke both broad and even. Then he made experiments in inks, searching for some medium that would rival the glossy149 black letter of the old manuscripts; and not till he could produce a fair page of text did he turn to the more entrancing labor of the capitals and borders and ornaments150. He mused151 long over the Lombardic letters, as glorious in their way as a cathedral, and trained his hand to execute the bold and flowing lines; and then there was the art of the border, blossoming in fretted152 splendor153 all about the page. His cousin, Miss Deacon, called it all a great waste of time, and his father thought he would have done much better in trying to improve his ordinary handwriting, which was both ugly and illegible154. Indeed, there seemed but a poor demand for the limner’s art. He sent some specimens155 of his skill to an “artistic firm” in London; a verse of the “Maud,” curiously156 emblazoned, and a Latin hymn157 with the notes pricked158 on a red stave. The firm wrote civilly, telling him that his work, though good, was not what they wanted, and enclosing an illuminated159 text. “We have great demand for this sort of thing,” they concluded, “and if you care to attempt something in this style we should be pleased to look at it.” The said text was “Thou, God, seest me.” The letter was of a degraded form, bearing much the same relation to the true character as a “churchwarden gothic” building does to Canterbury Cathedral; the colours were varied160. The initial was pale gold, the h pink, the o black, the u blue, and the first letter was somehow connected with a bird’s nest containing the young of the pigeon, who were waited on by the female bird.
“What a pretty text,” said Miss Deacon. “I should like to nail it up in my room. Why don’t you try to do something like that, Lucian? You might make something by it.”
“I sent them these,” said Lucian, “but they don’t like them much.”
“My dear boy! I should think not! Like them! What were you thinking of to draw those queer stiff flowers all round the border? Roses? They don’t look like roses at all events. Where do you get such ideas from?”
“But the design is appropriate; look at the words.”
“My dear Lucian, I can’t read the words; it’s such a queer old-fashioned writing. Look how plain that text is; one can see what it’s about. And this other one; I can’t make it out at all.”
“It’s a Latin hymn.”
“A Latin hymn? Is it a Protestant hymn? I may be old-fashioned, but Hymns161 Ancient and Modern is quite good enough for me. This is the music, I suppose? But, my dear boy, there are only four lines, and who ever heard of notes shaped like that: you have made some square and some diamond-shape? Why didn’t you look in your poor mother’s old music? It’s in the ottoman in the drawing-room. I could have shown you how to make the notes; there are crotchets, you know, and quavers.”
Miss Deacon laid down the illuminated Urbs Beata in despair; she felt convinced that her cousin was “next door to an idiot.”
And he went out into the garden and raged behind a hedge. He broke two flower-pots and hit an apple-tree very hard with his stick, and then, feeling more calm, wondered what was the use in trying to do anything. He would not have put the thought into words, but in his heart he was aggrieved162 that his cousin liked the pigeons and the text, and did not like his emblematical163 roses and the Latin hymn. He knew he had taken great pains over the work, and that it was well done, and being still a young man he expected praise. He found that in this hard world there was a lack of appreciation164; a critical spirit seemed abroad. If he could have been scientifically observed as he writhed165 and smarted under the strictures of “the old fool,” as he rudely called his cousin, the spectacle would have been extremely diverting. Little boys sometimes enjoy a very similar entertainment; either with their tiny fingers or with mamma’s nail scissors they gradually deprive a fly of its wings and legs. The odd gyrations and queer thin buzzings of the creature as it spins comically round and round never fail to provide a fund of harmless amusement. Lucian, indeed, fancied himself a very ill-used individual; but he should have tried to imitate the nervous organization of the flies, which, as mamma says, “can’t really feel.”
But now, as he prepared the vellum leaves, he remembered his art with joy; he had not labored166 to do beautiful work in vain. He read over his manuscript once more, and thought of the designing of the pages. He made sketches167 on furtive168 sheets of paper, and hunted up books in his father’s library for suggestions. There were books about architecture, and medieval iron work, and brasses169 which contributed hints for adornment170; and not content with mere171 pictures he sought in the woods and hedges, scanning the strange forms of trees, and the poisonous growth of great water-plants, and the parasite172 twining of honeysuckle and briony. In one of these rambles173 he discovered a red earth which he made into a pigment174, and he found in the unctuous175 juice of a certain fern an ingredient which he thought made his black ink still more glossy. His book was written all in symbols, and in the same spirit of symbolism he decorated it, causing wonderful foliage176 to creep about the text, and showing the blossom of certain mystical flowers, with emblems of strange creatures, caught and bound in rose thickets177. All was dedicated178 to love and a lover’s madness, and there were songs in it which haunted him with their lilt and refrain. When the book was finished it replaced the loose leaves as his constant companion by day and night. Three times a day he repeated his ritual to himself, seeking out the loneliest places in the woods, or going up to his room; and from the fixed intentness and rapture of his gaze, the father thought him still severely employed in the questionable179 process of composition. At night he contrived180 to wake for his strange courtship; and he had a peculiar181 ceremony when he got up in the dark and lit his candle. From a steep and wild hillside, not far from the house, he had cut from time to time five large boughs183 of spiked184 and prickly gorse. He had brought them into the house, one by one, and had hidden them in the big box that stood beside his bed. Often he woke up weeping and murmuring to himself the words of one of his songs, and then when he had lit the candle, he would draw out the gorse-boughs, and place them on the floor, and taking off his nightgown, gently lay himself down on the bed of thorns and spines186. Lying on his face, with the candle and the book before him, he would softly and tenderly repeat the praises of his dear, dear Annie, and as he turned over page after page, and saw the raised gold of the majuscules glow and flame in the candle-light, he pressed the thorns into his flesh. At such moments he tasted in all its acute savor187 the joy of physical pain; and after two or three experiences of such delights he altered his book, making a curious sign in vermilion on the margin188 of the passages where he was to inflict189 on himself this sweet torture. Never did he fail to wake at the appointed hour, a strong effort of will broke through all the heaviness of sleep, and he would rise up, joyful190 though weeping, and reverently191 set his thorny192 bed upon the floor, offering his pain with his praise. When he had whispered the last word, and had risen from the ground, his body would be all freckled193 with drops of blood; he used to view the marks with pride. Here and there a spine185 would be left deep in the flesh, and he would pull these out roughly, tearing through the skin. On some nights when he had pressed with more fervor194 on the thorns his thighs195 would stream with blood, red beads196 standing197 out on the flesh, and trickling198 down to his feet. He had some difficulty in washing away the bloodstains so as not to leave any traces to attract the attention of the servant; and after a time he returned no more to his bed when his duty had been accomplished199. For a coverlet he had a dark rug, a good deal worn, and in this he would wrap his naked bleeding body, and lie down on the hard floor, well content to add an aching rest to the account of his pleasures. He was covered with scars, and those that healed during the day were torn open afresh at night; the pale olive skin was red with the angry marks of blood, and the graceful200 form of the young man appeared like the body of a tortured martyr201. He grew thinner and thinner every day, for he ate but little; the skin was stretched on the bones of his face, and the black eyes burnt in dark purple hollows. His relations noticed that he was not looking well.
“Now, Lucian, it’s perfect madness of you to go on like this,” said Miss Deacon, one morning at breakfast. “Look how your hand shakes; some people would say that you have been taking brandy. And all that you want is a little medicine, and yet you won’t be advised. You know it’s not my fault; I have asked you to try Dr. Jelly’s Cooling Powders again and again.”
He remembered the forcible exhibition of the powders when he was a boy, and felt thankful that those days were over. He only grinned at his cousin and swallowed a great cup of strong tea to steady his nerves, which were shaky enough. Mrs. Dixon saw him one day in Caermaen; it was very hot, and he had been walking rather fast. The scars on his body burnt and tingled, and he tottered202 as he raised his hat to the vicar’s wife. She decided203 without further investigation204 that he must have been drinking in public-houses.
“It seems a mercy that poor Mrs. Taylor was taken,” she said to her husband. “She has certainly been spared a great deal. That wretched young man passed me this afternoon; he was quite intoxicated205.”
“How very said,” said Mr. Dixon. “A little port, my dear?”
“Thank you, Merivale, I will have another glass of sherry. Dr. Burrows206 is always scolding me and saying I must take something to keep up my energy, and this sherry is so weak.”
The Dixons were not teetotalers. They regretted it deeply, and blamed the doctor, who “insisted on some stimulant207.” However, there was some consolation in trying to convert the parish to total abstinence, or, as they curiously called it, temperance. Old women were warned of the sin of taking a glass of beer for supper; aged28 laborers208 were urged to try Cork-ho, the new temperance drink; an uncouth209 beverage210, styled coffee, was dispensed211 at the reading-room. Mr. Dixon preached an eloquent212 “temperance” sermon, soon after the above conversation, taking as his text: Beware of the leaven213 of the Pharisees. In his discourse214 he showed that fermented215 liquor and leaven had much in common, that beer was at the present day “put away” during Passover by the strict Jews; and in a moving peroration216 he urged his dear brethren, “and more especially those amongst us who are poor in this world’s goods,” to beware indeed of that evil leaven which was sapping the manhood of our nation. Mrs. Dixon cried after church:
“Oh, Merivale, what a beautiful sermon! How earnest you were. I hope it will do good.”
Mr. Dixon swallowed his port with great decorum, but his wife fuddled herself every evening with cheap sherry. She was quite unaware217 of the fact, and sometimes wondered in a dim way why she always had to scold the children after dinner. And so strange things sometimes happened in the nursery, and now and then the children looked queerly at one another after a red-faced woman had gone out, panting.
Lucian knew nothing of his accuser’s trials, but he was not long in hearing of his own intoxication218. The next time he went down to Caermaen he was hailed by the doctor.
“Been drinking again today?”
“No,” said Lucian in a puzzled voice. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, well, if you haven’t, that’s all right, as you’ll be able to take a drop with me. Come along in?”
Over the whisky and pipes Lucian heard of the evil rumors219 affecting his character.
“Mrs. Dixon assured me you were staggering from one side of the street to the other. You quite frightened her, she said. Then she asked me if I recommended her to take one or two ounces of spirit at bedtime for the palpitation; and of course I told her two would be better. I have my living to make here, you know. And upon my word, I think she wants it; she’s always gurgling inside like waterworks. I wonder how old Dixon can stand it.”
“I like ‘ounces of spirit,’” said Lucian. “That’s taking it medicinally, I suppose. I’ve often heard of ladies who have to ‘take it medicinally’; and that’s how it’s done?”
“That’s it. ‘Dr Burrows won’t listen to me’: ‘I tell him how I dislike the taste of spirits, but he says they are absolutely necessary for my constitution’: ‘my medical man insists on something at bedtime’; that’s the style.”
Lucian laughed gently; all these people had become indifferent to him; he could no longer feel savage220 indignation at their little hypocrisies222 and malignancies. Their voices uttering calumny223, and morality, and futility224 had become like the thin shrill82 angry note of a gnat221 on a summer evening; he had his own thoughts and his own life, and he passed on without heeding225.
“You come down to Caermaen pretty often, don’t you?” said the doctor. “I’ve seen you two or three times in the last fortnight.”
“Yes, I enjoy the walk.”
“Well, look me up whenever you like, you know. I am often in just at this time, and a chat with a human being isn’t bad, now and then. It’s a change for me; I’m often afraid I shall lose my patients.”
The doctor had the weakness of these terrible puns, dragged headlong into the conversation. He sometimes exhibited them before Mrs. Gervase, who would smile in a faint and dignified226 manner, and say:
“Ah, I see. Very amusing indeed. We had an old coachmen once who was very clever, I believe, at that sort of thing, but Mr. Gervase was obliged to send him away, the laughter of the other domestics was so very boisterous227.”
Lucian laughed, not boisterously228, but good-humouredly, at the doctor’s joke. He liked Burrows, feeling that he was a man and not an automatic gabbling machine.
“You look a little pulled down,” said the doctor, when Lucian rose to go. “No, you don’t want my medicine. Plenty of beef and beer will do you more good than drugs. I daresay it’s the hot weather that has thinned you a bit. Oh, you’ll be all right again in a month.”
As Lucian strolled out of the town on his way home, he passed a small crowd of urchins229 assembled at the corner of an orchard. They were enjoying themselves immensely. The “healthy” boy, the same whom he had seen some weeks ago operating on a cat, seemed to have recognized his selfishness in keeping his amusements to himself. He had found a poor lost puppy, a little creature with bright pitiful eyes, almost human in their fond, friendly gaze. It was not a well-bred little dog; it was certainly not that famous puppy “by Vick out of Wasp”; it had rough hair and a foolish long tail which it wagged beseechingly231, at once deprecating severity and asking kindness. The poor animal had evidently been used to gentle treatment; it would look up in a boy’s face, and give a leap, fawning232 on him, and then bark in a small doubtful voice, and cower233 a moment on the ground, astonished perhaps at the strangeness, the bustle234 and animation235. The boys were beside themselves with eagerness; there was quite a babble236 of voices, arguing, discussing, suggesting. Each one had a plan of his own which he brought before the leader, a stout237 and sturdy youth.
“Drown him! What be you thinkin’ of, mun?” he was saying. “‘Tain’t no sport at all. You shut your mouth, gwaes. Be you goin’ to ask your mother for the boiling-water? Is, Bob Williams, I do know all that: but where be you a-going to get the fire from? Be quiet, mun, can’t you? Thomas Trevor, be this dog yourn or mine? Now, look you, if you don’t all of you shut your bloody238 mouths, I’ll take the dog ‘ome and keep him. There now!”
He was a born leader of men. A singular depression and lowness of spirit showed itself on the boys’ faces. They recognized that the threat might very possibly be executed, and their countenances239 were at once composed to humble240 attention. The puppy was still cowering241 on the ground in the midst of them: one or two tried to relieve the tension of their feelings by kicking him in the belly242 with their hobnail boots. It cried out with the pain and writhed a little, but the poor little beast did not attempt to bite or even snarl243. It looked up with those beseeching230 friendly eyes at its persecutors, and fawned244 on them again, and tried to wag its tail and be merry, pretending to play with a straw on the road, hoping perhaps to win a little favor in that way.
The leader saw the moment for his master-stroke. He slowly drew a piece of rope from his pocket.
“What do you say to that, mun? Now, Thomas Trevor! We’ll hang him over that there bough182. Will that suit you, Bobby Williams?”
There was a great shriek245 of approval and delight. All was again bustle and animation. “I’ll tie it round his neck?” “Get out, mun, you don’t know how it be done.” “Is, I do, Charley.” “Now, let me, gwaes, now do let me.” “You be sure he won’t bite?” “He hain’t mad, be he?” “Suppose we were to tie up his mouth first?”
The puppy still fawned and curried246 favor, and wagged that sorry tail, and lay down crouching247 on one side on the ground, sad and sorry in his heart, but still with a little gleam of hope; for now and again he tried to play, and put up his face, praying with those fond, friendly eyes. And then at last his gambols248 and poor efforts for mercy ceased, and he lifted up his wretched voice in one long dismal249 whine250 of despair. But he licked the hand of the boy that tied the noose251.
He was slowly and gently swung into the air as Lucian went by unheeded; he struggled, and his legs twisted and writhed. The “healthy” boy pulled the rope, and his friends danced and shouted with glee. As Lucian turned the corner, the poor dangling252 body was swinging to and fro, the puppy was dying, but he still kicked a little.
Lucian went on his way hastily, and shuddering253 with disgust. The young of the human creature were really too horrible; they defiled254 the earth, and made existence unpleasant, as the pulpy255 growth of a noxious256 and obscene fungus257 spoils an agreeable walk. The sight of those malignant258 little animals with mouths that uttered cruelty and filthy259, with hands dexterous in torture, and feet swift to run all evil errands, had given him a shock and broken up the world of strange thoughts in which he had been dwelling260. Yet it was no good being angry with them: it was their nature to be very loathsome261. Only he wished they would go about their hideous amusements in their own back gardens where nobody could see them at work; it was too bad that he should be interrupted and offended in a quiet country road. He tried to put the incident out of his mind, as if the whole thing had been a disagreeable story, and the visions amongst which he wished to move were beginning to return, when he was again rudely disturbed. A little girl, a pretty child of eight or nine, was coming along the lane to meet him. She was crying bitterly and looking to left and right, and calling out some word all the time.
“Jack262, Jack, Jack! Little Jackie! Jack!”
Then she burst into tears afresh, and peered into the hedge, and tried to peep through a gate into a field.
“Jackie, Jackie, Jackie!”
She came up to Lucian, sobbing263 as if her heart would break, and dropped him an old-fashioned curtsy.
“Oh, please sir, have you seen my little Jackie?”
“What do you mean?” said Lucian. “What is it you’ve lost?”
“A little dog, please sir. A little terrier dog with white hair. Father gave me him a month ago, and said I might keep him. Someone did leave the garden gate open this afternoon, and he must ‘a got away, sir, and I was so fond of him sir, he was so playful and loving, and I be afraid he be lost.”
She began to call again, without waiting for an answer.
“Jack, Jack, Jack!”
“I’m afraid some boys have got your little dog,” said Lucian. “They’ve killed him. You’d better go back home.”
He went on, walking as fast as he could in his endeavor to get beyond the noise of the child’s crying. It distressed264 him, and he wished to think of other things. He stamped his foot angrily on the ground as he recalled the annoyances265 of the afternoon, and longed for some hermitage on the mountains, far above the stench and the sound of humanity.
A little farther, and he came to Croeswen, where the road branched off to right and left. There was a triangular266 plot of grass between the two roads; there the cross had once stood, “the goodly and famous roode” of the old local chronicle. The words echoed in Lucian’s ears as he went by on the right hand. “There were five steps that did go up to the first pace, and seven steps to the second pace, all of clene hewn ashler. And all above it was most curiously and gloriously wrought267 with thorowgh carved work; in the highest place was the Holy Roode with Christ upon the Cross having Marie on the one syde and John on the other. And below were six splendent and glisteringe archaungels that bore up the roode, and beneath them in their stories were the most fair and noble images of the xii Apostles and of divers268 other Saints and Martirs. And in the lowest storie there was a marvelous imagerie of divers Beasts, such as oxen and horses and swine, and little dogs and peacocks, all done in the finest and most curious wise, so that they all seemed as they were caught in a Wood of Thorns, the which is their torment269 of this life. And here once in the year was a marvelous solemn service, when the parson of Caermaen came out with the singers and all the people, singing the psalm270 Benedicite omnia opera as they passed along the road in their procession. And when they stood at the roode the priest did there his service, making certain prayers for the beasts, and then he went up to the first pace and preached a sermon to the people, shewing them that as our lord Jhu dyed upon the Tree of his deare mercy for us, so we too owe mercy to the beasts his Creatures, for that they are all his poor lieges and silly servants. And that like as the Holy Aungells do their suit to him on high, and the Blessed xii Apostles and the Martirs, and all the Blissful Saints served him aforetime on earth and now praise him in heaven, so also do the beasts serve him, though they be in torment of life and below men. For their spirit goeth downward, as Holy Writ15 teacheth us.”
It was a quaint66 old record, a curious relic271 of what the modern inhabitants of Caermaen called the Dark Ages. A few of the stones that had formed the base of the cross still remained in position, grey with age, blotched with black lichen272 and green moss273. The remainder of the famous rood had been used to mend the roads, to build pigsties274 and domestic offices; it had turned Protestant, in fact. Indeed, if it had remained, the parson of Caermaen would have had no time for the service; the coffee-stall, the Portuguese275 Missions, the Society for the Conversion276 of the Jews, and important social duties took up all his leisure. Besides, he thought the whole ceremony unscriptural.
Lucian passed on his way, wondering at the strange contrasts of the Middle Ages. How was it that people who could devise so beautiful a service believed in witchcraft277, demoniacal possession and obsession278, in the incubus279 and succubus, and in the Sabbath an in many other horrible absurdities280? It seemed astonishing that anybody could even pretend to credit such monstrous281 tales, but there could be no doubt that the dread of old women who rode on broomsticks and liked black cats was once a very genuine terror.
A cold wind blew up from the river at sunset, and the scars on his body began to burn and tingle138. The pain recalled his ritual to him, and he began to recite it as he walked along. He had cut a branch of thorn from the hedge and placed it next to his skin, pressing the spikes282 into the flesh with his hand till the warm blood ran down. He felt it was an exquisite and sweet observance for her sake; and then he thought of the secret golden palace he was building for her, the rare and wonderful city rising in his imagination. As the solemn night began to close about the earth, and the last glimmer283 of the sun faded from the hills, he gave himself anew to the woman, his body and his mind, all that he was, and all that he had.
收听单词发音 |
1
caress
|
|
| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
rascals
|
|
| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
labor
|
|
| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
recollected
|
|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
barbarian
|
|
| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
barbarians
|
|
| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
hood
|
|
| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
rankled
|
|
| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
malignity
|
|
| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
ken
|
|
| n.视野，知识领域 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
severely
|
|
| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
writ
|
|
| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
sneered
|
|
| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
judgments
|
|
| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
piety
|
|
| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
wheedling
|
|
| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
vindicate
|
|
| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
outraged
|
|
| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
condemnation
|
|
| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
nude
|
|
| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
vanquished
|
|
| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
allurement
|
|
| n.诱惑物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
virulent
|
|
| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
goodwill
|
|
| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
impudent
|
|
| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
shameful
|
|
| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
champagne
|
|
| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
disastrous
|
|
| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
risky
|
|
| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
frivolous
|
|
| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
brook
|
|
| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
fulsome
|
|
| adj.可恶的，虚伪的，过分恭维的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
flannel
|
|
| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
joints
|
|
| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
wholesale
|
|
| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
fumes
|
|
| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
horrid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
judicially
|
|
| 依法判决地，公平地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
caressing
|
|
| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
dexterous
|
|
| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
feigned
|
|
| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
haughtily
|
|
| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
obtuseness
|
|
| 感觉迟钝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
lieutenant
|
|
| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
wasp
|
|
| n.黄蜂，蚂蜂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
descried
|
|
| adj.被注意到的，被发现的，被看到的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
adders
|
|
| n.加法器，（欧洲产）蝰蛇（小毒蛇），（北美产无毒的）猪鼻蛇( adder的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
adder
|
|
| n.蝰蛇；小毒蛇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
fang
|
|
| n.尖牙，犬牙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
shuddered
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
verge
|
|
| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
impending
|
|
| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
doom
|
|
| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
shrill
|
|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
shrilling
|
|
| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的现在分词 )； 凄厉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
fleeting
|
|
| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
hieroglyphics
|
|
| n.pl.象形文字 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
ravening
|
|
| a.贪婪而饥饿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
brutal
|
|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
lust
|
|
| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
assailed
|
|
| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
weird
|
|
| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
besieging
|
|
| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
beckoning
|
|
| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
incarnate
|
|
| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
soothed
|
|
| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
exulted
|
|
| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
orchard
|
|
| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
enraptured
|
|
| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
rapture
|
|
| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
calves
|
|
| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
voluptuous
|
|
| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
mantling
|
|
| 覆巾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
109
journalism
|
|
| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
appendage
|
|
| n.附加物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
cultivation
|
|
| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
musing
|
|
| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
amorously
|
|
| adv.好色地，妖艳地；脉；脉脉；眽眽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
diagnosis
|
|
| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
symbolized
|
|
| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
liturgy
|
|
| n.礼拜仪式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
dallying
|
|
| v.随随便便地对待( dally的现在分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
jewelry
|
|
| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
extravagant
|
|
| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
abased
|
|
| 使谦卑( abase的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到羞耻； 使降低（地位、身份等）； 降下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
specially
|
|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
fervent
|
|
| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
reticence
|
|
| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
embodied
|
|
| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
emblems
|
|
| n.象征，标记( emblem的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
residential
|
|
| adj.提供住宿的；居住的；住宅的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
consultations
|
|
| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
jocose
|
|
| adj.开玩笑的，滑稽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
suite
|
|
| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
enamel
|
|
| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
chirp
|
|
| v.(尤指鸟)唧唧喳喳的叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
chirped
|
|
| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
vehement
|
|
| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
tingled
|
|
| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
tingle
|
|
| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
sonorous
|
|
| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
mania
|
|
| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
limning
|
|
| v.画( limn的现在分词 )；勾画；描写；描述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
toil
|
|
| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
serried
|
|
| adj.拥挤的；密集的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
quills
|
|
| n.（刺猬或豪猪的）刺( quill的名词复数 )；羽毛管；翮；纡管 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
monk
|
|
| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
nib
|
|
| n.钢笔尖；尖头 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
flexibility
|
|
| n.柔韧性，弹性，（光的）折射性，灵活性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
glossy
|
|
| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
ornaments
|
|
| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
mused
|
|
| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
fretted
|
|
| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
splendor
|
|
| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
illegible
|
|
| adj.难以辨认的，字迹模糊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
specimens
|
|
| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
hymn
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
pricked
|
|
| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
illuminated
|
|
| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
varied
|
|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
hymns
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
aggrieved
|
|
| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
emblematical
|
|
| adj.标志的，象征的，典型的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
appreciation
|
|
| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
writhed
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
labored
|
|
| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
sketches
|
|
| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
furtive
|
|
| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
brasses
|
|
| n.黄铜( brass的名词复数 )；铜管乐器；钱；黄铜饰品（尤指马挽具上的黄铜圆片） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
adornment
|
|
| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
parasite
|
|
| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
rambles
|
|
| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
pigment
|
|
| n.天然色素，干粉颜料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
unctuous
|
|
| adj.油腔滑调的，大胆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
foliage
|
|
| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
thickets
|
|
| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
dedicated
|
|
| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
questionable
|
|
| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
bough
|
|
| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
boughs
|
|
| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
spiked
|
|
| adj.有穗的；成锥形的；有尖顶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
spine
|
|
| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
spines
|
|
| n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 )；脊椎；（动植物的）刺；书脊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
savor
|
|
| vt.品尝，欣赏；n.味道，风味；情趣，趣味 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
margin
|
|
| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
inflict
|
|
| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
joyful
|
|
| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
reverently
|
|
| adv.虔诚地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
thorny
|
|
| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
freckled
|
|
| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
fervor
|
|
| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
thighs
|
|
| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
beads
|
|
| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
trickling
|
|
| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
201
martyr
|
|
| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
202
tottered
|
|
| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
203
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
204
investigation
|
|
| n.调查，调查研究 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
205
intoxicated
|
|
| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
206
burrows
|
|
| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
207
stimulant
|
|
| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
208
laborers
|
|
| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
209
uncouth
|
|
| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
210
beverage
|
|
| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
211
dispensed
|
|
| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
212
eloquent
|
|
| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
213
leaven
|
|
| v.使发酵；n.酵母；影响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
214
discourse
|
|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
215
fermented
|
|
| v.（使）发酵( ferment的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
216
peroration
|
|
| n.（演说等之）结论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
217
unaware
|
|
| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
218
intoxication
|
|
| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
219
rumors
|
|
| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
220
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
221
gnat
|
|
| v.对小事斤斤计较，琐事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
222
hypocrisies
|
|
| n.伪善，虚伪( hypocrisy的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
223
calumny
|
|
| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
224
futility
|
|
| n.无用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
225
heeding
|
|
| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
226
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
227
boisterous
|
|
| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
228
boisterously
|
|
| adv.喧闹地，吵闹地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
229
urchins
|
|
| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
230
beseeching
|
|
| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
231
beseechingly
|
|
| adv. 恳求地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
232
fawning
|
|
| adj.乞怜的，奉承的v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
233
cower
|
|
| v.畏缩，退缩，抖缩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
234
bustle
|
|
| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
235
animation
|
|
| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
236
babble
|
|
| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
238
bloody
|
|
| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
239
countenances
|
|
| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
240
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
241
cowering
|
|
| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
242
belly
|
|
| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
243
snarl
|
|
| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
244
fawned
|
|
| v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的过去式和过去分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
245
shriek
|
|
| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
246
curried
|
|
| adj.加了咖喱（或咖喱粉的），用咖哩粉调理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
247
crouching
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
248
gambols
|
|
| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
249
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
250
whine
|
|
| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
251
noose
|
|
| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
252
dangling
|
|
| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
253
shuddering
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
254
defiled
|
|
| v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
255
pulpy
|
|
| 果肉状的，多汁的，柔软的； 烂糊； 稀烂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
256
noxious
|
|
| adj.有害的，有毒的；使道德败坏的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
257
fungus
|
|
| n.真菌，真菌类植物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
258
malignant
|
|
| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
259
filthy
|
|
| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
260
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
261
loathsome
|
|
| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
262
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
263
sobbing
|
|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
264
distressed
|
|
| 痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
265
annoyances
|
|
| n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 )；烦恼；打扰；使人烦恼的事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
266
triangular
|
|
| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
267
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
268
divers
|
|
| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
269
torment
|
|
| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
270
psalm
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
271
relic
|
|
| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
272
lichen
|
|
| n.地衣, 青苔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
273
moss
|
|
| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
274
pigsties
|
|
| n.猪圈，脏房间( pigsty的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
275
Portuguese
|
|
| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
276
conversion
|
|
| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
277
witchcraft
|
|
| n.魔法，巫术 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
278
obsession
|
|
| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
279
incubus
|
|
| n.负担；恶梦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
280
absurdities
|
|
| n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 )；荒谬；谬论；荒谬的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
281
monstrous
|
|
| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
282
spikes
|
|
| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
283
glimmer
|
|
| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |