In August, the April of the Argentine poets, we had some piercingly cold weather, followed by a fall of snow. Heaven be praised for it! for never again, perhaps, shall I see earth transfigured by the breath of antarctic winter. I had spent the night in the village, and it was a strange and weirdly1 beautiful sight when, on rising next morning, I beheld2 roads, housetops, trees, and the adjacent hills white with a surpassing unfamiliar3 whiteness. The morning was mild, with a dull leaden sky; and suddenly, as I stood in the street, the snow began to fall again, and continued for about an hour. Most of that time I spent standing4 motionless, gazing up into the air, peopled with innumerable large slow-descending flakes5: only those of my English readers who, like Kingsley, have longed for a sight of tropical vegetation and scenery, and have AT LAST had their longing7 gratified, can appreciate my sensations on first beholding8 snow.
My visit to Patagonia so far had been rich in experiences. One of the first, just before touching10 its shores, but after the ship had struck on the hidden rocks, was the effect of whiteness as seen in a tumultuous milky11 sea; and now, after several months there came this snow-fall, and a vaster and stranger whiteness. My uppermost feeling at the time was one of delight at seeing what I had been hoping for months to see, but had now, when winter was so nearly over, ceased to hope for. This pleasure was purely12 intellectual; but when I ask myself if there was anything besides, a deeper, undefinable feeling, I can only answer, I think not: my first experience of snow does not lead me to believe that there is any instinctive13 feeling in us related to it; that the feeling which so many, perhaps a majority of persons, experience on seeing the earth whitened by the breath of winter, must be accounted for in some other way.
In Herman Melville’s romance of ‘Moby Dick, or the White Whale’, there is a long dissertation14, perhaps the finest thing in the book, on whiteness in nature, and its effect on the mind. It is an interesting and somewhat obscure subject; and, as Melville is the only writer I know who has dealt with it, and something remains15 to be said, I may look to be pardoned for dwelling16 on it at some length in this place.
Melville recalls the fact that in numberless natural objects whiteness enhances beauty, as if it imparted some special virtue17 of its own, as in marbles, japonicas, pearls; that the quality of whiteness is emblematic18 of whatever we regard as high and most worthy19 of reverence20; that it has for us innumerable beautiful and kindly21 associations. “Yet,” he goes on to say, “for all these accumulated associations with whatever is sweet, and honourable22, and sublime23, there lurks24 an illusive25 something in the innermost idea of this hue26 which strikes more of panic to the soul than the redness which affrights in blood.” He is no doubt right that there is a mysterious illusive SOMETHING affecting us in the thought of whiteness; but, then, so illusive is it, and in most cases so transient in its effect, that only when we are told of it do we look for and recognise its existence in us. And this only with regard to certain things, a distinction which Melville failed to see, this being his first mistake in his attempt to “solve the incantation of whiteness.” His second and greatest error is in the assumption that the quality of whiteness, apart from the object it is associated with, has anything extranatural or supernatural to the mind. There is no “supernaturalism in the hue,” no “spectralness over the fancy,” in the thought of the whiteness of white clouds; of the white horses of the sea; of white sea-birds, and white water-fowl, such as swans, storks27, egrets, ibises, and many others; nor in white beasts, not dangerous to us, wild or domestic, nor in white flowers. These may bloom in such profusion28 as to whiten whole fields, as with snow, and their whiteness yet be no more to the fancy than the yellows, purples, and reds of other kinds. In the same way the whiteness of the largest masses of white clouds has no more of supernaturalness to the mind than the blueness of the sky and the greenness of vegetation. Again, on still hot days on the pampas the level earth is often seen glittering with the silver whiteness of the mirage29; and this is also a common natural appearance to the mind, like the whiteness of summer clouds, of sea foam30, and of flowers.
From all these examples, and many others might be added, it seems evident that the “illusive something” which Melville found in the innermost idea of this hue — a something that strikes more of panic to the soul than the redness which affrights in blood — does not reside in the quality of whiteness itself.
After making this initial mistake, he proceeds to name all those natural objects which, being white, produce in us the various sensations he mentions, mysterious and ghostly, and in various ways unpleasant and painful. What is it, he asks, that in the albino so peculiarly repels32 and shocks the eye, as that sometimes he is loathed33 by his own kith and kin6? He has a great deal to say of the polar bear, and the white shark of the tropical seas, and concludes that it is their whiteness that makes them so much more terrible to us than other savage34 rapacious35 creatures that are dangerous to man. He speaks of the muffled36 rolling of a milky sea; the rustlings of the festooned frost of mountains; the desolate37 shiftings of the windrowed snows of prairies. Finally, he asks, whence, in peculiar31 moods, comes that gigantic phantom38 over the soul at the bare mention of a White Sea, a White Squall, White Mountains, etc., etc.?
He assumes all along that the cause of the feeling, however it may differ in degree and otherwise, according to the nature and magnitude of the subject, is one and the same in all cases, that the cause is in the whiteness, and not in the object with which that quality is associated.
The albino case need not detain us long; and here Melville’s seafaring experiences might have suggested a better explanation. Sailors, I am convinced from observation, are very primitive39 in their impulses, and hate, and often unite in persecuting40, a companion who, owing to failing strength or some physical defect, is not able to do his share of the work. Savages42 and semi-barbarous people often cherish a strong animosity against a constantly ailing41, crippled, or otherwise defective43 member of the community: and albinism is associated with weakness of vision, and other defects, which might be a sufficient cause of the aversion. Even among the highly civilised and humane44, the sight of sickness is probably always, in some measure, repulsive45 and shocking, especially in cases in which the skin loses its natural colour, such as anaemia, consumption, chlorosis, and jaundice. This natural and universal cause of dislike of the albino would be strengthened among pure savages by the superstitious46 element — the belief that the abnormal paleness of the individual was supernatural, that want of colour signified absence of soul.
As to the white shark of the tropics, the simplest explanation of the greater terror inspired by this creature would be that, being white, and therefore conspicuous47 above all other dangerous creatures, the sight would be more attracted to it, its image would become more fixed48, and look larger and more formidable in the mind, and it would be more often thought about apprehensively49, with the result that there would be a predisposition to regard it with a fear exceeding that inspired by other creatures equally or even more dangerous to human life, but inconspicuously coloured, hence not so vividly50 seen, and creating no such distinct and persistent51 mental image. Let us consider what would be the effect of the appearance of a warrior52, habited in snowy white, or shining gold, or vivid scarlet53, or flame-colour, among a host of contending men, fighting in the old fashion with sword and spear and battle-axe, all clothed and armoured in dull neutral or sombre colours. Wherever he appeared every eye would be attracted to him; his movements and actions would be followed with intense interest by all, and by his antagonists54 with keen apprehension55; every time he parried a blow aimed at his life he would appear invulnerable to the lookers-on, and whenever an enemy went down before him it would seem that a supernatural energy nerved his arm, that the gods were fighting on his side. So great is the effect of mere56 conspicuousness57! Any white savage beast would, because of its whiteness, or conspicuousness, seem more dangerous than another; and a Chillingham bull, no doubt, inspires more fear in a person exposed to attack than a red or black bull. On the other hand, sheep and lambs, although their washed fleeces look whiter than snow, are regarded as indifferently as rabbits and fawns58, and their whiteness is nothing to us.
Something more remains to be said about whiteness in animals, which must come later. It will be more in order to speak first of the whiteness of snow, and the whiteness of a seething59 ocean. We are all capable of experiencing something of that feeling, so powerfully described by Melville, at the sight of the muffled rollings of a milky sea, and white mountains, and the desolate shiftings of windrowed snows on vast stretches of level earth. But doubtless in many the feeling would be slight; there is an “illusive something” in us when we behold9 the earth suddenly whitened with snow; but the feeling does not last, and is speedily forgotten, or else set down as an effect of mere novelty. In Melville it was very strong; it stirred him deeply, and caused him to ponder with awe60 on its meaning; and the conclusion he came to was that it is an instinct in us — an instinct similar to that of the horse with regard to the smell of some animal which has the effect of violently agitating61 it. He calls it an inherited experience. “Nor, in some things,” he says, “does the common hereditary62 experience of all mankind fail to bear witness to the supernaturalism of this hue.” Finally, the feeling speaks to us of appalling63 things in a remote past, of unimaginable desolations, and stupendous calamities64 overwhelming the race of man.
It is a sublime conception, adequately expressed; and as we read the imagination pictures to us the terrible struggle of our hardy65 barbarous progenitors66 against the bitter killing67 cold of the last glacial period; but the picture is vague, like striving human figures in a landscape half obliterated68 by wind-driven snow. It was a struggle that endured for long ages, until the gigantic white phantom, from which men sought everywhere to fly, came to be a phantom of the mind, a spectralness over the fancy, and instinctive horror, which the surviving remnant transmitted by inheritance down to our own distant times.
It is more than likely that cold has been one of the oldest and deadliest enemies to our race; nevertheless, I reject Melville’s explanation in favour of another, which seems more simple and satisfactory — to its author, at all events: which is, that that mysterious something that moves us at the sight of snow springs from the animism that exists in us, and our animistic way of regarding all exceptional phenomena69. The mysterious feelings produced in us by the sight of a snow-whitened earth are not singular, but are similar in character to the feelings caused by many other phenomena, and they may be experienced, although in a very slight degree, almost any day of our lives, if we live with nature.
It must be explained that ‘animism’ is not used here in the sense that Tylor gives it in his ‘Primitive Culture’: in that work it signifies a theory of life, a philosophy of primitive man, which has been supplanted70 among civilised people by a more advanced philosophy. Animism here means not a doctrine71 of souls that survive the bodies and objects they inhabit, but the mind’s projection72 of itself into nature, its attribution of its own sentient73 life and intelligence to all things — that primitive universal faculty74 on which the animistic philosophy of the savage is founded. When our philosophers tell us that this faculty is obsolete75 in us, that it is effectually killed by ratiocination76, or that it only survives for a period in our children, I believe they are wrong, a fact which they could find out for themselves if, leaving their books and theories, they would take a solitary77 walk on a moonlit night in the “Woods of Westermain,” or any other woods, since all are enchanted78.
Let us remember that our poets, who speak not scientifically but in the language of passion, when they say that the sun rejoices in the sky and laughs at the storm; that the earth is glad with flowers in spring, and the autumn fields happy; that the clouds frown and weep, and the wind sighs and “utters something mournful on its way” — that in all this they speak not in metaphor79, as we are taught to say, but that in moments of excitement, when we revert80 to primitive conditions of mind, the earth and all nature is alive and intelligent, and feels as we feel. When, after a spell of dull weather, the sun unexpectedly shines out warm and brilliant, who has not felt in that first glad instant that all nature shared his conscious gladness? Or, in the first hours of a great bereavement81, who has not experienced a feeling of wonder and even resentment82 at the sight of blue smiling skies and a sun-flushed earth?
“We have all,” says Vignoli, “however unaccustomed to give an account of our acts and functions, found ourselves in circumstances which produced the momentary83 personification of natural objects. The sight of some extraordinary phenomenon produces a vague sense of someone acting84 with a given purpose.” Not assuredly of “someone” outside of and above the natural phenomenon, but in and one with it, just as the act of a man proceeds from him, and is the man.
It is doubtless true that we are animistic to this extent only at rare moments, and in exceptional circumstances, and during certain aspects of nature that recur85 only at long intervals87. And of all such aspects of nature and extraordinary phenomena, snow is perhaps the most impressive, and is certainly one of the most widely known on the earth, and most intimately associated in the mind with the yearly suspension of nature’s beneficent activity, and all that this means to the human family — the failure of food and consequent want, and the suffering and danger from intense cold. This traditional knowledge of an inclement88 period in nature only serves to intensify89 the animism that finds a given purpose in all natural phenomena, and sees in the whiteness of earth the sign of a great unwelcome change. Change, not death, since nature’s life is eternal; but its sweet friendly warmth and softness have died out of it; there is no longer any recognition, any bond; and if we were to fall down and perish by the wayside, there would be no compassion90: it is sitting apart and solitary, cold and repelling91, its breath suspended, in a trance of grief or passion; and although it sees us it is as though it saw us not, even as we see pebbles92 and withered93 leaves on the ground, when some great sorrow has dazed us, or when some deadly purpose is in our heart.
Just as with regard to snow the animistic feeling is strongest in those who inhabit regions where winter is severe, and who annually94 see this change in nature, so the “muffled rollings of a milky sea” will strike more of panic to the sailor’s soul than to that of the landsman. Melville relates an anecdote95 of an old sailor who swooned from terror at the sight of an ocean white with the foam of breakers among which the ship was driven. He afterwards declared that it was not the thought of the danger, for to danger he was accustomed, but the whiteness of the sea that overcame him. And to his animistic mind that whiteness was nothing but the sign of ocean’s wrath96 — the sight of its tremendous passion and deadly purpose proved too appalling.
There is no doubt that the conditions of the sailor’s life tend to bring out and strengthen the latent animism that is in all of us; the very ship he navigates97 is to his mind alive and intelligent, how much more the ocean, which, even to landsmen on each return to it after an interval86, seems no mere expanse of water, but a living conscious thing. It was only my strangeness to the sea which prevented the sight of its whiteness from affecting me profoundly: animism in me is strongest with regard to terrestrial phenomena, with which I am more familiar.
To return, before concluding this chapter, to the subject of white animals. And first a word or two concerning the great polar bear: is it not probable that the extreme fear it inspires, which is said by those who have encountered this animal to exceed greatly that which is experienced at the sight of other savage beasts that are dangerous to man, is due to its association with the death-like repellent whiteness and desolation of polar scenery?
With regard to abnormal whiteness in animals that are familiar to us, the sight always affects us strangely, even in so innocent and insignificant98 a creature as a starling, or blackbird, or lapwing. The rarity, conspicuousness, and abnormality in colour of the object are scarcely enough to account for the intensity99 of the interest excited. Among savages the distinguishing whiteness is sometimes regarded as supernatural: and this fact inclines me to believe that, just as any extraordinary phenomenon produces a vague idea of someone acting with a given purpose, so in the case of the white animal, its whiteness has not come by accident and chance, but is the result of the creature’s volition100 and the outward sign of some excellence101 of the intelligent soul distinguishing it from its fellows. In Patagonia I heard of a case bearing on this point. On the plain some thirty miles east of Salinas Grandes, in a small band of ostriches102 there appeared one pure white individual. Some of the Indians, when out hunting, attempted its capture, but they soon ceased to chase it, and it was called thereafter the god of the ostriches, and it was said among them that some great disaster, perhaps death, would overtake any person who should do it harm.
1 weirdly | |
古怪地 | |
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2 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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3 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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4 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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5 flakes | |
小薄片( flake的名词复数 ); (尤指)碎片; 雪花; 古怪的人 | |
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6 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
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7 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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8 beholding | |
v.看,注视( behold的现在分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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9 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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10 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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11 milky | |
adj.牛奶的,多奶的;乳白色的 | |
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12 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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13 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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14 dissertation | |
n.(博士学位)论文,学术演讲,专题论文 | |
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15 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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16 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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17 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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18 emblematic | |
adj.象征的,可当标志的;象征性 | |
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19 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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20 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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21 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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22 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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23 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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24 lurks | |
n.潜在,潜伏;(lurk的复数形式)vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的第三人称单数形式) | |
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25 illusive | |
adj.迷惑人的,错觉的 | |
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26 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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27 storks | |
n.鹳( stork的名词复数 ) | |
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28 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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29 mirage | |
n.海市蜃楼,幻景 | |
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30 foam | |
v./n.泡沫,起泡沫 | |
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31 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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32 repels | |
v.击退( repel的第三人称单数 );使厌恶;排斥;推开 | |
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33 loathed | |
v.憎恨,厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 );极不喜欢 | |
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34 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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35 rapacious | |
adj.贪婪的,强夺的 | |
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36 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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37 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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38 phantom | |
n.幻影,虚位,幽灵;adj.错觉的,幻影的,幽灵的 | |
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39 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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40 persecuting | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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41 ailing | |
v.生病 | |
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42 savages | |
未开化的人,野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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43 defective | |
adj.有毛病的,有问题的,有瑕疵的 | |
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44 humane | |
adj.人道的,富有同情心的 | |
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45 repulsive | |
adj.排斥的,使人反感的 | |
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46 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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47 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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48 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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49 apprehensively | |
adv.担心地 | |
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50 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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51 persistent | |
adj.坚持不懈的,执意的;持续的 | |
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52 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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53 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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54 antagonists | |
对立[对抗] 者,对手,敌手( antagonist的名词复数 ); 对抗肌; 对抗药 | |
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55 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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56 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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57 conspicuousness | |
显著,卓越,突出; 显著性 | |
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58 fawns | |
n.(未满一岁的)幼鹿( fawn的名词复数 );浅黄褐色;乞怜者;奉承者v.(尤指狗等)跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的第三人称单数 );巴结;讨好 | |
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59 seething | |
沸腾的,火热的 | |
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60 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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61 agitating | |
搅动( agitate的现在分词 ); 激怒; 使焦虑不安; (尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而)激烈争论 | |
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62 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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63 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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64 calamities | |
n.灾祸,灾难( calamity的名词复数 );不幸之事 | |
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65 hardy | |
adj.勇敢的,果断的,吃苦的;耐寒的 | |
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66 progenitors | |
n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 );先驱;前辈;原本 | |
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67 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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68 obliterated | |
v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 );涂去;擦掉;彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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69 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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70 supplanted | |
把…排挤掉,取代( supplant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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72 projection | |
n.发射,计划,突出部分 | |
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73 sentient | |
adj.有知觉的,知悉的;adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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74 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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75 obsolete | |
adj.已废弃的,过时的 | |
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76 ratiocination | |
n.推理;推断 | |
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77 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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78 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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79 metaphor | |
n.隐喻,暗喻 | |
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80 revert | |
v.恢复,复归,回到 | |
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81 bereavement | |
n.亲人丧亡,丧失亲人,丧亲之痛 | |
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82 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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83 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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84 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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85 recur | |
vi.复发,重现,再发生 | |
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86 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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87 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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88 inclement | |
adj.严酷的,严厉的,恶劣的 | |
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89 intensify | |
vt.加强;变强;加剧 | |
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90 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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91 repelling | |
v.击退( repel的现在分词 );使厌恶;排斥;推开 | |
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92 pebbles | |
[复数]鹅卵石; 沙砾; 卵石,小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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93 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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94 annually | |
adv.一年一次,每年 | |
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95 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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96 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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97 navigates | |
v.给(船舶、飞机等)引航,导航( navigate的第三人称单数 );(从海上、空中等)横越;横渡;飞跃 | |
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98 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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99 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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100 volition | |
n.意志;决意 | |
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101 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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102 ostriches | |
n.鸵鸟( ostrich的名词复数 );逃避现实的人,不愿正视现实者 | |
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