I think there has not been so much on a cricket match since the day when Sir Horace Mann walked about Broad Ha’penny agitatedly1 cutting down the daisies with his stick. And, be it remembered, the heroes of Hambledon played for money and renown3 only, while David was champion of a lady. A lady! May we not prettily4 say of two ladies? There were no spectators of our contest except now and again some loiterer in the Gardens who little thought what was the stake for which we played, but cannot we conceive Barbara standing5 at the ropes and agitatedly cutting down the daisies every time David missed the ball? I tell you, this was the historic match of the Gardens.
David wanted to play on a pitch near the Round Pond with which he is familiar, but this would have placed me at a disadvantage, so I insisted on unaccustomed ground, and we finally pitched stumps6 in the Figs7. We could not exactly pitch stumps, for they are forbidden in the Gardens, but there are trees here and there which have chalk-marks on them throughout the summer, and when you take up your position with a bat near one of these you have really pitched stumps. The tree we selected is a ragged8 yew9 which consists of a broken trunk and one branch, and I viewed the ground with secret satisfaction, for it falls slightly at about four yards’ distance from the tree, and this exactly suits my style of bowling10.
I won the toss and after examining the wicket decided11 to take first knock. As a rule when we play the wit at first flows free, but on this occasion I strode to the crease12 in an almost eerie13 silence. David had taken off his blouse and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, and his teeth were set, so I knew he would begin by sending me down some fast ones.
His delivery is underarm and not inelegant, but he sometimes tries a round-arm ball, which I have seen double up the fielder at square leg. He has not a good length, but he varies his action bewilderingly, and has one especially teasing ball which falls from the branches just as you have stepped out of your ground to look for it. It was not, however, with his teaser that he bowled me that day. I had notched14 a three and two singles, when he sent me down a medium to fast which got me in two minds and I played back to it too late. Now, I am seldom out on a really grassy15 wicket for such a meagre score, and as David and I changed places without a word, there was a cheery look on his face that I found very galling16. He ran in to my second ball and cut it neatly17 to the on for a single, and off my fifth and sixth he had two pretty drivers for three, both behind the wicket. This, however, as I hoped, proved the undoing18 of him, for he now hit out confidently at everything, and with his score at nine I beat him with my shooter.
The look was now on my face.
I opened my second innings by treating him with uncommon19 respect, for I knew that his little arm soon tired if he was unsuccessful, and then when he sent me loose ones I banged him to the railings. What cared I though David’s lips were twitching20?
When he ultimately got past my defence, with a jumpy one which broke awkwardly from the off, I had fetched twenty-three, so that he needed twenty to win, a longer hand than he had ever made. As I gave him the bat he looked brave, but something wet fell on my hand, and then a sudden fear seized me lest David should not win.
At the very outset, however, he seemed to master the bowling, and soon fetched about ten runs in a classic manner. Then I tossed him a Yorker which he missed and it went off at a tangent as soon as it had reached the tree. “Not out,” I cried hastily, for the face he turned to me was terrible.
Soon thereafter another incident happened, which I shall always recall with pleasure. He had caught the ball too high on the bat, and I just missed the catch. “Dash it all!” said I irritably21, and was about to resume bowling, when I noticed that he was unhappy. He hesitated, took up his position at the wicket, and then came to me manfully. “I am a cad,” he said in distress22, “for when the ball was in the air I prayed.” He had prayed that I should miss the catch, and as I think I have already told you, it is considered unfair in the Gardens to pray for victory.
My splendid David! He has the faults of other little boys, but he has a noble sense of fairness. “We shall call it a no-ball, David,” I said gravely.
I suppose the suspense23 of the reader is now painful, and therefore I shall say at once that David won the match with two lovely fours, the one over my head and the other to leg all along the ground. When I came back from fielding this last ball I found him embracing his bat, and to my sour congratulations he could at first reply only with hysterical24 sounds. But soon he was pelting25 home to his mother with the glorious news.
And that is how we let Barbara in.
26. The Dedication26
It was only yesterday afternoon, dear reader, exactly three weeks after the birth of Barbara, that I finished the book, and even then it was not quite finished, for there remained the dedication, at which I set to elatedly. I think I have never enjoyed myself more; indeed, it is my opinion that I wrote the book as an excuse for writing the dedication.
“Madam” (I wrote wittily), “I have no desire to exult27 over you, yet I should show a lamentable28 obtuseness29 to the irony30 of things were I not to dedicate this little work to you. For its inception31 was yours, and in your more ambitious days you thought to write the tale of the little white bird yourself. Why you so early deserted32 the nest is not for me to inquire. It now appears that you were otherwise occupied. In fine, madam, you chose the lower road, and contented33 yourself with obtaining the Bird. May I point out, by presenting you with this dedication, that in the meantime I am become the parent of the Book? To you the shadow, to me the substance. Trusting that you will accept my little offering in a Christian34 spirit, I am, dear madam,” etc.
It was heady work, for the saucy35 words showed their design plainly through the varnish36, and I was re-reading in an ecstasy37, when, without warning, the door burst open and a little boy entered, dragging in a faltering38 lady.
“Father,” said David, “this is mother.”
Having thus briefly39 introduced us, he turned his attention to the electric light, and switched it on and off so rapidly that, as was very fitting, Mary and I may be said to have met for the first time to the accompaniment of flashes of lightning. I think she was arrayed in little blue feathers, but if such a costume is not seemly, I swear, there were, at least, little blue feathers in her too coquettish cap, and that she was carrying a muff to match. No part of a woman is more dangerous than her muff, and as muffs are not worn in early autumn, even by invalids40, I saw in a twink that she had put on all her pretty things to wheedle41 me. I am also of opinion that she remembered she had worn blue in the days when I watched her from the club-window. Undoubtedly42 Mary is an engaging little creature, though not my style. She was paler than is her wont43, and had the touching44 look of one whom it would be easy to break. I daresay this was a trick. Her skirts made music in my room, but perhaps this was only because no lady had ever rustled45 in it before. It was disquieting46 to me to reflect that despite her obvious uneasiness, she was a very artful woman.
With the quickness of David at the switch, I slipped a blotting-pad over the dedication, and then, “Pray be seated,” I said coldly, but she remained standing, all in a twitter and very much afraid of me, and I know that her hands were pressed together within the muff. Had there been any dignified47 means of escape, I think we would both have taken it.
“I should not have come,” she said nervously48, and then seemed to wait for some response, so I bowed.
“I was terrified to come, indeed I was,” she assured me with obvious sincerity49.
“But I have come,” she finished rather baldly.
“It is an epitome50, ma’am,” said I, seeing my chance, “of your whole life,” and with that I put her into my elbow-chair.
She began to talk of my adventures with David in the Gardens, and of some little things I have not mentioned here, that I may have done for her when I was in a wayward mood, and her voice was as soft as her muff. She had also an affecting way of pronouncing all her r’s as w’s, just as the fairies do. “And so,” she said, “as you would not come to me to be thanked, I have come to you to thank you.” Whereupon she thanked me most abominably51. She also slid one of her hands out of the muff, and though she was smiling her eyes were wet.
“Pooh, ma’am,” said I in desperation, but I did not take her hand.
“I am not very strong yet,” she said with low cunning. She said this to make me take her hand, so I took it, and perhaps I patted it a little. Then I walked brusquely to the window. The truth is, I begun to think uncomfortably of the dedication.
I went to the window because, undoubtedly, it would be easier to address her severely52 from behind, and I wanted to say something that would sting her.
“When you have quite done, ma’am,” I said, after a long pause, “perhaps you will allow me to say a word.”
I could see the back of her head only, but I knew, from David’s face, that she had given him a quick look which did not imply that she was stung. Indeed I felt now, as I had felt before, that though she was agitated2 and in some fear of me, she was also enjoying herself considerably53.
In such circumstances I might as well have tried to sting a sand-bank, so I said, rather off my watch, “If I have done all this for you, why did I do it?”
She made no answer in words, but seemed to grow taller in the chair, so that I could see her shoulders, and I knew from this that she was now holding herself conceitedly54 and trying to look modest. “Not a bit of it, ma’am,” said I sharply, “that was not the reason at all.”
I was pleased to see her whisk round, rather indignant at last.
“I never said it was,” she retorted with spirit, “I never thought for a moment that it was.” She added, a trifle too late in the story, “Besides, I don’t know what you are talking of.”
I think I must have smiled here, for she turned from me quickly, and became quite little in the chair again.
“David,” said I mercilessly, “did you ever see your mother blush?”
“What is blush?”
“She goes a beautiful pink colour.”
David, who had by this time broken my connection with the head office, crossed to his mother expectantly.
“I don’t, David,” she cried.
“I think,” said I, “she will do it now,” and with the instinct of a gentleman I looked away. Thus I cannot tell what happened, but presently David exclaimed adoringly, “Oh, mother, do it again!”
As she would not, he stood on the fender to see in the mantel-piece whether he could do it himself, and then Mary turned a most candid55 face on me, in which was maternity56 rather than reproach. Perhaps no look given by woman to man affects him quite so much. “You see,” she said radiantly and with a gesture that disclosed herself to me, “I can forgive even that. You long ago earned the right to hurt me if you want to.”
It weaned me of all further desire to rail at Mary, and I felt an uncommon drawing to her.
“And if I did think that for a little while--” she went on, with an unsteady smile.
“Think what?” I asked, but without the necessary snap.
“What we were talking of,” she replied wincing57, but forgiving me again. “If I once thought that, it was pretty to me while it lasted and it lasted but a little time. I have long been sure that your kindness to me was due to some other reason.”
“Ma’am,” said I very honestly, “I know not what was the reason. My concern for you was in the beginning a very fragile and even a selfish thing, yet not altogether selfish, for I think that what first stirred it was the joyous58 sway of the little nursery governess as she walked down Pall59 Mall to meet her love. It seemed such a mighty60 fine thing to you to be loved that I thought you had better continue to be loved for a little longer. And perhaps having helped you once by dropping a letter I was charmed by the ease with which you could be helped, for you must know that I am one who has chosen the easy way for more than twenty years.”
She shook her head and smiled. “On my soul,” I assured her, “I can think of no other reason.”
“A kind heart,” said she.
“More likely a whim,” said I.
“Or another woman,” said she.
I was very much taken aback.
“More than twenty years ago,” she said with a soft huskiness in her voice, and with a tremor61 and a sweetness, as if she did not know that in twenty years all love stories are grown mouldy.
On my honour as a soldier this explanation of my early solicitude62 for Mary was one that had never struck me, but the more I pondered it now-- I raised her hand and touched it with my lips, as we whimsical old fellows do when some gracious girl makes us to hear the key in the lock of long ago. “Why, ma’am,” I said, “it is a pretty notion, and there may be something in it. Let us leave it at that.”
But there was still that accursed dedication, lying, you remember, beneath the blotting-pad. I had no longer any desire to crush her with it. I wished that she had succeeded in writing the book on which her longings63 had been so set.
“If only you had been less ambitious,” I said, much troubled that she should be disappointed in her heart’s desire.
“I wanted all the dear delicious things,” she admitted contritely64.
“It was unreasonable,” I said eagerly, appealing to her intellect. “Especially this last thing.”
“Yes,” she agreed frankly65, “I know.” And then to my amazement66 she added triumphantly67, “But I got it.”
I suppose my look admonished68 her, for she continued apologetically but still as if she really thought hers had been a romantic career, “I know I have not deserved it, but I got it.”
“Oh, ma’am,” I cried reproachfully, “reflect. You have not got the great thing.” I saw her counting the great things in her mind, her wondrous69 husband and his obscure success, David, Barbara, and the other trifling70 contents of her jewel-box.
“I think I have,” said she.
“Come, madam,” I cried a little nettled71, “you know that there is lacking the one thing you craved72 for most of all.”
Will you believe me that I had to tell her what it was? And when I had told her she exclaimed with extraordinary callousness73, “The book? I had forgotten all about the book!” And then after reflection she added, “Pooh!” Had she not added Pooh I might have spared her, but as it was I raised the blotting-pad rather haughtily74 and presented her with the sheet beneath it.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Ma’am,” said I, swelling75, “it is a Dedication,” and I walked majestically76 to the window.
There is no doubt that presently I heard an unexpected sound. Yet if indeed it had been a laugh she clipped it short, for in almost the same moment she was looking large-eyed at me and tapping my sleeve impulsively77 with her fingers, just as David does when he suddenly likes you.
“How characteristic of you,” she said at the window.
“Characteristic,” I echoed uneasily. “Ha!”
“And how kind.”
“Did you say kind, ma’am?”
“But it is I who have the substance and you who have the shadow, as you know very well,” said she.
Yes, I had always known that this was the one flaw in my dedication, but how could I have expected her to have the wit to see it? I was very depressed78.
“And there is another mistake,” said she.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but that is the only one.”
“It was never of my little white bird I wanted to write,” she said.
I looked politely incredulous, and then indeed she overwhelmed me. “It was of your little white bird,” she said, “it was of a little boy whose name was Timothy.”
She had a very pretty way of saying Timothy, so David and I went into another room to leave her along with the manuscript of this poor little book, and when we returned she had the greatest surprise of the day for me. She was both laughing and crying, which was no surprise, for all of us would laugh and cry over a book about such an interesting subject as ourselves, but said she, “How wrong you are in thinking this book is about me and mine; it is really all about Timothy.”
At first I deemed this to be uncommon nonsense, but as I considered I saw that she was probably right again, and I gazed crestfallen79 at this very clever woman.
“And so,” said she, clapping her hands after the manner of David when he makes a great discovery, “it proves to be my book after all.”
“With all your pretty thoughts left out,” I answered, properly humbled81.
She spoke82 in a lower voice as if David must not hear. “I had only one pretty thought for the book,” she said, “I was to give it a happy ending.” She said this so timidly that I was about to melt to her when she added with extraordinary boldness, “The little white bird was to bear an olive-leaf in its mouth.”
For a long time she talked to me earnestly of a grand scheme on which she had set her heart, and ever and anon she tapped on me as if to get admittance for her ideas. I listened respectfully, smiling at this young thing for carrying it so motherly to me, and in the end I had to remind her that I was forty-seven years of age.
“It is quite young for a man,” she said brazenly83.
“My father,” said I, “was not forty-seven when he died, and I remember thinking him an old man.”
“But you don’t think so now, do you?” she persisted, “you feel young occasionally, don’t you? Sometimes when you are playing with David in the Gardens your youth comes swinging back, does it not?”
“Mary A----,” I cried, grown afraid of the woman, “I forbid you to make any more discoveries to-day.”
But still she hugged her scheme, which I doubt not was what had brought her to my rooms. “They are very dear women,” said she coaxingly84.
“I am sure,” I said, “that they must be dear women if they are friends of yours.”
“They are not exactly young,” she faltered85, “and perhaps they are not very pretty--”
But she had been reading so recently about the darling of my youth that she halted abashed86 at least, feeling, I apprehend87, a stop in her mind against proposing this thing to me, who, in those presumptuous88 days, had thought to be content with nothing less than the loveliest lady in all the land.
My thoughts had reverted89 also, and for the last time my eyes saw the little hut through the pine-wood haze90. I met Mary there, and we came back to the present together.
I have already told you, reader, that this conversation took place no longer ago than yesterday.
“Very well, ma’am,” I said, trying to put a brave face on it, “I will come to your tea-parties, and we shall see what we shall see.”
It was really all she had asked for, but now that she had got what she wanted of me the foolish soul’s eyes became wet, she knew so well that the youthful romances are the best.
It was now my turn to comfort her. “In twenty years,” I said, smiling at her tears, “a man grows humble80, Mary. I have stored within me a great fund of affection, with nobody to give it to, and I swear to you, on the word of a soldier, that if there is one of those ladies who can be got to care for me I shall be very proud.” Despite her semblance91 of delight I knew that she was wondering at me, and I wondered at myself, but it was true.
The End
收听单词发音 |
1
agitatedly
|
|
| 动摇，兴奋； 勃然 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
renown
|
|
| n.声誉，名望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
prettily
|
|
| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
stumps
|
|
| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
figs
|
|
| figures 数字，图形，外形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
yew
|
|
| n.紫杉属树木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
bowling
|
|
| n.保龄球运动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
crease
|
|
| n.折缝，褶痕，皱褶；v.(使)起皱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
eerie
|
|
| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
notched
|
|
| a.有凹口的，有缺口的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
grassy
|
|
| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
galling
|
|
| adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
neatly
|
|
| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
undoing
|
|
| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
uncommon
|
|
| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
twitching
|
|
| n.颤搐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
irritably
|
|
| ad.易生气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
hysterical
|
|
| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
pelting
|
|
| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
dedication
|
|
| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
exult
|
|
| v.狂喜，欢腾；欢欣鼓舞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
lamentable
|
|
| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
obtuseness
|
|
| 感觉迟钝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
irony
|
|
| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
inception
|
|
| n.开端，开始，取得学位 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
saucy
|
|
| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
varnish
|
|
| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
faltering
|
|
| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
invalids
|
|
| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
wheedle
|
|
| v.劝诱，哄骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
rustled
|
|
| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
disquieting
|
|
| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
sincerity
|
|
| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
epitome
|
|
| n.典型，梗概 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
abominably
|
|
| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
severely
|
|
| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
conceitedly
|
|
| 自满地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
candid
|
|
| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
maternity
|
|
| n.母性，母道，妇产科病房；adj.孕妇的，母性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
wincing
|
|
| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
pall
|
|
| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
tremor
|
|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
solicitude
|
|
| n.焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
longings
|
|
| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
contritely
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
65
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
triumphantly
|
|
| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
admonished
|
|
| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
wondrous
|
|
| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
trifling
|
|
| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
nettled
|
|
| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
craved
|
|
| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
callousness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
haughtily
|
|
| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
swelling
|
|
| n.肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
majestically
|
|
| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
impulsively
|
|
| adv.冲动地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
depressed
|
|
| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
crestfallen
|
|
| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
humbled
|
|
| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
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： |
|
|
|
|
83
brazenly
|
|
| adv.厚颜无耻地；厚脸皮地肆无忌惮地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
coaxingly
|
|
| adv. 以巧言诱哄，以甘言哄骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
85
faltered
|
|
| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
abashed
|
|
| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
apprehend
|
|
| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
presumptuous
|
|
| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
reverted
|
|
| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
haze
|
|
| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
semblance
|
|
| n.外貌，外表 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |