Annie Millar was one of six lady probationers, including a bishop's daughter, two daughters of squires5, and three doctor's daughters like herself. The matron was the widow of a doctor, who had been eminent6 alike for professional talent and philanthropy. She was like-minded. If she had not her late husband's knowledge and acumen7 as a medical man, she had much of his experience, and was full of energy and determination to better the world, the sick, and the poor, almost whether they would or not. Very few people could look Mrs. Hull8 in the face and contradict her high motives9 and determined11 will.
[158]
Fortunately, Annie's beauty had not worked the scathing12 destruction which Mrs. Millar had anticipated with fear and trembling. An inflammable medical student or two might have been just singed13 by the fire of her charms; an older member of the fraternity might have neglected for an instant to look up at the card above a bed in order to turn his head and cast a second admiring glance after the new recruit in the hospital uniform; but no man forgot his duty or was false to earlier vows14 through her allurements15.
Mrs. Hull had cast a sharp glance at the dainty figure and flower-like face under the nurse's linen16 gown and close cap. Annie's sister probationers, four of them considerably17 older than herself, had telegraphed to each other emphatic—perhaps pardonable enough—signals that the last accession to their number was so very ornamental18 they could hardly expect her to be useful. They must look out for defects, and prepare to atone19 for failures by their surpassing attainments20. But the mistake was soon rectified21, and fresh light dawned on the doubtful question. Mrs. Hull was the first to recognize and testify that nothing was to be feared from Annie Millar's youth and beauty, while something might be gained by them, because she was far more than pretty—she was a bright, clever girl, very obedient to orders, and exceedingly anxious
[159]
to learn her business. In her St. Ebbe's had secured an auxiliary22 of the highest promise. The elder sister probationers soon found that instead of wanting indulgence, forbearance, and pity, the newcomer was more in danger of awakening23 their envy as well as their respect by her quickness in mastering details, her mental grasp of principles, her inexhaustible spirit.
Yet poor Annie had no light apprenticeship24 to serve. The programme, which extends from making poultices and making beds to receiving doctors' instructions, understanding them, remembering them, and acting26 on them, is neither short nor easy, though a fairly good and trained intellect and an unswerving devotion to duty will get through it triumphantly27 in time. Annie underwent the entire ordeal28, while she doubtless brought a little additional intelligence and capacity and a few more grains of experience to the task than would have existed if she had not been Dr. Millar's daughter. In spite of the warm woollen jacket and cuffs29 which she wore under her linen gown, her little hands were covered with the chaps and chilblains which are the scourge30 of maids-of-all-work, because of their early rising, hard scrubbing, and the frequency with which their fingers are wet and dried on chill winter mornings. Her legs ached, as they had never ached after a night's dancing, with being on
[160]
her feet all day long, and day after day, waiting on her patients and attending on the sisters who were placed over the respective wards31. Her mind, too, was kept on the stretch with the serious charge of pulses and temperatures, with the grave responsibility of shelves on shelves of medicine bottles, with acquiring the best modes of bandaging, fomenting33, bleeding, stopping the flow of blood, so that during the little leisure she had she could not turn to a book for relief; she fell asleep with sheer fatigue34 more frequently.
Annie was too high-spirited and independent to feel the loneliness of her position among strangers, whom she soon converted into friendly acquaintances, if nothing more, as many a girl—as Dora, for instance—would have done. But, accustomed as Annie had been all her life to much closer and warmer relations, she clung to the presence of Rose in London; and it was a proof of how much the elder sister was used up, when, even on her days and hours for getting out, it was often with difficulty that she could bring herself to go and see Rose, or to meet and walk a portion of the way with her on Rose's progress from Mrs. Jennings's boarding-house to the Misses Stone's school, where she taught drawing, or to Mr. St. Foy's art classes, where she learned it.
Annie had suffered considerably from what is
[161]
known as hospital or infirmary sore throat, because it is understood to be caused by inhaling35 the fumes36 from the carbolic acid used in the wards. Her rich colour had to Rose's dismay grown poor and pale for a time. She had laboured under the still more trying and more dangerous infliction37, when the senses morbidly38 excited become morbidly acute, and she seemed still to smell the peculiar39 air of the wards wherever she went. Then Mrs. Hull insisted on Annie's leaving for a few days, and bundled her off, without the power of resistance, to a sister of the matron's, who kindly40 consented, as her part of the work, to receive and recruit the temporarily overdone41 servants of St. Ebbe's Hospital.
In spite of the strength of Annie's nerves, and her power of controlling them, she sickened once or twice with a deadly sickness at sights and sounds worse than her most vivid imagination could have conceived possible. She had to summon all her courage, together with the conviction that if she did not overcome the weakness speedily, she would be compelled to own that she had mistaken her calling, in order to vanquish42 the insidious43 foe44.
Sometimes, while she was ready to thank God that it was rather the exception than the rule, she had to witness the lowest moral degradation45 in addition to the sharpest human suffering, and this at an age and with a nature when the feeling of
[162]
extreme repulsion, amounting to positive loathing46, is in danger of prevailing47. It needed all her faith to do battle with this worst temptation, and force pity to conquer disgust, to recognize humbly48 the frailty49 of the best and wisest men and women, to acknowledge willingly, even thankfully, the propriety51, if one may so use the word, of what a preacher has called each Christian's suffering, "the just for the unjust."
No wonder poor Annie's bright face took frequently a worn and harassed52 look in those early days of hospital work.
Yet so great is the elasticity53 of youth, and so brave and cheerful was the girl's temperament54 for the most part, that within an hour of such prostrating55 attacks and violent revolts, she would be on her way with her own little tea-pot to the retiring-room, where the lady probationers and sisters assembled in order to profit by the great boiler56 steaming on the hob for their women's refreshment57 of tea. It was about the only servile act which they were required to do for themselves, while they were the servants of others, and they all enjoyed doing it with true housewifely relish58. Annie, especially, was an adept60 at such tea-making, and would propound61 her theories and circulate specimens62 of her performance among her companions who profited by her skill, with a glee not far removed from the
[163]
mirth of the Millar girls on many a happy family gathering63 in the old nursery or the drawing-room at Redcross.
The whole circumstances of one of the bad days in her lot Annie could never quite forget. It was a raw, gray winter's day, cheerless above and below, and all went wrong on it, from the moment Annie opened her sleepy eyes, leapt shivering out of bed, washed in cold water by her own choice, in order to rouse herself, dressed by gaslight, swallowed her coffee scalding hot, and hastened to her particular ward32. The sister and the house-surgeon were, as if affected64 by the day, a little sour and surly, and every patient seemed more or less out of tune65, dismal66, grumbling67, delirious68, or in a state of collapse69.
It was one of Annie's out-days, and as a matter of duty, but by no means of enjoyment70, she braced71 herself to change her hospital dress for a walking dress. After she felt chilled to the bone, she started for a walk, either to be jostled and forced along in a crowded thoroughfare, where she too might have said—
"Although so many surround me,
I know not one I meet"—
or to creep the length of the cleanest side of the pavement in a depressingly empty street, where
[164]
the varying arrangement of the shabby window curtains and the cards in the dingy72 windows, offering an endless supply of rooms to the absent lodging73 hunter, furnished the sole entertainment to the listless passer-by.
Annie had been afraid that she would miss Rose on her way to her classes, and the fear was amply fulfilled—not the most distant glimpse of Rose was forthcoming. Instead, at a crossing, Ella Carey, in her Aunt Tyrrel's carriage, whirled by the pedestrian and administered a slight spattering of mud to her dress. "It ought to have been the other way," said Annie bitterly to herself, while she stood still to wipe the sleeve of her jacket. Yet she knew very well all the time that Ella's offence had been quite involuntary, and that she had not for a moment recognized Annie. If it had been so, Ella's round girlish face under its smart hat, leaning back among the soft cushions not discontentedly, would have brightened immensely. She would have stopped the carriage and been down in the street at Annie's side in a moment, for the girl was as warm-hearted as she had been docile75. There was nothing she would have liked better than to hail a Redcross face, and hear the last news about Phyllis and May, and Ella's father and mother.
When Annie re-entered the hospital colder and
[165]
more unrefreshed than she had left it, she thought that she was at last going to be compensated76 for life's rubs—beyond her deserts, she told herself a little remorsefully77. She had been longing78 all the morning for a letter from Redcross, small reason as she had to complain of the negligence79 of her correspondents there, and a letter with the Redcross post-mark was awaiting her. She saw before she opened it that it was not from any of her family. None of them used such creamily smooth and thick note-paper, or exhibited such a cunningly contrived80, elegantly designed monogram81. But even a slight communication from the merest acquaintance was welcome as a flower in spring, when the acquaintance dwelt in dear old Redcross. Annie had been thinking fondly of it all day as a place of human well-being82 and geniality83, free from continual sights and sounds of pain and sorrow, where everybody got up and sat down, went out and came in, worked and read, even dawdled84 and dreamt at will, subject to a few simple household rules. There was no unyielding iron discipline at Redcross. There was no hard and fast routine entering through the flesh and penetrating85 into the very soul. It was just, dear, deliberate, mannerly, yet comfortable and kindly Redcross. The writer was Thirza Dyer, and the reason why one of the Dyers, who had hesitated about shaking hands with one
[166]
of the Millars after she was guilty of proposing to earn her livelihood86, wrote a letter to a nurse probationer and addressed it to a public hospital, calls for an explanation. The Dyers, in their unceasing efforts to gain by their wealth and its liberal expenditure87 a footing in the county circle, had got one foot within the coveted88 precincts, and there Thirza found to her own and her sisters' amazement89 that nursing, not the rich and great, but common poor people, was a curious fashion of the day. Lady Luxmore had a cousin who was a nurse. General Wentworth's wife had a friend professionally engaged in a London hospital for nine months out of the twelve, who was visiting the Wentworths this winter. Of course it had begun with the Crimean War, and the éclat with which lady nurses went out to attend on the wounded soldiers in the exceptional hospital at Scutari. But whatever was its origin, the rule was established that nursing even day-labourers and mechanics with their wives and children, was something very different from being a drudging governess or broken-down companion. It was like being a member of the Kyrle Society, with which one of the princes had to do, or like singing in an East of London concert-room, quite chic90, perfectly91 good form, anybody might take it up and gain rather than lose caste by the act.
[167]
Accordingly, it became an obvious obligation on the Dyers to cultivate and not to cut the only nurse on their visiting list. With unblushing, well-nigh naïve suddenness, Thirza Dyer, to Annie Millar's bewildered astonishment92, proceeded to start and maintain a correspondence with her. Two are required for a bargain-making, and Annie was not altogether disinterested93 in scribbling94 the few lines occasionally which warranted the continuance of the correspondence on Thirza's part. For if Thirza had lived anywhere else than where she did live, near Redcross, the answer to her first letter might have been different. Therefore Annie did not perhaps deserve much solace95 from these letters, and certainly this one did not contribute to her exaltation of spirit. It was chiefly occupied with an account of several recherché afternoon teas which the Dyers had held lately at the Manor-house, together with a full description of the tea-gowns of salmon96, canary, and cherry-coloured plush, lined with eau-de-nil satin, which the Miss Dyers had worn on these occasions.
Now poor Annie was rather above hankering unduly97 after tea-gowns, or for that matter "smart" or "swell98" dress of any kind. She liked pretty things, and things which became her charming person, at their proper time and season, well enough, but she was not greatly discomposed by
[168]
the lack of such adornment99, and hardly at all troubled when her neighbours displayed what she did not possess.
It was because the foolishly exultant100 gorgeous description, which ought to have been set to a fashion-plate, carried Annie back with a flash to one winter's day last year, that it made her heart sore. On the day in question Annie and Dora, and for that matter Rose and May, acting as deeply interested assistants, had been tremendously busy and merry in the old nursery, travestying national and historic costumes in calico. It was all on behalf of a certain scenic101 entertainment given in the Town-hall for the delectation of the scholars in the Rector's Sunday-school and night classes. It had been a very simple and intentionally102 inexpensive affair, and the principal charm to the performers had lain in the contriving103 of their costumes. Annie and Dora had appeared in magnificent chintz sacques—which might have represented tea-gowns—and mob caps, and had been declared by Cyril Carey, who was supposed to be no mean judge, a most satisfactory eighteenth century pair. Cyril himself had broken the rule as to material, and had figured in the black satin trunk hose, velvet104 doublet, and lace collar of a Spanish grandee105. But Ned Hewett had stuck to Turkey-red cotton for a Venetian senator or a
[169]
Roman cardinal106, nobody had been quite certain which. And Tom Robinson had been a Scotch107 beggarman, Sir Walter Scott's immortal108 Edie Ochiltree, in a blue cotton gown and a goatskin beard, which she (Annie) had wickedly pretended must have been manufactured out of tufts purloined109 from the stock of boas at "Robinson's." Lucy Hewett had been shrouded110 in white cotton wool, to represent the Empress Matilda escaping from Oxford111, "through the lines of King Stephen's soldiers," under shelter of a snowstorm. Fanny Russell had never looked better than she looked that night as a Norman peasant girl. It was all very well for Cyril Carey to condescend113 to the deceit of praising Annie and Dora up to the skies, when everybody knew whom he admired most, with reason. That was Fanny Russell, with her splendid black eyes and hair, and the Norman strength and fineness of her profile.
What was Nurse Annie, in her holland gown, apron114, and cap, recalling and revelling115 in? The silly vanities and child's play of the past. Well, what harm was there in them? These had been blithe116 moments while they lasted, which had set young hearts bounding, young feet skipping, and young voices laughing and singing in a manner which was natural, and not to be forbidden lest worse came of it.
Annie was roused from her pleasant reverie and
[170]
plunged117 into another of a totally different description. The last was made up of garbled118 reality, but with what truth was in it tending to a false, doleful vision. It would represent St. Ebbe's as a gloomy, ghastly prison-house of suffering and death, and she in her tender youth and sweet beauty immured119 in it by an error of judgment120, a fatal mistake incidental to rash enthusiasm and total inexperience. If Annie ever arrived at that rueful conclusion, how could she bear the penalty she must pay?
Annie had heard and read of young women on whom the world did not cry shame, who turned from the decay and death they had not gone to seek, which Providence121 had brought to their doors, in paroxysms of repugnance122 and rebellion. They could not bear that their perfection of health and life should come into contact with something so chillingly, gruesomely different, that their glowing youth should be wasted in the dim shadows of sick-rooms or amidst the dank vapours hovering123 over the dark river which all must ford112 when their time comes. Those standing25 round who heard or read the outcry called it natural, piteous, well-nigh praiseworthy, it was so sincere. How could Annie realize for herself in a moment that such heroines(!) are the daughters in spirit of the women who, in outbreaks of mediæval pestilence124 and latter-day cholera125, have literally126 abandoned their nearest and
[171]
dearest, fleeing from spectacles of anguish127 and risks of infection? How could she guess that such women are the spiritual sisters of poor heathen and savage128 Hottentot and Malay mothers and daughters, who, sooner than be burdened with the wailing129 helplessness of infancy131 and the mumbling132 fatuity133 of age, will expose the children dependent on these murderesses, and the hoary134 heads that once planned and prayed for the welfare of their slayers, to perish of cold and hunger?
It was Annie's hour for resuming work, and it was well for her, though she went but languidly into the spotlessly white and clean ward, among its rows of beds with the flower-stand, illuminated135 texts and oleographs, which generous supporters of the hospital sent to brighten its cold bareness and soften136 and cheer what was harsh and subdued137 in its atmosphere. Annie was not even greatly affected by the greeting of one of her patients, an elderly man recovering from an operation, and still slightly off his head when the fever rose on him. She went to him with a cooling, soothing138 application, and he told her incoherently to come again and give him his dinner and his tea. He liked a young lass or lady, be she which she liked, with red cheeks and shining eyes to wait upon him. It minded him of a bit wench of a daughter of his he had lost when she was twelve years—the age of the little wench in the Bible, for parson had preached
[172]
about her the Sunday after his lass's funeral. It broke her mother's heart for all that, and he buried her too within three months. Then the place got lonesome, and he took what was not good for him, till he had come to this; though whether it were the House or just an hospital he was lying in he could not clearly say.
Then there happened what Annie was wont139 to describe as a miracle of mercy to bring her to a better mind. A young boy whose leg had been crushed by a waggon140 was carried into the operating theatre for an immediate141 operation. It was the lecture hour, and a great professor of surgery with his class of students, together with several of the other doctors connected with St. Ebbe's, was in attendance. But it was also customary, especially where a female patient or a patient so young as the boy in question was concerned, for a nurse, generally the sister of the ward, to be present to hold the sufferer's hand if it were wished, or when it was possible to support the poor head against her breast. It so chanced that the sister was out, and other available nurses were engaged, so in circumstances which would admit of no delay Annie was for the first time called to the front and summoned to undertake the responsibility of the situation. Already she had lost sight of herself, and was standing looking so calm, firm, and prepared for every emergency, that the operating
[173]
surgeon, with a glance at her, put her youth and position as a probationer aside, and accepted what help she could give.
It was a critical case, and for some medical reason no anæsthetic could be administered. The boy was past the unconsciousness of childhood, and though nearly fainting with fright, pain, and weakness, remained quite sensible of the further ordeal he had to undergo. He was keenly alive to the humane motive10 which induced the surgeon to turn his back upon him in selecting his instruments. He even heard, with ears morbidly acute, the low words addressed to the interested spectators, "Now, gentlemen, I am about to begin."
With a stifled142 sob144 the poor little fellow suddenly managed to raise himself from the table on which he was stretched. He looked round wildly on the circle of men's faces, controlled and expectant, with a certain every-day expression in anticipation145 of what, in its blind terror and life and death importance to him, was a familiar occurrence to them, and on the one woman's face, controlled too, but with an indescribable wistfulness under the control. Then he made his childish appeal, shrill146 with misery147, "Oh, gentlemen, will you not stop till I say my prayers?"
There was an instant pause of surprise, commiseration148, constraint—the peculiar awkwardness
[174]
which in Englishmen waits on any provocation149 to betray feeling. Nobody liked to look at his neighbour to see how he looked, lest there should be the most distant sign of emotion in his own face. Some strong men there had ceased to pray or to believe in prayer, yet all were more or less touched by the lad's implicit150 faith.
As for Annie she had been praying at that very moment, praying fervently151 in the silence of her heart, that she might be saved from breaking down and allowed to be of some service to the boy.
"Certainly, certainly, my little chap; but you must be quick about it," said the great surgeon a little hoarsely152.
"Our-Father-which-art-in-Heaven," began the boy, running the words together and speaking with a parrot-like monotony in an unnaturally153 high-pitched key. Then his voice began to quaver a little till he stopped short with a cry of despair—"I cannot mind the words, I cannot say my prayers. Oh! will nobody say them for me? If mother, as is not in Lon'on, were here, she would do it fast," he ended, flinging out one thin arm and clutching convulsively at the air in a kind of panic-stricken terror.
There was another second's dead silence. It was broken by a woman's voice. Annie had taken a step forward close to the boy's elbow, so that her voice was in his ear. She could not kneel,
[175]
but instinctively154 she clasped her hands and bent155 her head reverently156 as she said in low but clear tones which were carried throughout the length and breadth of the room, and thrilled in every ear, the Lord's Prayer. At its close she went on without hesitation157 in the same wonderfully audible voice: "God bless this little boy. Forgive him every wrong he has ever done. Keep him safe, and raise him up again, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen."
Another voice—a deeper one—responded to the "Amen." It was said by the famous operator's enemies that he was lax in his religious opinions, and that he rarely found time to go to church. Nevertheless it was he who with grave heartiness158 repeated the Amen.
The little lad had sunk back when she began to speak, and there he lay without giving her a word or sign of thanks—his best acknowledgment of her compliance159 with what might be his last wish being his quaking submission160. He could not keep still his quivering flesh, or hold back altogether his piercing cries and piteous moans, but he bit his tongue in seeking to stifle143 them. For he was not fighting with his Maker161 and his fate; he was trying in his boyish way, with his small fortitude162 and resignation, to endure, in the might of the support which had been asked for him.
[176]
Annie too clenched163 her teeth, while she opened her eyes to take in everything that passed before them, as a mirror may be turned to receive the minutest impression from the scene it reflects. But she did not hear a single shriek164 or wail130, because her ears were filled with the higher harmonies which she had called forth74. She clasped one of the boy's trembling hands in her own warm one, which did not grow cold in the contact. She was on the alert to meet his only half-seeing gaze, and to give back a glance of tender sympathy and protection—the true mother's look that is to be found when occasion calls for it in every good woman's face,—ay, it may even be seen in the precociously165 earnest, kindly eyes of many a loving woman-child.
There were plenty of other helpers to render the surgeon all the assistance he needed in his work, with far more celerity and ability than Annie could have supplied. But while sense lingered in the little patient's eyes, it was to the woman he turned for the pity and aid which did not fail him; it was through her that he drew from One mightier166 than all, the spiritual strength for his terrible bodily conflict. In a sense Annie and he were both on their trial, they served their novitiate together, and helped each other to bear and overcome. When the operation was over he lay, with the sweat drops
[177]
of agony which Annie was gently wiping off, not gone from his forehead, but also with the reflection still lingering on his white face of the courage and patience with which he had been ready to meet death.
"You have behaved remarkably167 well, and shown no want of pluck, my lad," said the surgeon as a parting word of encouragement and cheer. "Lie still and you'll be able to see your friends by and by. I believe you'll do famously, and we'll see whether a substitute cannot be found for the limb you have lost."
He turned to Annie who had done all, and more than all, that was required of her, probably because she had entirely168 forgotten herself. She was not even then sensible of a swift reaction, an overwhelming tide of embarrassment169. She continued more than half unconscious of the number of eyes which, now that the operation was over, were fixed170 upon her, marvelling171, admiring, condemning172, or ridiculing173. For what act is there, let it be ever so disinterested or self-sacrificing, against which no voice will rise in condemnation174 or in mockery?
But it was not the operating surgeon who either condemned175 or scoffed176 at Annie's conduct. He drew her aside, not speaking to her on the religious side of the episode, which he did not conceive that
[178]
he had the smallest right or title to do, but addressing her on the purely177 medical aspect of the incident, on which he considered that he was entitled, nay178, even bound to speak. His manner was a little blunt and brusque rather than suave179, like that of a man who had no time to waste in paying compliments or making soft speeches, but it was thoroughly180 approving.
"You did quite right, nurse; I'm much obliged to you. That poor boy wanted all the comfort he could get. If he had gone on and worked himself into a frenzy181 before I had taken up the knife, I do not know that I could have done my work, and certainly the probability of his recovery would have been greatly lessened182."
"I am glad," said Annie simply, with a little gasp183 of returning consciousness. "It is good of you to say so, doctor," but it was doubtful whether she knew what she was saying. She was penetrated184 through and through with thankfulness, yet thanks to herself seemed so irrelevant185 that she did not care to hear them.
There was more than Annie who thought that thanks to her were out of place and superfluous186. This was specially59 so with one among the group of younger men, who at the moment of entering the ward had been fully50 alive to the circumstance that "the pretty nurse," as she was known to them,
[179]
was on active duty. They had speculated on whether she would stand an operation, and what a disturbance187 and nice mess there would be if she fell flat on the small of her back on the floor, or went off in a fit of hysterics in the middle of it; and how their "boss" would endure such a disconcerting interruption to the proceedings188. As it happened, the speculators were in their turn startled, abashed189, or irritated, according to their respective temperaments190 and frames of mind, by what followed.
But there was a young giant, with a blonde beard, who let his blue eyes fall on the floor, drew back till he leant against the wall, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, asked himself in a dazed, humbled191 way, if an angel had come down among them, and where was the good of presuming to thank an angel? It was a thousand times more officious and audacious than to disregard the hackneyed quotation192 about the folly193 of painting a lily and perfuming a rose.
Annie, the moment she could be spared, went to her own room, fell down on her knees, and cried as if her heart would break. Yet they were not unhappy, but blissful tears, though they were as much for her own unworthiness as for God's unmerited goodness.
Then she snatched up a sheet of paper and
[180]
wrote home. "I was so discontented—such a peevish194 wretch195, this morning, but I have had a tonic196, and now I am so unspeakably satisfied with my lot in life that I believe I am the happiest girl in England to-night. I would not change places with a hundred old Aunt Pennys, only I know, alas197! that I am not half good enough to be a nurse. Yet I would rather be a nurse than any other character in the world, and I would not go back for a permanency to dear old Redcross, after which I was hankering this very morning, and live at home with you all again, leading the aimless, self-seeking life I led, not though Mr. Carey's bank were to rise out of its ashes and flourish to an extent that its greatest upholders never dreamt of—not though I were to get a pension or an earl's ransom198, or whatever else people count magnificent compensations and rewards. But you must not think that it is because I do not love you all as well and a thousand times better than I ever loved you, for that would be a great mistake, since I am just beginning to know your true value. But don't you understand it would break my heart to think that I should no longer be a nurse and never have such another experience as I have had this afternoon." And then she told them in a very few words what had happened and what the surgeon had said to her. How the sister of the ward, and
[181]
the matron, and everybody she knew in St. Ebbe's had congratulated her. They had all united in promising199 that the poor little fellow should be her patient in future; they had begun already to call him "Miss Millar's boy."
The little Doctor not only wiped his spectacles, he held his head higher. Mrs. Millar read the letter again and again, appropriating it and carrying it in her pocket till it was worn to fragments. These were still religiously preserved and portions read to select and sympathetic audiences. And every time she read the lines herself with a full heart, she called on God to bless her good Annie, and thought she was honoured among mothers in having such a daughter.
As for Dora and May they were long of ceasing to talk with bated breath and the height of loving enthusiasm of how Annie had mastered herself, and what a stay she had been in the hour of need to the lad. They planned and carried out their plans at every spare moment, in the manufacture of knitted socks and cravats200 for his benefit. But their great achievement was a quilted dressing-gown which Dora contrived to cut out, and May, in spite of her bad sewing, to help to sew together, that in his convalescence201 he might sit up in bed like a little sick prince.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
humane
|
|
| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
ordinance
|
|
| n.法令；条令；条例 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
stimulated
|
|
| a.刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
benevolence
|
|
| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
squires
|
|
| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
eminent
|
|
| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
acumen
|
|
| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
hull
|
|
| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
scathing
|
|
| adj.（言词、文章）严厉的，尖刻的；不留情的adv.严厉地，尖刻地v.伤害，损害（尤指使之枯萎）( scathe的现在分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
singed
|
|
| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
vows
|
|
| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
allurements
|
|
| n.诱惑( allurement的名词复数 )；吸引；诱惑物；有诱惑力的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
linen
|
|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
ornamental
|
|
| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
atone
|
|
| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
attainments
|
|
| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
rectified
|
|
| [医]矫正的，调整的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
auxiliary
|
|
| adj.辅助的，备用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
awakening
|
|
| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
apprenticeship
|
|
| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
triumphantly
|
|
| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
ordeal
|
|
| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
cuffs
|
|
| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
scourge
|
|
| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
wards
|
|
| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
ward
|
|
| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
fomenting
|
|
| v.激起，煽动（麻烦等）( foment的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
inhaling
|
|
| v.吸入( inhale的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
fumes
|
|
| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
infliction
|
|
| n.（强加于人身的）痛苦，刑罚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
morbidly
|
|
| adv.病态地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
overdone
|
|
| v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
vanquish
|
|
| v.征服，战胜；克服；抑制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
insidious
|
|
| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
foe
|
|
| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
degradation
|
|
| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
loathing
|
|
| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
prevailing
|
|
| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
frailty
|
|
| n.脆弱；意志薄弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
propriety
|
|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
harassed
|
|
| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
elasticity
|
|
| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
prostrating
|
|
| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的现在分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
boiler
|
|
| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
refreshment
|
|
| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
relish
|
|
| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
specially
|
|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
adept
|
|
| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
propound
|
|
| v.提出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
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： |
|
|
|
|
63
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
tune
|
|
| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
grumbling
|
|
| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
delirious
|
|
| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
collapse
|
|
| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
braced
|
|
| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
dingy
|
|
| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
lodging
|
|
| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
docile
|
|
| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
compensated
|
|
| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
remorsefully
|
|
| adv.极为懊悔地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
negligence
|
|
| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
monogram
|
|
| n.字母组合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
well-being
|
|
| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
geniality
|
|
| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
dawdled
|
|
| v.混（时间）( dawdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
penetrating
|
|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
livelihood
|
|
| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
expenditure
|
|
| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
coveted
|
|
| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
chic
|
|
| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
disinterested
|
|
| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
scribbling
|
|
| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
solace
|
|
| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
salmon
|
|
| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
unduly
|
|
| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
swell
|
|
| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
adornment
|
|
| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
exultant
|
|
| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
scenic
|
|
| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
intentionally
|
|
| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
contriving
|
|
| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
grandee
|
|
| n.贵族；大公 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
cardinal
|
|
| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
scotch
|
|
| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
immortal
|
|
| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
purloined
|
|
| v.偷窃( purloin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
shrouded
|
|
| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
Ford
|
|
| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
condescend
|
|
| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
revelling
|
|
| v.作乐( revel的现在分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
blithe
|
|
| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
garbled
|
|
| adj.（指信息）混乱的，引起误解的v.对（事实）歪曲，对（文章等）断章取义，窜改( garble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
immured
|
|
| v.禁闭，监禁( immure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
repugnance
|
|
| n.嫌恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
hovering
|
|
| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
pestilence
|
|
| n.瘟疫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
cholera
|
|
| n.霍乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
literally
|
|
| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
wailing
|
|
| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
wail
|
|
| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
infancy
|
|
| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
mumbling
|
|
| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
fatuity
|
|
| n.愚蠢，愚昧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
hoary
|
|
| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
illuminated
|
|
| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
soften
|
|
| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
waggon
|
|
| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
stifled
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
stifle
|
|
| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
anticipation
|
|
| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
shrill
|
|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
commiseration
|
|
| n.怜悯，同情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
provocation
|
|
| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
implicit
|
|
| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
fervently
|
|
| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
hoarsely
|
|
| adv.嘶哑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
unnaturally
|
|
| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
instinctively
|
|
| adv.本能地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
reverently
|
|
| adv.虔诚地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
heartiness
|
|
| 诚实，热心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
compliance
|
|
| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
submission
|
|
| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
maker
|
|
| n.制造者，制造商 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
fortitude
|
|
| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
clenched
|
|
| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
shriek
|
|
| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
precociously
|
|
| Precociously | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
mightier
|
|
| adj. 强有力的，强大的，巨大的 adv. 很，极其 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
remarkably
|
|
| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
marvelling
|
|
| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
condemning
|
|
| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
ridiculing
|
|
| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
condemnation
|
|
| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
scoffed
|
|
| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
suave
|
|
| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
frenzy
|
|
| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
lessened
|
|
| 减少的，减弱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
gasp
|
|
| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
penetrated
|
|
| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
irrelevant
|
|
| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
superfluous
|
|
| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
disturbance
|
|
| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
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： |
|
|
|
|
190
temperaments
|
|
| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
humbled
|
|
| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
quotation
|
|
| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
peevish
|
|
| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
tonic
|
|
| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
ransom
|
|
| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
promising
|
|
| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
cravats
|
|
| n.（系在衬衫衣领里面的）男式围巾( cravat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
201
convalescence
|
|
| n.病后康复期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |