A soft ‘Oh!’ of contradiction sprang to the lips of Cyril, Robert, Jane, and Anthea. Mother looked at them quickly, and said—
‘Well, of course, I see you’ve mended it very nicely, and that was sweet of you, dears.’
‘The boys helped too,’ said the dears, honourably1.
‘But, still—twenty-two and ninepence! It ought to have lasted for years. It’s simply dreadful now. Well, never mind, darlings, you’ve done your best. I think we’ll have coconut2 matting next time. A carpet doesn’t have an easy life of it in this room, does it?’
‘It’s not our fault, mother, is it, that our boots are the really reliable kind?’ Robert asked the question more in sorrow than in anger.
‘No, dear, we can’t help our boots,’ said mother, cheerfully, ‘but we might change them when we come in, perhaps. It’s just an idea of mine. I wouldn’t dream of scolding on the very first morning after I’ve come home. Oh, my Lamb, how could you?’
This conversation was at breakfast, and the Lamb had been beautifully good until every one was looking at the carpet, and then it was for him but the work of a moment to turn a glass dish of syrupy blackberry jam upside down on his young head. It was the work of a good many minutes and several persons to get the jam off him again, and this interesting work took people’s minds off the carpet, and nothing more was said just then about its badness as a bargain and about what mother hoped for from coconut matting.
When the Lamb was clean again he had to be taken care of while mother rumpled4 her hair and inked her fingers and made her head ache over the difficult and twisted house-keeping accounts which cook gave her on dirty bits of paper, and which were supposed to explain how it was that cook had only fivepence-half-penny and a lot of unpaid5 bills left out of all the money mother had sent her for house-keeping. Mother was very clever, but even she could not quite understand the cook’s accounts.
The Lamb was very glad to have his brothers and sisters to play with him. He had not forgotten them a bit, and he made them play all the old exhausting games: ‘Whirling Worlds’, where you swing the baby round and round by his hands; and ‘Leg and Wing’, where you swing him from side to side by one ankle and one wrist. There was also climbing Vesuvius. In this game the baby walks up you, and when he is standing6 on your shoulders, you shout as loud as you can, which is the rumbling7 of the burning mountain, and then tumble him gently on to the floor, and roll him there, which is the destruction of Pompeii.
‘All the same, I wish we could decide what we’d better say next time mother says anything about the carpet,’ said Cyril, breathlessly ceasing to be a burning mountain.
‘Well, you talk and decide,’ said Anthea; ‘here, you lovely ducky Lamb. Come to Panther and play Noah’s Ark.’
The Lamb came with his pretty hair all tumbled and his face all dusty from the destruction of Pompeii, and instantly became a baby snake, hissing8 and wriggling9 and creeping in Anthea’s arms, as she said—
‘I love my little baby snake,
He hisses10 when he is awake,
He creeps with such a wriggly11 creep,
He wriggles12 even in his sleep.’
‘Crocky,’ said the Lamb, and showed all his little teeth. So Anthea went on—
‘I love my little crocodile,
I love his truthful13 toothful smile;
It is so wonderful and wide,
I like to see it—FROM OUTSIDE.’
‘Well, you see,’ Cyril was saying; ‘it’s just the old bother. Mother can’t believe the real true truth about the carpet, and—’
‘You speak sooth, O Cyril,’ remarked the Phoenix14, coming out from the cupboard where the blackbeetles lived, and the torn books, and the broken slates15, and odd pieces of toys that had lost the rest of themselves. ‘Now hear the wisdom of Phoenix, the son of the Phoenix—’
‘There is a society called that,’ said Cyril.
‘Where is it? And what is a society?’ asked the bird.
‘It’s a sort of joined-together lot of people—a sort of brotherhood—a kind of—well, something very like your temple, you know, only quite different.’
‘I take your meaning,’ said the Phoenix. ‘I would fain see these calling themselves Sons of the Phoenix.’
‘But what about your words of wisdom?’
‘Wisdom is always welcome,’ said the Phoenix.
‘Pretty Polly!’ remarked the Lamb, reaching his hands towards the golden speaker.
The Phoenix modestly retreated behind Robert, and Anthea hastened to distract the attention of the Lamb by murmuring—
“I love my little baby rabbit;
But oh! he has a dreadful habit
Of paddling out among the rocks
And soaking both his bunny socks.’
‘I don’t think you’d care about the sons of the Phoenix, really,’ said Robert. ‘I have heard that they don’t do anything fiery16. They only drink a great deal. Much more than other people, because they drink lemonade and fizzy things, and the more you drink of those the more good you get.’
‘In your mind, perhaps,’ said Jane; ‘but it wouldn’t be good in your body. You’d get too balloony.’
The Phoenix yawned.
‘Look here,’ said Anthea; ‘I really have an idea. This isn’t like a common carpet. It’s very magic indeed. Don’t you think, if we put Tatcho on it, and then gave it a rest, the magic part of it might grow, like hair is supposed to do?’
‘It might,’ said Robert; ‘but I should think paraffin would do as well—at any rate as far as the smell goes, and that seems to be the great thing about Tatcho.’
But with all its faults Anthea’s idea was something to do, and they did it.
It was Cyril who fetched the Tatcho bottle from father’s washhand-stand. But the bottle had not much in it.
‘We mustn’t take it all,’ Jane said, ‘in case father’s hair began to come off suddenly. If he hadn’t anything to put on it, it might all drop off before Eliza had time to get round to the chemist’s for another bottle. It would be dreadful to have a bald father, and it would all be our fault.’
‘And wigs17 are very expensive, I believe,’ said Anthea. ‘Look here, leave enough in the bottle to wet father’s head all over with in case any emergency emerges—and let’s make up with paraffin. I expect it’s the smell that does the good really—and the smell’s exactly the same.’
So a small teaspoonful18 of the Tatcho was put on the edges of the worst darn in the carpet and rubbed carefully into the roots of the hairs of it, and all the parts that there was not enough Tatcho for had paraffin rubbed into them with a piece of flannel19. Then the flannel was burned. It made a gay flame, which delighted the Phoenix and the Lamb.
‘How often,’ said mother, opening the door—‘how often am I to tell you that you are NOT to play with paraffin? What have you been doing?’
‘We have burnt a paraffiny rag,’ Anthea answered.
It was no use telling mother what they had done to the carpet. She did not know it was a magic carpet, and no one wants to be laughed at for trying to mend an ordinary carpet with lamp-oil.
‘Well, don’t do it again,’ said mother. ‘And now, away with melancholy20! Father has sent a telegram. Look!’ She held it out, and the children, holding it by its yielding corners, read—
‘Box for kiddies at Garrick. Stalls for us, Haymarket. Meet Charing21 Cross, 6.30.’
‘That means,’ said mother, ‘that you’re going to see “The Water Babies” all by your happy selves, and father and I will take you and fetch you. Give me the Lamb, dear, and you and Jane put clean lace in your red evening frocks, and I shouldn’t wonder if you found they wanted ironing. This paraffin smell is ghastly. Run and get out your frocks.’
The frocks did want ironing—wanted it rather badly, as it happened; for, being of tomato-Coloured Liberty silk, they had been found very useful for tableaux22 vivants when a red dress was required for Cardinal24 Richelieu. They were very nice tableaux, these, and I wish I could tell you about them; but one cannot tell everything in a story. You would have been specially25 interested in hearing about the tableau23 of the Princes in the Tower, when one of the pillows burst, and the youthful Princes were so covered with feathers that the picture might very well have been called ‘Michaelmas Eve; or, Plucking the Geese’.
Ironing the dresses and sewing the lace in occupied some time, and no one was dull, because there was the theatre to look forward to, and also the possible growth of hairs on the carpet, for which every one kept looking anxiously. By four o’clock Jane was almost sure that several hairs were beginning to grow.
The Phoenix perched on the fender, and its conversation, as usual, was entertaining and instructive—like school prizes are said to be. But it seemed a little absent-minded, and even a little sad.
‘Don’t you feel well, Phoenix, dear?’ asked Anthea, stooping to take an iron off the fire.
‘I am not sick,’ replied the golden bird, with a gloomy shake of the head; ‘but I am getting old.’
‘Why, you’ve hardly been hatched any time at all.’
‘Time,’ remarked the Phoenix, ‘is measured by heartbeats. I’m sure the palpitations I’ve had since I’ve known you are enough to blanch26 the feathers of any bird.’
‘But I thought you lived 500 years,’ said Robert, and you’ve hardly begun this set of years. Think of all the time that’s before you.’
‘Time,’ said the Phoenix, ‘is, as you are probably aware, merely a convenient fiction. There is no such thing as time. I have lived in these two months at a pace which generously counterbalances 500 years of life in the desert. I am old, I am weary. I feel as if I ought to lay my egg, and lay me down to my fiery sleep. But unless I’m careful I shall be hatched again instantly, and that is a misfortune which I really do not think I COULD endure. But do not let me intrude27 these desperate personal reflections on your youthful happiness. What is the show at the theatre to-night? Wrestlers? Gladiators? A combat of cameleopards and unicorns28?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Cyril; ‘it’s called “The Water Babies”, and if it’s like the book there isn’t any gladiating in it. There are chimney-sweeps and professors, and a lobster29 and an otter30 and a salmon31, and children living in the water.’
‘It sounds chilly32.’ The Phoenix shivered, and went to sit on the tongs33.
‘I don’t suppose there will be REAL water,’ said Jane. ‘And theatres are very warm and pretty, with a lot of gold and lamps. Wouldn’t you like to come with us?’
‘I was just going to say that,’ said Robert, in injured tones, ‘only I know how rude it is to interrupt. Do come, Phoenix, old chap; it will cheer you up. It’ll make you laugh like any thing. Mr Bourchier always makes ripping plays. You ought to have seen “Shock-headed Peter” last year.’
‘Your words are strange,’ said the Phoenix, ‘but I will come with you. The revels34 of this Bourchier, of whom you speak, may help me to forget the weight of my years.’ So that evening the Phoenix snugged35 inside the waistcoat of Robert’s Etons—a very tight fit it seemed both to Robert and to the Phoenix—and was taken to the play.
Robert had to pretend to be cold at the glittering, many-mirrored restaurant where they ate dinner, with father in evening dress, with a very shiny white shirt-front, and mother looking lovely in her grey evening dress, that changes into pink and green when she moves. Robert pretended that he was too cold to take off his great-coat, and so sat sweltering through what would otherwise have been a most thrilling meal. He felt that he was a blot36 on the smart beauty of the family, and he hoped the Phoenix knew what he was suffering for its sake. Of course, we are all pleased to suffer for the sake of others, but we like them to know it unless we are the very best and noblest kind of people, and Robert was just ordinary.
Father was full of jokes and fun, and every one laughed all the time, even with their mouths full, which is not manners. Robert thought father would not have been quite so funny about his keeping his over-coat on if father had known all the truth. And there Robert was probably right.
When dinner was finished to the last grape and the last paddle in the finger glasses—for it was a really truly grown-up dinner—the children were taken to the theatre, guided to a box close to the stage, and left.
Father’s parting words were: ‘Now, don’t you stir out of this box, whatever you do. I shall be back before the end of the play. Be good and you will be happy. Is this zone torrid enough for the abandonment of great-coats, Bobs? No? Well, then, I should say you were sickening for something—mumps or measles37 or thrush or teething. Goodbye.’
He went, and Robert was at last able to remove his coat, mop his perspiring38 brow, and release the crushed and dishevelled Phoenix. Robert had to arrange his damp hair at the looking-glass at the back of the box, and the Phoenix had to preen39 its disordered feathers for some time before either of them was fit to be seen.
They were very, very early. When the lights went up fully3, the Phoenix, balancing itself on the gilded40 back of a chair, swayed in ecstasy41.
‘How fair a scene is this!’ it murmured; ‘how far fairer than my temple! Or have I guessed aright? Have you brought me hither to lift up my heart with emotions of joyous42 surprise? Tell me, my Robert, is it not that this, THIS is my true temple, and the other was but a humble43 shrine44 frequented by outcasts?’
‘I don’t know about outcasts,’ said Robert, ‘but you can call this your temple if you like. Hush45! the music is beginning.’
I am not going to tell you about the play. As I said before, one can’t tell everything, and no doubt you saw ‘The Water Babies’ yourselves. If you did not it was a shame, or, rather, a pity.
What I must tell you is that, though Cyril and Jane and Robert and Anthea enjoyed it as much as any children possibly could, the pleasure of the Phoenix was far, far greater than theirs.
‘This is indeed my temple,’ it said again and again. ‘What radiant rites46! And all to do honour to me!’
The songs in the play it took to be hymns47 in its honour. The choruses were choric songs in its praise. The electric lights, it said, were magic torches lighted for its sake, and it was so charmed with the footlights that the children could hardly persuade it to sit still. But when the limelight was shown it could contain its approval no longer. It flapped its golden wings, and cried in a voice that could be heard all over the theatre:
‘Well done, my servants! Ye have my favour and my countenance48!’
Little Tom on the stage stopped short in what he was saying. A deep breath was drawn49 by hundreds of lungs, every eye in the house turned to the box where the luckless children cringed, and most people hissed50, or said ‘Shish!’ or ‘Turn them out!’
Then the play went on, and an attendant presently came to the box and spoke51 wrathfully.
‘It wasn’t us, indeed it wasn’t,’ said Anthea, earnestly; ‘it was the bird.’
The man said well, then, they must keep their bird very quiet. ‘Disturbing every one like this,’ he said.
‘It won’t do it again,’ said Robert, glancing imploringly52 at the golden bird; ‘I’m sure it won’t.’
‘You have my leave to depart,’ said the Phoenix gently.
‘Well, he is a beauty, and no mistake,’ said the attendant, ‘only I’d cover him up during the acts. It upsets the performance.’
And he went.
‘Don’t speak again, there’s a dear,’ said Anthea; ‘you wouldn’t like to interfere53 with your own temple, would you?’
So now the Phoenix was quiet, but it kept whispering to the children. It wanted to know why there was no altar, no fire, no incense54, and became so excited and fretful and tiresome55 that four at least of the party of five wished deeply that it had been left at home.
What happened next was entirely56 the fault of the Phoenix. It was not in the least the fault of the theatre people, and no one could ever understand afterwards how it did happen. No one, that is, except the guilty bird itself and the four children. The Phoenix was balancing itself on the gilt57 back of the chair, swaying backwards58 and forwards and up and down, as you may see your own domestic parrot do. I mean the grey one with the red tail. All eyes were on the stage, where the lobster was delighting the audience with that gem59 of a song, ‘If you can’t walk straight, walk sideways!’ when the Phoenix murmured warmly—
‘No altar, no fire, no incense!’ and then, before any of the children could even begin to think of stopping it, it spread its bright wings and swept round the theatre, brushing its gleaming feathers against delicate hangings and gilded woodwork.
It seemed to have made but one circular wing-sweep, such as you may see a gull60 make over grey water on a stormy day. Next moment it was perched again on the chair-back—and all round the theatre, where it had passed, little sparks shone like tinsel seeds, then little smoke wreaths curled up like growing plants—little flames opened like flower-buds. People whispered—then people shrieked61.
‘Fire! Fire!’ The curtain went down—the lights went up.
‘Fire!’ cried every one, and made for the doors.
‘A magnificent idea!’ said the Phoenix, complacently62. ‘An enormous altar—fire supplied free of charge. Doesn’t the incense smell delicious?’
The only smell was the stifling63 smell of smoke, of burning silk, or scorching64 varnish65.
The little flames had opened now into great flame-flowers. The people in the theatre were shouting and pressing towards the doors.
‘Oh, how COULD you!’ cried Jane. ‘Let’s get out.’
‘Father said stay here,’ said Anthea, very pale, and trying to speak in her ordinary voice.
‘He didn’t mean stay and be roasted,’ said Robert. ‘No boys on burning decks for me, thank you.’
‘Not much,’ said Cyril, and he opened the door of the box.
But a fierce waft66 of smoke and hot air made him shut it again. It was not possible to get out that way.
They looked over the front of the box. Could they climb down?
It would be possible, certainly; but would they be much better off?
‘Look at the people,’ moaned Anthea; ‘we couldn’t get through.’
And, indeed, the crowd round the doors looked as thick as flies in the jam-making season.
‘I wish we’d never seen the Phoenix,’ cried Jane.
Even at that awful moment Robert looked round to see if the bird had overheard a speech which, however natural, was hardly polite or grateful.
The Phoenix was gone.
‘Look here,’ said Cyril, ‘I’ve read about fires in papers; I’m sure it’s all right. Let’s wait here, as father said.’
‘We can’t do anything else,’ said Anthea bitterly.
‘Look here,’ said Robert, ‘I’m NOT frightened—no, I’m not. The Phoenix has never been a skunk67 yet, and I’m certain it’ll see us through somehow. I believe in the Phoenix!’
‘The Phoenix thanks you, O Robert,’ said a golden voice at his feet, and there was the Phoenix itself, on the Wishing Carpet.
‘Quick!’ it said. ‘Stand on those portions of the carpet which are truly antique and authentic—and—’
A sudden jet of flame stopped its words. Alas68! the Phoenix had unconsciously warmed to its subject, and in the unintentional heat of the moment had set fire to the paraffin with which that morning the children had anointed the carpet. It burned merrily. The children tried in vain to stamp it out. They had to stand back and let it burn itself out. When the paraffin had burned away it was found that it had taken with it all the darns of Scotch69 heather-mixture fingering. Only the fabric70 of the old carpet was left—and that was full of holes.
‘Come,’ said the Phoenix, ‘I’m cool now.’
The four children got on to what was left of the carpet. Very careful they were not to leave a leg or a hand hanging over one of the holes. It was very hot—the theatre was a pit of fire. Every one else had got out.
Jane had to sit on Anthea’s lap.
‘Home!’ said Cyril, and instantly the cool draught71 from under the nursery door played upon their legs as they sat. They were all on the carpet still, and the carpet was lying in its proper place on the nursery floor, as calm and unmoved as though it had never been to the theatre or taken part in a fire in its life.
Four long breaths of deep relief were instantly breathed. The draught which they had never liked before was for the moment quite pleasant. And they were safe. And every one else was safe. The theatre had been quite empty when they left. Every one was sure of that.
They presently found themselves all talking at once. Somehow none of their adventures had given them so much to talk about. None other had seemed so real.
‘Did you notice—?’ they said, and ‘Do you remember—?’
When suddenly Anthea’s face turned pale under the dirt which it had collected on it during the fire.
‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘mother and father! Oh, how awful! They’ll think we’re burned to cinders73. Oh, let’s go this minute and tell them we aren’t.’
‘We should only miss them,’ said the sensible Cyril.
‘Well—YOU go then,’ said Anthea, ‘or I will. Only do wash your face first. Mother will be sure to think you are burnt to a cinder72 if she sees you as black as that, and she’ll faint or be ill or something. Oh, I wish we’d never got to know that Phoenix.’
‘Hush!’ said Robert; ‘it’s no use being rude to the bird. I suppose it can’t help its nature. Perhaps we’d better wash too. Now I come to think of it my hands are rather—’
No one had noticed the Phoenix since it had bidden them to step on the carpet. And no one noticed that no one had noticed.
All were partially74 clean, and Cyril was just plunging75 into his great-coat to go and look for his parents—he, and not unjustly, called it looking for a needle in a bundle of hay—when the sound of father’s latchkey in the front door sent every one bounding up the stairs.
‘Are you all safe?’ cried mother’s voice; ‘are you all safe?’ and the next moment she was kneeling on the linoleum76 of the hall, trying to kiss four damp children at once, and laughing and crying by turns, while father stood looking on and saying he was blessed or something.
‘But how did you guess we’d come home,’ said Cyril, later, when every one was calm enough for talking.
‘Well, it was rather a rum thing. We heard the Garrick was on fire, and of course we went straight there,’ said father, briskly. ‘We couldn’t find you, of course—and we couldn’t get in—but the firemen told us every one was safely out. And then I heard a voice at my ear say, “Cyril, Anthea, Robert, and Jane”—and something touched me on the shoulder. It was a great yellow pigeon, and it got in the way of my seeing who’d spoken. It fluttered off, and then some one said in the other ear, “They’re safe at home”; and when I turned again, to see who it was speaking, hanged if there wasn’t that confounded pigeon on my other shoulder. Dazed by the fire, I suppose. Your mother said it was the voice of—’
‘I said it was the bird that spoke,’ said mother, ‘and so it was. Or at least I thought so then. It wasn’t a pigeon. It was an orange-coloured cockatoo. I don’t care who it was that spoke. It was true and you’re safe.’
Mother began to cry again, and father said bed was a good place after the pleasures of the stage.
So every one went there.
Robert had a talk to the Phoenix that night.
‘Oh, very well,’ said the bird, when Robert had said what he felt, ‘didn’t you know that I had power over fire? Do not distress77 yourself. I, like my high priests in Lombard Street, can undo78 the work of flames. Kindly79 open the casement80.’
It flew out.
That was why the papers said next day that the fire at the theatre had done less damage than had been anticipated. As a matter of fact it had done none, for the Phoenix spent the night in putting things straight. How the management accounted for this, and how many of the theatre officials still believe that they were mad on that night will never be known.
Next day mother saw the burnt holes in the carpet.
‘It caught where it was paraffiny,’ said Anthea.
‘I must get rid of that carpet at once,’ said mother.
But what the children said in sad whispers to each other, as they pondered over last night’s events, was—
‘We must get rid of that Phoenix.’
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
honourably
|
|
| adv.可尊敬地，光荣地，体面地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
coconut
|
|
| n.椰子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
rumpled
|
|
| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
unpaid
|
|
| adj.未付款的，无报酬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
rumbling
|
|
| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
hissing
|
|
| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
wriggling
|
|
| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
hisses
|
|
| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
wriggly
|
|
| adj.蠕动的，回避的；蜿蜒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
wriggles
|
|
| n.蠕动，扭动( wriggle的名词复数 )v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的第三人称单数 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
truthful
|
|
| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
phoenix
|
|
| n.凤凰，长生(不死)鸟；引申为重生 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
slates
|
|
| （旧时学生用以写字的）石板( slate的名词复数 )； 板岩； 石板瓦； 石板色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
wigs
|
|
| n.假发，法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
teaspoonful
|
|
| n.一茶匙的量；一茶匙容量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
flannel
|
|
| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
charing
|
|
| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
tableaux
|
|
| n.舞台造型，（由活人扮演的）静态画面、场面；人构成的画面或场景( tableau的名词复数 )；舞台造型；戏剧性的场面；绚丽的场景 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
tableau
|
|
| n.画面，活人画（舞台上活人扮的静态画面） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
cardinal
|
|
| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
specially
|
|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
blanch
|
|
| v.漂白；使变白；使(植物)不见日光而变白 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
intrude
|
|
| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
unicorns
|
|
| n.（传说中身体似马的）独角兽( unicorn的名词复数 )；一角鲸；独角兽标记 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
lobster
|
|
| n.龙虾，龙虾肉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
otter
|
|
| n.水獭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
salmon
|
|
| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
chilly
|
|
| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
tongs
|
|
| n.钳；夹子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
revels
|
|
| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
snugged
|
|
| v.整洁的( snug的过去式和过去分词 )；温暖而舒适的；非常舒适的；紧身的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
36
blot
|
|
| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
measles
|
|
| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
perspiring
|
|
| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
preen
|
|
| v.（人）打扮修饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
gilded
|
|
| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
shrine
|
|
| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
hush
|
|
| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
rites
|
|
| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
hymns
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
hissed
|
|
| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
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： |
|
|
|
|
52
imploringly
|
|
| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
incense
|
|
| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
tiresome
|
|
| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
gilt
|
|
| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
backwards
|
|
| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
gem
|
|
| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
gull
|
|
| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
shrieked
|
|
| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
complacently
|
|
| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
stifling
|
|
| a.令人窒息的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
scorching
|
|
| adj. 灼热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
varnish
|
|
| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
waft
|
|
| v.飘浮，飘荡；n.一股；一阵微风；飘荡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
skunk
|
|
| n.臭鼬，黄鼠狼；v.使惨败，使得零分；烂醉如泥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
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： |
|
|
|
|
70
fabric
|
|
| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
draught
|
|
| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
cinder
|
|
| n.余烬，矿渣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
cinders
|
|
| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
plunging
|
|
| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
linoleum
|
|
| n.油布，油毯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
undo
|
|
| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
casement
|
|
| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |