By two in the morning, Sir Daniel sat in the inn room, close by the fireside, for it was cold at that hour among the fens11 of Kettley. By his elbow stood a pottle of spiced ale. He had taken off his visored headpiece, and sat with his bald head and thin, dark visage resting on one hand, wrapped warmly in a sanguine-coloured cloak. At the lower end of the room about a dozen of his men stood sentry12 over the door or lay asleep on benches; and somewhat nearer hand, a young lad, apparently13 of twelve or thirteen, was stretched in a mantle14 on the floor. The host of the Sun stood before the great man.
“Now, mark me, mine host,” Sir Daniel said, “follow but mine orders, and I shall be your good lord ever. I must have good men for head boroughs15, and I will have Adam-a-More high constable16; see to it narrowly. If other men be chosen, it shall avail you nothing; rather it shall be found to your sore cost. For those that have paid rent to Walsingham I shall take good measure—you among the rest, mine host.”
“Good knight,” said the host, “I will swear upon the cross of Holywood I did but pay to Walsingham upon compulsion. Nay17, bully18 knight, I love not the rogue19 Walsinghams; they were as poor as thieves, bully knight. Give me a great lord like you. Nay; ask me among the neighbours, I am stout20 for Brackley.”
“It may be,” said Sir Daniel, dryly. “Ye shall then pay twice.”
The innkeeper made a horrid21 grimace22; but this was a piece of bad luck that might readily befall a tenant9 in these unruly times, and he was perhaps glad to make his peace so easily.
“Bring up yon fellow, Selden!” cried the knight.
And one of his retainers led up a poor, cringing23 old man, as pale as a candle, and all shaking with the fen10 fever.
“Sirrah,” said Sir Daniel, “your name?”
“An’t please your worship,” replied the man, “my name is Condall—Condall of Shoreby, at your good worship’s pleasure.”
“I have heard you ill reported on,” returned the knight. “Ye deal in treason, rogue; ye trudge24 the country leasing; y’ are heavily suspicioned of the death of severals. How, fellow, are ye so bold? But I will bring you down.”
“Right honourable25 and my reverend lord,” the man cried, “here is some hodge-podge, saving your good presence. I am but a poor private man, and have hurt none.”
“The under-sheriff did report of you most vilely,” said the knight. “‘Seize me,’ saith he, ‘that Tyndal of Shoreby.’”
“Condall, my good lord; Condall is my poor name,” said the unfortunate.
“Condall or Tyndal, it is all one,” replied Sir Daniel, coolly. “For, by my sooth, y’ are here and I do mightily26 suspect your honesty. If ye would save your neck, write me swiftly an obligation for twenty pound.”
“For twenty pound, my good lord!” cried Condall. “Here is midsummer madness! My whole estate amounteth not to seventy shillings.”
“Condall or Tyndal,” returned Sir Daniel, grinning, “I will run my peril27 of that loss. Write me down twenty, and when I have recovered all I may, I will be good lord to you, and pardon you the rest.”
“Alas! my good lord, it may not be; I have no skill to write,” said Condall.
“Well-a-day!” returned the knight. “Here, then, is no remedy. Yet I would fain have spared you, Tyndal, had my conscience suffered. Selden, take me this old shrew softly to the nearest elm, and hang me him tenderly by the neck, where I may see him at my riding. Fare ye well, good Master Condall, dear Master Tyndal; y’ are post-haste for Paradise; fare ye then well!”
“Nay, my right pleasant lord,” replied Condall, forcing an obsequious28 smile, “an ye be so masterful, as doth right well become you, I will even, with all my poor skill, do your good bidding.”
“Friend,” quoth Sir Daniel, “ye will now write two score. Go to! y’ are too cunning for a livelihood29 of seventy shillings. Selden, see him write me this in good form, and have it duly witnessed.”
And Sir Daniel, who was a very merry knight, none merrier in England, took a drink of his mulled ale, and lay back, smiling.
Meanwhile, the boy upon the floor began to stir, and presently sat up and looked about him with a scare.
“Hither,” said Sir Daniel; and as the other rose at his command and came slowly towards him, he leaned back and laughed outright31. “By the rood!” he cried, “a sturdy boy!”
The lad flushed crimson32 with anger, and darted33 a look of hate out of his dark eyes. Now that he was on his legs, it was more difficult to make certain of his age. His face looked somewhat older in expression, but it was as smooth as a young child’s; and in bone and body he was unusually slender, and somewhat awkward of gait.
“Nay, now, let laugh,” said the knight. “Good shrew, let laugh, I pray you. An ye could see yourself, I warrant ye would laugh the first.”
“Well,” cried the lad, flushing, “ye shall answer this when ye answer for the other. Laugh while yet ye may!”
“Nay, now, good cousin,” replied Sir Daniel, with some earnestness, “think not that I mock at you, except in mirth, as between kinsfolk and singular friends. I will make you a marriage of a thousand pounds, go to! and cherish you exceedingly. I took you, indeed, roughly, as the time demanded; but from henceforth I shall ungrudgingly maintain and cheerfully serve you. Ye shall be Mrs. Shelton—Lady Shelton, by my troth! for the lad promiseth bravely. Tut! ye will not shy for honest laughter; it purgeth melancholy38. They are no rogues39 who laugh, good cousin. Good mine host, lay me a meal now for my cousin, Master John. Sit ye down, sweetheart, and eat.”
“Nay,” said Master John, “I will break no bread. Since ye force me to this sin, I will fast for my soul’s interest. But, good mine host, I pray you of courtesy give me a cup of fair water; I shall be much beholden to your courtesy indeed.”
“Ye shall have a dispensation, go to!” cried the knight. “Shalt be well shriven, by my faith! Content you, then, and eat.”
But the lad was obstinate40, drank a cup of water, and, once more wrapping himself closely in his mantle, sat in a far corner, brooding.
In an hour or two, there rose a stir in the village of sentries41 challenging and the clatter42 of arms and horses; and then a troop drew up by the inn door, and Richard Shelton, splashed with mud, presented himself upon the threshold.
“Save you, Sir Daniel,” he said.
“How! Dickie Shelton!” cried the knight; and at the mention of Dick’s name the other lad looked curiously43 across. “What maketh Bennet Hatch?”
“Please you, sir knight, to take cognisance of this packet from Sir Oliver, wherein are all things fully36 stated,” answered Richard, presenting the priest’s letter. “And please you farther, ye were best make all speed to Risingham; for on the way hither we encountered one riding furiously with letters, and by his report, my Lord of Risingham was sore bested, and lacked exceedingly your presence.”
“How say you? Sore bested?” returned the knight. “Nay, then, we will make speed sitting down, good Richard. As the world goes in this poor realm of England, he that rides softliest rides surest. Delay, they say, begetteth peril; but it is rather this itch44 of doing that undoes45 men; mark it, Dick. But let me see, first, what cattle ye have brought. Selden, a link here at the door!”
And Sir Daniel strode forth35 into the village street, and, by the red glow of a torch, inspected his new troops. He was an unpopular neighbour and an unpopular master; but as a leader in war he was well-beloved by those who rode behind his pennant46. His dash, his proved courage, his forethought for the soldiers’ comfort, even his rough gibes47, were all to the taste of the bold blades in jack48 and salet.
“Nay, by the rood!” he cried, “what poor dogs are these? Here be some as crooked49 as a bow, and some as lean as a spear. Friends, ye shall ride in the front of the battle; I can spare you, friends. Mark me this old villain50 on the piebald! A two-year mutton riding on a hog51 would look more soldierly! Ha! Clipsby, are ye there, old rat? Y’ are a man I could lose with a good heart; ye shall go in front of all, with a bull’s eye painted on your jack, to be the better butt52 for archery; sirrah, ye shall show me the way.”
“I will show you any way, Sir Daniel, but the way to change sides,” returned Clipsby, sturdily.
“Why, well said!” he cried. “Hast a shrewd tongue in thy mouth, go to! I will forgive you for that merry word. Selden, see them fed, both man and brute54.”
The knight re-entered the inn.
“Now, friend Dick,” he said, “fall to. Here is good ale and bacon. Eat, while that I read.”
Sir Daniel opened the packet, and as he read his brow darkened. When he had done he sat a little, musing55. Then he looked sharply at his ward30.
“Dick,” said he, “Y’ have seen this penny rhyme?”
The lad replied in the affirmative.
“It bears your father’s name,” continued the knight; “and our poor shrew of a parson is, by some mad soul, accused of slaying56 him.”
“He did most eagerly deny it,” answered Dick.
“He did?” cried the knight, very sharply. “Heed him not. He has a loose tongue; he babbles57 like a jack-sparrow. Some day, when I may find the leisure, Dick, I will myself more fully inform you of these matters. There was one Duckworth shrewdly blamed for it; but the times were troubled, and there was no justice to be got.”
“It befell at the Moat House?” Dick ventured, with a beating at his heart.
“It befell between the Moat House and Holywood,” replied Sir Daniel, calmly; but he shot a covert58 glance, black with suspicion, at Dick’s face. “And now,” added the knight, “speed you with your meal; ye shall return to Tunstall with a line from me.”
Dick’s face fell sorely.
“Prithee, Sir Daniel,” he cried, “send one of the villains59! I beseech60 you let me to the battle. I can strike a stroke, I promise you.”
“I misdoubt it not,” replied Sir Daniel, sitting down to write. “But here, Dick, is no honour to be won. I lie in Kettley till I have sure tidings of the war, and then ride to join me with the conqueror61. Cry not on cowardice62; it is but wisdom, Dick; for this poor realm so tosseth with rebellion, and the king’s name and custody63 so changeth hands, that no man may be certain of the morrow. Toss-pot and Shuttle-wit run in, but my Lord Good-Counsel sits o’ one side, waiting.”
With that, Sir Daniel, turning his back to Dick, and quite at the farther end of the long table, began to write his letter, with his mouth on one side, for this business of the Black Arrow stuck sorely in his throat.
Meanwhile, young Shelton was going on heartily64 enough with his breakfast, when he felt a touch upon his arm, and a very soft voice whispering in his ear.
“Make not a sign, I do beseech you,” said the voice, “but of your charity tell me the straight way to Holywood. Beseech you, now, good boy, comfort a poor soul in peril and extreme distress65, and set me so far forth upon the way to my repose66.”
“Take the path by the windmill,” answered Dick, in the same tone; “it will bring you to Till Ferry; there inquire again.”
And without turning his head, he fell again to eating. But with the tail of his eye he caught a glimpse of the young lad called Master John stealthily creeping from the room.
“Why,” thought Dick, “he is a young as I. ‘Good boy’ doth he call me? An I had known, I should have seen the varlet hanged ere I had told him. Well, if he goes through the fen, I may come up with him and pull his ears.”
Half an hour later, Sir Daniel gave Dick the letter, and bade him speed to the Moat House. And, again, some half an hour after Dick’s departure, a messenger came, in hot haste, from my Lord of Risingham.
“Sir Daniel,” the messenger said, “ye lose great honour, by my sooth! The fight began again this morning ere the dawn, and we have beaten their van and scattered67 their right wing. Only the main battle standeth fast. An we had your fresh men, we should tilt68 you them all into the river. What, sir knight! Will ye be the last? It stands not with your good credit.”
“Nay,” cried the knight, “I was but now upon the march. Selden, sound me the tucket. Sir, I am with you on the instant. It is not two hours since the more part of my command came in, sir messenger. What would ye have? Spurring is good meat, but yet it killed the charger. Bustle69, boys!”
By this time the tucket was sounding cheerily in the morning, and from all sides Sir Daniel’s men poured into the main street and formed before the inn. They had slept upon their arms, with chargers saddled, and in ten minutes five-score men-at-arms and archers70, cleanly equipped and briskly disciplined, stood ranked and ready. The chief part were in Sir Daniel’s livery, murrey and blue, which gave the greater show to their array. The best armed rode first; and away out of sight, at the tail of the column, came the sorry reinforcement of the night before. Sir Daniel looked with pride along the line.
“Here be the lads to serve you in a pinch,” he said.
“They are pretty men, indeed,” replied the messenger. “It but augments71 my sorrow that ye had not marched the earlier.”
“Well,” said the knight, “what would ye? The beginning of a feast and the end of a fray72, sir messenger;” and he mounted into his saddle. “Why! how now!” he cried. “John! Joanna! Nay, by the sacred rood! where is she? Host, where is that girl?”
“Girl, Sir Daniel?” cried the landlord. “Nay, sir, I saw no girl.”
“Boy, then, dotard!” cried the knight. “Could ye not see it was a wench? She in the murrey-coloured mantle—she that broke her fast with water, rogue—where is she?”
“Nay, the saints bless us! Master John, ye called him,” said the host. “Well, I thought none evil. He is gone. I saw him—her—I saw her in the stable a good hour agone; ’a was saddling a grey horse.”
“Now, by the rood!” cried Sir Daniel, “the wench was worth five hundred pound to me and more.”
“Sir knight,” observed the messenger, with bitterness, “while that ye are here, roaring for five hundred pounds, the realm of England is elsewhere being lost and won.”
“It is well said,” replied Sir Daniel. “Selden, fall me out with six cross-bowmen; hunt me her down. I care not what it cost; but, at my returning, let me find her at the Moat House. Be it upon your head. And now, sir messenger, we march.”
And the troop broke into a good trot37, and Selden and his six men were left behind upon the street of Kettley, with the staring villagers.
点击收听单词发音
1 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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2 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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3 mar | |
vt.破坏,毁坏,弄糟 | |
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4 curried | |
adj.加了咖喱(或咖喱粉的),用咖哩粉调理的 | |
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5 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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6 manor | |
n.庄园,领地 | |
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7 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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8 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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9 tenant | |
n.承租人;房客;佃户;v.租借,租用 | |
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10 fen | |
n.沼泽,沼池 | |
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11 fens | |
n.(尤指英格兰东部的)沼泽地带( fen的名词复数 ) | |
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12 sentry | |
n.哨兵,警卫 | |
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13 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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14 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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15 boroughs | |
(尤指大伦敦的)行政区( borough的名词复数 ); 议会中有代表的市镇 | |
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16 constable | |
n.(英国)警察,警官 | |
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17 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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18 bully | |
n.恃强欺弱者,小流氓;vt.威胁,欺侮 | |
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19 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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21 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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22 grimace | |
v.做鬼脸,面部歪扭 | |
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23 cringing | |
adj.谄媚,奉承 | |
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24 trudge | |
v.步履艰难地走;n.跋涉,费力艰难的步行 | |
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25 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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26 mightily | |
ad.强烈地;非常地 | |
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27 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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28 obsequious | |
adj.谄媚的,奉承的,顺从的 | |
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29 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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30 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 | |
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31 outright | |
adv.坦率地;彻底地;立即;adj.无疑的;彻底的 | |
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32 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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33 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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34 plight | |
n.困境,境况,誓约,艰难;vt.宣誓,保证,约定 | |
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35 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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36 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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37 trot | |
n.疾走,慢跑;n.老太婆;现成译本;(复数)trots:腹泻(与the 连用);v.小跑,快步走,赶紧 | |
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38 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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39 rogues | |
n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 );无赖;调皮捣蛋的人;离群的野兽 | |
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40 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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41 sentries | |
哨兵,步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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42 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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43 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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44 itch | |
n.痒,渴望,疥癣;vi.发痒,渴望 | |
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45 undoes | |
松开( undo的第三人称单数 ); 解开; 毁灭; 败坏 | |
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46 pennant | |
n.三角旗;锦标旗 | |
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47 gibes | |
vi.嘲笑,嘲弄(gibe的第三人称单数形式) | |
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48 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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49 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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50 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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51 hog | |
n.猪;馋嘴贪吃的人;vt.把…占为己有,独占 | |
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52 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
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53 guffaw | |
n.哄笑;突然的大笑 | |
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54 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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55 musing | |
n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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56 slaying | |
杀戮。 | |
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57 babbles | |
n.胡言乱语( babble的名词复数 );听不清的声音;乱哄哄的说话声v.喋喋不休( babble的第三人称单数 );作潺潺声(如流水);含糊不清地说话;泄漏秘密 | |
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58 covert | |
adj.隐藏的;暗地里的 | |
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59 villains | |
n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 );罪犯;(小说、戏剧等中的)反面人物;淘气鬼 | |
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60 beseech | |
v.祈求,恳求 | |
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61 conqueror | |
n.征服者,胜利者 | |
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62 cowardice | |
n.胆小,怯懦 | |
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63 custody | |
n.监护,照看,羁押,拘留 | |
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64 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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65 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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66 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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67 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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68 tilt | |
v.(使)倾侧;(使)倾斜;n.倾侧;倾斜 | |
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69 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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70 archers | |
n.弓箭手,射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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71 augments | |
增加,提高,扩大( augment的名词复数 ) | |
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72 fray | |
v.争吵;打斗;磨损,磨破;n.吵架;打斗 | |
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