II
Bea and Miles Bjornstam were married in June, a month after “The Girl from Kankakee.” Miles had turned respectable. He had renounced3 his criticisms of state and society; he had given up roving as horse-trader, and wearing red mackinaws in lumber-camps; he had gone to work as engineer in Jackson Elder’s planing-mill; he was to be seen upon the streets endeavoring to be neighborly with suspicious men whom he had taunted4 for years.
Carol was the patroness and manager of the wedding. Juanita Haydock mocked, “You’re a chump to let a good hired girl like Bea go. Besides! How do you know it’s a good thing, her marrying a sassy bum5 like this awful Red Swede person? Get wise! Chase the man off with a mop, and hold onto your Svenska while the holding’s good. Huh? Me go to their Scandahoofian wedding? Not a chance!”
The other matrons echoed Juanita. Carol was dismayed by the casualness of their cruelty, but she persisted. Miles had exclaimed to her, “Jack Elder says maybe he’ll come to the wedding! Gee6, it would be nice to have Bea meet the Boss as a reg’lar married lady. Some day I’ll be so well off that Bea can play with Mrs. Elder — and you! Watch us!”
There was an uneasy knot of only nine guests at the service in the unpainted Lutheran Church — Carol, Kennicott, Guy Pollock, and the Champ Perrys, all brought by Carol; Bea’s frightened rustic7 parents, her cousin Tina, and Pete, Miles’s ex-partner in horse-trading, a surly, hairy man who had bought a black suit and come twelve hundred miles from Spokane for the event.
Miles continuously glanced back at the church door. Jackson Elder did not appear. The door did not once open after the awkward entrance of the first guests. Miles’s hand closed on Bea’s arm.
He had, with Carol’s help, made his shanty8 over into a cottage with white curtains and a canary and a chintz chair.
Carol coaxed9 the powerful matrons to call on Bea. They half scoffed10, half promised to go.
Bea’s successor was the oldish, broad, silent Oscarina, who was suspicious of her frivolous11 mistress for a month, so that Juanita Haydock was able to crow, “There, smarty, I told you you’d run into the Domestic Problem!” But Oscarina adopted Carol as a daughter, and with her as faithful to the kitchen as Bea had been, there was nothing changed in Carol’s life.
III
She was unexpectedly appointed to the town library-board by Ole Jenson, the new mayor. The other members were Dr. Westlake, Lyman Cass, Julius Flickerbaugh the attorney, Guy Pollock, and Martin Mahoney, former livery-stable keeper and now owner of a garage. She was delighted. She went to the first meeting rather condescendingly, regarding herself as the only one besides Guy who knew anything about books or library methods. She was planning to revolutionize the whole system.
Her condescension12 was ruined and her humility13 wholesomely14 increased when she found the board, in the shabby room on the second floor of the house which had been converted into the library, not discussing the weather and longing to play checkers, but talking about books. She discovered that amiable15 old Dr. Westlake read everything in verse and “light fiction”; that Lyman Cass, the veal-faced, bristly-bearded owner of the mill, had tramped through Gibbon, Hume, Grote, Prescott, and the other thick historians; that he could repeat pages from them — and did. When Dr. Westlake whispered to her, “Yes, Lym is a very well-informed man, but he’s modest about it,” she felt uninformed and immodest, and scolded at herself that she had missed the human potentialities in this vast Gopher Prairie. When Dr. Westlake quoted the “Paradiso,” “Don Quixote,” “Wilhelm Meister,” and the Koran, she reflected that no one she knew, not even her father, had read all four.
She came diffidently to the second meeting of the board. She did not plan to revolutionize anything. She hoped that the wise elders might be so tolerant as to listen to her suggestions about changing the shelving of the juveniles16.
Yet after four sessions of the library-board she was where she had been before the first session. She had found that for all their pride in being reading men, Westlake and Cass and even Guy had no conception of making the library familiar to the whole town. They used it, they passed resolutions about it, and they left it as dead as Moses. Only the Henty books and the Elsie books and the latest optimisms by moral female novelists and virile17 clergymen were in general demand, and the board themselves were interested only in old, stilted18 volumes. They had no tenderness for the noisiness of youth discovering great literature.
If she was egotistic about her tiny learning, they were at least as much so regarding theirs. And for all their talk of the need of additional library-tax none of them was willing to risk censure19 by battling for it, though they now had so small a fund that, after paying for rent, heat, light, and Miss Villets’s salary, they had only a hundred dollars a year for the purchase of books.
The Incident of the Seventeen Cents killed her none too enduring interest.
She had come to the board-meeting singing with a plan. She had made a list of thirty European novels of the past ten years, with twenty important books on psychology20, education, and economics which the library lacked. She had made Kennicott promise to give fifteen dollars. If each of the board would contribute the same, they could have the books.
Lym Cass looked alarmed, scratched himself, and protested, “I think it would be a bad precedent21 for the board-members to contribute money — uh — not that I mind, but it wouldn’t be fair — establish precedent. Gracious! They don’t pay us a cent for our services! Certainly can’t expect us to pay for the privilege of serving!”
Only Guy looked sympathetic, and he stroked the pine table and said nothing.
The rest of the meeting they gave to a bellicose22 investigation23 of the fact that there was seventeen cents less than there should be in the Fund. Miss Villets was summoned; she spent half an hour in explosively defending herself; the seventeen cents were gnawed24 over, penny by penny; and Carol, glancing at the carefully inscribed26 list which had been so lovely and exciting an hour before, was silent, and sorry for Miss Villets, and sorrier for herself.
She was reasonably regular in attendance till her two years were up and Vida Sherwin was appointed to the board in her place, but she did not try to be revolutionary. In the plodding27 course of her life there was nothing changed, and nothing new.
IV
Kennicott made an excellent land-deal, but as he told her none of the details, she was not greatly exalted28 or agitated30. What did agitate29 her was his announcement, half whispered and half blurted31, half tender and half coldly medical, that they “ought to have a baby, now they could afford it.” They had so long agreed that “perhaps it would be just as well not to have any children for a while yet,” that childlessness had come to be natural. Now, she feared and longed and did not know; she hesitatingly assented32, and wished that she had not assented.
As there appeared no change in their drowsy33 relations, she forgot all about it, and life was planless.
V
Idling on the porch of their summer cottage at the lake, on afternoons when Kennicott was in town, when the water was glazed34 and the whole air languid, she pictured a hundred escapes: Fifth Avenue in a snow-storm, with limousines35, golden shops, a cathedral spire36. A reed hut on fantastic piles above the mud of a jungle river. A suite37 in Paris, immense high grave rooms, with lambrequins and a balcony. The Enchanted38 Mesa. An ancient stone mill in Maryland, at the turn of the road, between rocky brook39 and abrupt40 hills. An upland moor41 of sheep and flitting cool sunlight. A clanging dock where steel cranes unloaded steamers from Buenos Ayres and Tsing- tao. A Munich concert-hall, and a famous ‘cellist playing — playing to her.
One scene had a persistent42 witchery:
She stood on a terrace overlooking a boulevard by the warm sea. She was certain, though she had no reason for it, that the place was Mentone. Along the drive below her swept barouches, with a mechanical tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, and great cars with polished black hoods43 and engines quiet as the sigh of an old man. In them were women erect44, slender, enameled45, and expressionless as marionettes, their small hands upon parasols, their unchanging eyes always forward, ignoring the men beside them, tall men with gray hair and distinguished46 faces. Beyond the drive were painted sea and painted sands, and blue and yellow pavilions. Nothing moved except the gliding47 carriages, and the people were small and wooden, spots in a picture drenched48 with gold and hard bright blues49. There was no sound of sea or winds; no softness of whispers nor of falling petals50; nothing but yellow and cobalt and staring light, and the never-changing tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot ——
She startled. She whimpered. It was the rapid ticking of the clock which had hypnotized her into hearing the steady hoofs51. No aching color of the sea and pride of supercilious52 people, but the reality of a round-bellied nickel alarm-clock on a shelf against a fuzzy unplaned pine wall, with a stiff gray wash-rag hanging above it and a kerosene-stove standing53 below.
A thousand dreams governed by the fiction she had read, drawn54 from the pictures she had envied, absorbed her drowsy lake afternoons, but always in the midst of them Kennicott came out from town, drew on khaki trousers which were plastered with dry fish-scales, asked, “Enjoying yourself?” and did not listen to her answer.
And nothing was changed, and there was no reason to believe that there ever would be change.
VI
Trains!
At the lake cottage she missed the passing of the trains. She realized that in town she had depended upon them for assurance that there remained a world beyond.
The railroad was more than a means of transportation to Gopher Prairie. It was a new god; a monster of steel limbs, oak ribs55, flesh of gravel56, and a stupendous hunger for freight; a deity57 created by man that he might keep himself respectful to Property, as elsewhere he had elevated and served as tribal58 gods the mines, cotton-mills, motor-factories, colleges, army.
The East remembered generations when there had been no railroad, and had no awe25 of it; but here the railroads had been before time was. The towns had been staked out on barren prairie as convenient points for future train-halts; and back in 1860 and 1870 there had been much profit, much opportunity to found aristocratic families, in the possession of advance knowledge as to where the towns would arise.
If a town was in disfavor, the railroad could ignore it, cut it off from commerce, slay59 it. To Gopher Prairie the tracks were eternal verities60, and boards of railroad directors an omnipotence61. The smallest boy or the most secluded62 grandam could tell you whether No. 32 had a hot-box last Tuesday, whether No. 7 was going to put on an extra day- coach; and the name of the president of the road was familiar to every breakfast table.
Even in this new era of motors the citizens went down to the station to see the trains go through. It was their romance; their only mystery besides mass at the Catholic Church; and from the trains came lords of the outer world — traveling salesmen with piping on their waistcoats, and visiting cousins from Milwaukee.
Gopher Prairie had once been a “division-point.” The roundhouse and repair-shops were gone, but two conductors still retained residence, and they were persons of distinction, men who traveled and talked to strangers, who wore uniforms with brass63 buttons, and knew all about these crooked64 games of con-men. They were a special caste, neither above nor below the Haydocks, but apart, artists and adventurers.
The night telegraph-operator at the railroad station was the most melodramatic figure in town: awake at three in the morning, alone in a room hectic65 with clatter66 of the telegraph key. All night he “talked” to operators twenty, fifty, a hundred miles away. It was always to be expected that he would be held up by robbers. He never was, but round him was a suggestion of masked faces at the window, revolvers, cords binding67 him to a chair, his struggle to crawl to the key before he fainted.
During blizzards68 everything about the railroad was melodramatic. There were days when the town was completely shut off, when they had no mail, no express, no fresh meat, no newspapers. At last the rotary69 snow-plow came through, bucking70 the drifts, sending up a geyser, and the way to the Outside was open again. The brakemen, in mufflers and fur caps, running along the tops of ice-coated freight-cars; the engineers scratching frost from the cab windows and looking out, inscrutable, self-contained, pilots of the prairie sea — they were heroism71, they were to Carol the daring of the quest in a world of groceries and sermons.
To the small boys the railroad was a familiar playground. They climbed the iron ladders on the sides of the box-cars; built fires behind piles of old ties; waved to favorite brakemen. But to Carol it was magic.
She was motoring with Kennicott, the car lumping through darkness, the lights showing mud-puddles and ragged72 weeds by the road. A train coming! A rapid chuck-a-chuck, chuck- a-chuck, chuck-a-chuck. It was hurling73 past — the Pacific Flyer, an arrow of golden flame. Light from the fire-box splashed the under side of the trailing smoke. Instantly the vision was gone; Carol was back in the long darkness; and Kennicott was giving his version of that fire and wonder: “No. 19. Must be ‘bout ten minutes late.”
In town, she listened from bed to the express whistling in the cut a mile north. Uuuuuuu! — faint, nervous, distrait74, horn of the free night riders journeying to the tall towns where were laughter and banners and the sound of bells — Uuuuu! Uuuuu! — the world going by — Uuuuuuu! — fainter, more wistful, gone.
Down here there were no trains. The stillness was very great. The prairie encircled the lake, lay round her, raw, dusty, thick. Only the train could cut it. Some day she would take a train; and that would be a great taking.
VII
She turned to the Chautauqua as she had turned to the dramatic association, to the library-board.
Besides the permanent Mother Chautauqua, in New York, there are, all over these States, commercial Chautauqua companies which send out to every smallest town troupes75 of lecturers and “entertainers” to give a week of culture under canvas. Living in Minneapolis, Carol had never encountered the ambulant Chautauqua, and the announcement of its com- ing to Gopher Prairie gave her hope that others might be doing the vague things which she had attempted. She pictured a condensed university course brought to the people. Mornings when she came in from the lake with Kennicott she saw placards in every shop-window, and strung on a cord across Main Street, a line of pennants76 alternately worded “The Boland Chautauqua COMING!” and “A solid week of inspiration and enjoyment77!” But she was disappointed when she saw the program. It did not seem to be a tabloid78 university; it did not seem to be any kind of a university; it seemed to be a combination of vaudeville79 performance Y. M. C. A. lecture, and the graduation exercises of an elocution class.
She took her doubt to Kennicott. He insisted, “Well, maybe it won’t be so awful darn intellectual, the way you and I might like it, but it’s a whole lot better than nothing.” Vida Sherwin added, “They have some splendid speakers. If the people don’t carry off so much actual information, they do get a lot of new ideas, and that’s what counts.”
During the Chautauqua Carol attended three evening meetings, two afternoon meetings, and one in the morning. She was impressed by the audience: the sallow women in skirts and blouses, eager to be made to think, the men in vests and shirt- sleeves, eager to be allowed to laugh, and the wriggling80 children, eager to sneak81 away. She liked the plain benches, the portable stage under its red marquee, the great tent over all, shadowy above strings82 of incandescent83 bulbs at night and by day casting an amber85 radiance on the patient crowd. The scent84 of dust and trampled86 grass and sun-baked wood gave her an illusion of Syrian caravans87; she forgot the speakers while she listened to noises outside the tent: two farmers talking hoarsely88, a wagon89 creaking down Main Street, the crow of a rooster. She was content. But it was the contentment of the lost hunter stopping to rest.
For from the Chautauqua itself she got nothing but wind and chaff90 and heavy laughter, the laughter of yokels91 at old jokes, a mirthless and primitive92 sound like the cries of beasts on a farm.
These were the several instructors93 in the condensed university’s seven-day course:
Nine lecturers, four of them ex-ministers, and one an ex- congressman94, all of them delivering “inspirational addresses.” The only facts or opinions which Carol derived95 from them were: Lincoln was a celebrated96 president of the United States, but in his youth extremely poor. James J. Hill was the best- known railroad-man of the West, and in his youth extremely poor. Honesty and courtesy in business are preferable to boorishness97 and exposed trickery, but this is not to be taken personally, since all persons in Gopher Prairie are known to be honest and courteous98. London is a large city. A distinguished statesman once taught Sunday School.
Four “entertainers” who told Jewish stories, Irish stories, German stories, Chinese stories, and Tennessee mountaineer stories, most of which Carol had heard.
A “lady elocutionist” who recited Kipling and imitated children.
A lecturer with motion-pictures of an Andean exploration; excellent pictures and a halting narrative99.
Three brass-bands, a company of six opera-singers, a Hawaiian sextette, and four youths who played saxophones and guitars disguised as wash-boards. The most applauded pieces were those, such as the “Lucia” inevitability100, which the audience had heard most often.
The local superintendent101, who remained through the week while the other enlighteners went to other Chautauquas for their daily performances. The superintendent was a bookish, underfed man who worked hard at rousing artificial enthusiasm, at trying to make the audience cheer by dividing them into competitive squads102 and telling them that they were intelligent and made splendid communal103 noises. He gave most of the morning lectures, droning with equal unhappy facility about poetry, the Holy Land, and the injustice104 to employers in any system of profit-sharing.
The final item was a man who neither lectured, inspired, nor entertained; a plain little man with his hands in his pockets. All the other speakers had confessed, “I cannot keep from telling the citizens of your beautiful city that none of the talent on this circuit have found a more charming spot or more enterprising and hospitable105 people.” But the little man suggested that the architecture of Gopher Prairie was haphazard106, and that it was sottish to let the lake-front be monopolized107 by the cinder-heaped wall of the railroad embankment. Afterward108 the audience grumbled109, “Maybe that guy’s got the right dope, but what’s the use of looking on the dark side of things all the time? New ideas are first-rate, but not all this criticism. Enough trouble in life without looking for it!”
Thus the Chautauqua, as Carol saw it. After it, the town felt proud and educated.
VIII
Two weeks later the Great War smote110 Europe.
For a month Gopher Prairie had the delight of shuddering111, then, as the war settled down to a business of trench-fighting, they forgot.
When Carol talked about the Balkans, and the possibility of a German revolution, Kennicott yawned, “Oh yes, it’s a great old scrap112, but it’s none of our business. Folks out here are too busy growing corn to monkey with any fool war that those foreigners want to get themselves into.”
It was Miles Bjornstam who said, “I can’t figure it out. I’m opposed to wars, but still, seems like Germany has got to be licked because them Junkers stands in the way of progress.”
She was calling on Miles and Bea, early in autumn. They had received her with cries, with dusting of chairs, and a running to fetch water for coffee. Miles stood and beamed at her. He fell often and joyously113 into his old irreverence114 about the lords of Gopher Prairie, but always — with a certain difficulty — he added something decorous and appreciative115.
“Lots of people have come to see you, haven’t they?” Carol hinted.
“Why, Bea’s cousin Tina comes in right along, and the foreman at the mill, and —— Oh, we have good times. Say, take a look at that Bea! Wouldn’t you think she was a canary-bird, to listen to her, and to see that Scandahoofian tow- head of hers? But say, know what she is? She’s a mother hen! Way she fusses over me — way she makes old Miles wear a necktie! Hate to spoil her by letting her hear it, but she’s one pretty darn nice — nice —— Hell! What do we care if none of the dirty snobs116 come and call? We’ve got each other.”
Carol worried about their struggle, but she forgot it in the stress of sickness and fear. For that autumn she knew that a baby was coming, that at last life promised to be interesting in the peril117 of the great change.
点击收听单词发音
1 supremely | |
adv.无上地,崇高地 | |
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2 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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3 renounced | |
v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 );宣布放弃;宣布与…决裂;宣布摒弃 | |
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4 taunted | |
嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 ); 嘲弄; 辱骂; 奚落 | |
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5 bum | |
n.臀部;流浪汉,乞丐;vt.乞求,乞讨 | |
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6 gee | |
n.马;int.向右!前进!,惊讶时所发声音;v.向右转 | |
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7 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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8 shanty | |
n.小屋,棚屋;船工号子 | |
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9 coaxed | |
v.哄,用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 );巧言骗取;哄劝,劝诱 | |
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10 scoffed | |
嘲笑,嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 frivolous | |
adj.轻薄的;轻率的 | |
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12 condescension | |
n.自以为高人一等,贬低(别人) | |
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13 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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14 wholesomely | |
卫生地,有益健康地 | |
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15 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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16 juveniles | |
n.青少年( juvenile的名词复数 );扮演少年角色的演员;未成年人 | |
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17 virile | |
adj.男性的;有男性生殖力的;有男子气概的;强有力的 | |
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18 stilted | |
adj.虚饰的;夸张的 | |
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19 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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20 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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21 precedent | |
n.先例,前例;惯例;adj.在前的,在先的 | |
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22 bellicose | |
adj.好战的;好争吵的 | |
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23 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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24 gnawed | |
咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 ); (长时间) 折磨某人; (使)苦恼; (长时间)危害某事物 | |
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25 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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26 inscribed | |
v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
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27 plodding | |
a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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28 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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29 agitate | |
vi.(for,against)煽动,鼓动;vt.搅动 | |
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30 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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31 blurted | |
v.突然说出,脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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34 glazed | |
adj.光滑的,像玻璃的;上过釉的;呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式);上釉于,上光;(目光)变得呆滞无神 | |
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35 limousines | |
n.豪华轿车( limousine的名词复数 );(往返机场接送旅客的)中型客车,小型公共汽车 | |
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36 spire | |
n.(教堂)尖顶,尖塔,高点 | |
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37 suite | |
n.一套(家具);套房;随从人员 | |
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38 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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39 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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40 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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41 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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42 persistent | |
adj.坚持不懈的,执意的;持续的 | |
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43 hoods | |
n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 );头巾;(汽车、童车等的)折合式车篷;汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 );头巾;(汽车、童车等的)折合式车篷;汽车发动机罩 | |
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44 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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45 enameled | |
涂瓷釉于,给…上瓷漆,给…上彩饰( enamel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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47 gliding | |
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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48 drenched | |
adj.湿透的;充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 );在某人(某物)上大量使用(某液体) | |
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49 blues | |
n.抑郁,沮丧;布鲁斯音乐 | |
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50 petals | |
n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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51 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52 supercilious | |
adj.目中无人的,高傲的;adv.高傲地;n.高傲 | |
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53 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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54 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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55 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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56 gravel | |
n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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57 deity | |
n.神,神性;被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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58 tribal | |
adj.部族的,种族的 | |
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59 slay | |
v.杀死,宰杀,杀戮 | |
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60 verities | |
n.真实( verity的名词复数 );事实;真理;真实的陈述 | |
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61 omnipotence | |
n.全能,万能,无限威力 | |
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62 secluded | |
adj.与世隔绝的;隐退的;偏僻的v.使隔开,使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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63 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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64 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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65 hectic | |
adj.肺病的;消耗热的;发热的;闹哄哄的 | |
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66 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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67 binding | |
有约束力的,有效的,应遵守的 | |
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68 blizzards | |
暴风雪( blizzard的名词复数 ); 暴风雪似的一阵,大量(或大批) | |
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69 rotary | |
adj.(运动等)旋转的;轮转的;转动的 | |
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70 bucking | |
v.(马等)猛然弓背跃起( buck的现在分词 );抵制;猛然震荡;马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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71 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
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72 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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73 hurling | |
n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的现在分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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74 distrait | |
adj.心不在焉的 | |
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75 troupes | |
n. (演出的)一团, 一班 vi. 巡回演出 | |
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76 pennants | |
n.校旗( pennant的名词复数 );锦标旗;长三角旗;信号旗 | |
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77 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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78 tabloid | |
adj.轰动性的,庸俗的;n.小报,文摘 | |
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79 vaudeville | |
n.歌舞杂耍表演 | |
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80 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 | |
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81 sneak | |
vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝);偷偷摸摸做;n.潜行;adj.暗中进行 | |
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82 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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83 incandescent | |
adj.遇热发光的, 白炽的,感情强烈的 | |
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84 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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85 amber | |
n.琥珀;琥珀色;adj.琥珀制的 | |
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86 trampled | |
踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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87 caravans | |
(可供居住的)拖车(通常由机动车拖行)( caravan的名词复数 ); 篷车; (穿过沙漠地带的)旅行队(如商队) | |
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88 hoarsely | |
adv.嘶哑地 | |
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89 wagon | |
n.四轮马车,手推车,面包车;无盖运货列车 | |
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90 chaff | |
v.取笑,嘲笑;n.谷壳 | |
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91 yokels | |
n.乡下佬,土包子( yokel的名词复数 ) | |
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92 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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93 instructors | |
指导者,教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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94 Congressman | |
n.(美)国会议员 | |
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95 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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96 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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97 boorishness | |
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98 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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99 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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100 inevitability | |
n.必然性 | |
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101 superintendent | |
n.监督人,主管,总监;(英国)警务长 | |
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102 squads | |
n.(军队中的)班( squad的名词复数 );(暗杀)小组;体育运动的运动(代表)队;(对付某类犯罪活动的)警察队伍 | |
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103 communal | |
adj.公有的,公共的,公社的,公社制的 | |
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104 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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105 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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106 haphazard | |
adj.无计划的,随意的,杂乱无章的 | |
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107 monopolized | |
v.垄断( monopolize的过去式和过去分词 );独占;专卖;专营 | |
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108 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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109 grumbled | |
抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
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110 smote | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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111 shuddering | |
v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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112 scrap | |
n.碎片;废料;v.废弃,报废 | |
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113 joyously | |
ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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114 irreverence | |
n.不尊敬 | |
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115 appreciative | |
adj.有鉴赏力的,有眼力的;感激的 | |
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116 snobs | |
(谄上傲下的)势利小人( snob的名词复数 ); 自高自大者,自命不凡者 | |
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117 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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