He had left his wife sitting on the sofa in the drawing-room, her hands crossed in her lap, manifestly waiting for him to go out. This was not unusual. It happened, in fact, every day.
He could not understand what she found wrong with him. It was not as if he drank! Did he run into debt, or gamble, or swear; was he violent; were his friends rackety; did he stay out at night? On the contrary.
The profound, subdued1 aversion which he felt in his wife was a mystery to him, and a source of the most terrible irritation2. That she had made a mistake, and did not love him, had tried to love him and could not love him, was obviously no reason.
He that could imagine so outlandish a cause for his wife’s not getting on with him was certainly no Forsyte.
Soames was forced, therefore, to set the blame entirely3 down to his wife. He had never met a woman so capable of inspiring affection. They could not go anywhere without his seeing how all the men were attracted by her; their looks, manners, voices, betrayed it; her behaviour under this attention had been beyond reproach. That she was one of those women — not too common in the Anglo-Saxon race — born to be loved and to love, who when not loving are not living, had certainly never even occurred to him. Her power of attraction, he regarded as part of her value as his property; but it made him, indeed, suspect that she could give as well as receive; and she gave him nothing! ‘Then why did she marry me?’ was his continual thought. He had, forgotten his courtship; that year and a half when he had besieged4 and lain in wait for her, devising schemes for her entertainment, giving her presents, proposing to her periodically, and keeping her other admirers away with his perpetual presence. He had forgotten the day when, adroitly5 taking advantage of an acute phase of her dislike to her home surroundings, he crowned his labours with success. If he remembered anything, it was the dainty capriciousness with which the gold-haired, dark-eyed girl had treated him. He certainly did not remember the look on her face — strange, passive, appealing — when suddenly one day she had yielded, and said that she would marry him.
It had been one of those real devoted6 wooings which books and people praise, when the lover is at length rewarded for hammering the iron till it is malleable7, and all must be happy ever after as the wedding bells.
Soames walked eastwards8, mousing doggedly9 along on the shady side.
The house wanted doing, up, unless he decided10 to move into the country, and build.
For the hundredth time that month he turned over this problem. There was no use in rushing into things! He was very comfortably off, with an increasing income getting on for three thousand a year; but his invested capital was not perhaps so large as his father believed — James had a tendency to expect that his children should be better off than they were. ‘I can manage eight thousand easily enough,’ he thought, ‘without calling in either Robertson’s or Nicholl’s.’
He had stopped to look in at a picture shop, for Soames was an ‘amateur’ of pictures, and had a little-room in No. 62, Montpellier Square, full of canvases, stacked against the wall, which he had no room to hang. He brought them home with him on his way back from the City, generally after dark, and would enter this room on Sunday afternoons, to spend hours turning the pictures to the light, examining the marks on their backs, and occasionally making notes.
They were nearly all landscapes with figures in the foreground, a sign of some mysterious revolt against London, its tall houses, its interminable streets, where his life and the lives of his breed and class were passed. Every now and then he would take one or two pictures away with him in a cab, and stop at Jobson’s on his way into the City.
He rarely showed them to anyone; Irene, whose opinion he secretly respected and perhaps for that reason never solicited11, had only been into the room on rare occasions, in discharge of some wifely duty. She was not asked to look at the pictures, and she never did. To Soames this was another grievance12. He hated that pride of hers, and secretly dreaded13 it.
In the plate-glass window of the picture shop his image stood and looked at him.
His sleek14 hair under the brim of the tall hat had a sheen like the hat itself; his cheeks, pale and flat, the line of his clean-shaven lips, his firm chin with its greyish shaven tinge15, and the buttoned strictness of his black cut-away coat, conveyed an appearance of reserve and secrecy16, of imperturbable17, enforced composure; but his eyes, cold — grey, strained — looking, with a line in the brow between them, examined him wistfully, as if they knew of a secret weakness.
He noted18 the subjects of the pictures, the names of the painters, made a calculation of their values, but without the satisfaction he usually derived19 from this inward appraisement20, and walked on.
No. 62 would do well enough for another year, if he decided to build! The times were good for building, money had not been so dear for years; and the site he had seen at Robin21 Hill, when he had gone down there in the spring to inspect the Nicholl mortgage — what could be better! Within twelve miles of Hyde Park Corner, the value of the land certain to go up, would always fetch more than he gave for it; so that a house, if built in really good style, was a first-class investment.
The notion of being the one member of his family with a country house weighed but little with him; for to a true Forsyte, sentiment, even the sentiment of social position, was a luxury only to be indulged in after his appetite for more material pleasure had been satisfied.
To get Irene out of London, away from opportunities of going about and seeing people, away from her friends and those who put ideas into her head! That was the thing! She was too thick with June! June disliked him. He returned the sentiment. They were of the same blood.
It would be everything to get Irene out of town. The house would please her she would enjoy messing about with the decoration, she was very artistic22!
The house must be in good style, something that would always be certain to command a price, something unique, like that last house of Parkes, which had a tower; but Parkes had himself said that his architect was ruinous. You never knew where you were with those fellows; if they had a name they ran you into no end of expense and were conceited23 into the bargain.
And a common architect was no good — the memory of Parkes’ tower precluded24 the employment of a common architect:
This was why he had thought of Bosinney. Since the dinner at Swithin’s he had made enquiries, the result of which had been meagre, but encouraging: “One of the new school.”
“Clever?”
“As clever as you like — a bit — a bit up in the air!”
He had not been able to discover what houses Bosinney had built, nor what his charges were. The impression he gathered was that he would be able to make his own terms. The more he reflected on the idea, the more he liked it. It would be keeping the thing in the family, with Forsytes almost an instinct; and he would be able to get ‘favoured-nation,’ if not nominal25 terms — only fair, considering the chance to Bosinney of displaying his talents, for this house must be no common edifice26.
Soames reflected complacently27 on the work it would be sure to bring the young man; for, like every Forsyte, he could be a thorough optimist28 when there was anything to be had out of it.
Bosinney’s office was in Sloane Street, close at, hand, so that he would be able to keep his eye continually on the plans.
Again, Irene would not be to likely to object to leave London if her greatest friend’s lover were given the job. June’s marriage might depend on it. Irene could not decently stand in the way of June’s marriage; she would never do that, he knew her too well. And June would be pleased; of this he saw the advantage.
Bosinney looked clever, but he had also — and — it was one of his great attractions — an air as if he did not quite know on which side his bread were buttered; he should be easy to deal with in money matters. Soames made this reflection in no defrauding29 spirit; it was the natural attitude of his mind — of the mind of any good business man — of all those thousands of good business men through whom he was threading his way up Ludgate Hill.
Thus he fulfilled the inscrutable laws of his great class — of human nature itself — when he reflected, with a sense of comfort, that Bosinney would be easy to deal with in money matters.
While he elbowed his way on, his eyes, which he usually kept fixed30 on the ground before his feet, were attracted upwards31 by the dome32 of St. Paul’s. It had a peculiar33 fascination34 for him, that old dome, and not once, but twice or three times a week, would he halt in his daily pilgrimage to enter beneath and stop in the side aisles35 for five or ten minutes, scrutinizing36 the names and epitaphs on the monuments. The attraction for him of this great church was inexplicable37, unless it enabled him to concentrate his thoughts on the business of the day. If any affair of particular moment, or demanding peculiar acuteness, was weighing on his mind, he invariably went in, to wander with mouse-like attention from epitaph to epitaph. Then retiring in the same noiseless way, he would hold steadily38 on up Cheapside, a thought more of dogged purpose in his gait, as though he had seen something which he had made up his mind to buy.
He went in this morning, but, instead of stealing from monument to monument, turned his eyes upwards to the columns and spacings of the walls, and remained motionless.
His uplifted face, with the awed39 and wistful look which faces take on themselves in church, was whitened to a chalky hue40 in the vast building. His gloved hands were clasped in front over the handle of his umbrella. He lifted them. Some sacred inspiration perhaps had come to him.
‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘I must have room to hang my pictures.
That evening, on his return from the City, he called at Bosinney’s office. He found the architect in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a pipe, and ruling off lines on a plan. Soames refused a drink, and came at once to the point.
“If you’ve nothing better to do on Sunday, come down with me to Robin Hill, and give me your opinion on a building site.”
“Are you going to build?”
“Perhaps,” said Soames; “but don’t speak of it. I just want your opinion.”
“Quite so,” said the architect.
Soames peered about the room.
“You’re rather high up here,” he remarked.
Any information he could gather about the nature and scope of Bosinney’s business would be all to the good.
“It does well enough for me so far,” answered the architect. “You’re accustomed to the swells41.”
He knocked out his pipe, but replaced it empty between his teeth; it assisted him perhaps to carry on the conversation. Soames noted a hollow in each cheek, made as it were by suction.
“What do you pay for an office like this?” said he.
“Fifty too much,” replied Bosinney.
This answer impressed Soames favourably42.
“I suppose it is dear,” he said. “I’ll call for you — on Sunday about eleven.”
The following Sunday therefore he called for Bosinney in a hansom, and drove him to the station. On arriving at Robin Hill, they found no cab, and started to walk the mile and a half to the site.
It was the 1st of August — a perfect day, with a burning sun and cloudless sky — and in the straight, narrow road leading up the hill their feet kicked up a yellow dust.
“Gravel43 soil,” remarked Soames, and sideways he glanced at the coat Bosinney wore. Into the side-pockets of this coat were thrust bundles of papers, and under one arm was carried a queer-looking stick. Soames noted these and other peculiarities44.
No one but a clever man, or, indeed, a buccaneer, would have taken such liberties with his appearance; and though these eccentricities45 were revolting to Soames, he derived a certain satisfaction from them, as evidence of qualities by which he must inevitably46 profit. If the fellow could build houses, what did his clothes matter?
“I told you,” he said, “that I want this house to be a surprise, so don’t say anything about it. I never talk of my affairs until they’re carried through.”
Bosinney nodded.
“Let women into your plans,” pursued Soames, “and you never know where it’ll end.”
“Ah!” Said Bosinney, “women are the devil!”
This feeling had long been at the — bottom of Soames’s heart; he had never, however, put it into words.
“Oh!” he Muttered, “so you’re beginning to. . . . ” He stopped, but added, with an uncontrollable burst of spite: “June’s got a temper of her own — always had.”
“A temper’s not a bad thing in an angel.”
Soames had never called Irene an angel. He could not so have violated his best instincts, letting other people into the secret of her value, and giving himself away. He made no reply.
They had struck into a half-made road across a warren. A cart-track led at right-angles to a gravel pit, beyond which the chimneys of a cottage rose amongst a clump47 of trees at the border of a thick wood. Tussocks of feathery grass covered the rough surface of the ground, and out of these the larks48 soared into the hate of sunshine. On the far horizon, over a countless49 succession of fields and hedges, rose a line of downs.
Soames led till they had crossed to the far side, and there he stopped. It was the chosen site; but now that he was about to divulge50 the spot to another he had become uneasy.
“The agent lives in that cottage,” he said; “he’ll give us some lunch — we’d better have lunch before we go into this matter.”
He again took the lead to the cottage, where the agent, a tall man named Oliver, with a heavy face and grizzled beard, welcomed them. During lunch, which Soames hardly touched, he kept looking at Bosinney, and once or twice passed his silk handkerchief stealthily over his forehead. The meal came to an end at last, and Bosinney rose.
“I dare say you’ve got business to talk over,” he said; “I’ll just go and nose about a bit.” Without waiting for a reply he strolled out.
Soames was solicitor51 to this estate, and he spent nearly an hour in the agent’s company, looking at ground-plans and discussing the Nicholl and other mortgages; it was as it were by an afterthought that he brought up the question of the building site.
“Your people,” he said, “ought to come down in their price to me, considering that I shall be the first to build.”
Oliver shook his head.
The site you’ve fixed on, Sir, he said, “is the cheapest we’ve got. Sites at the top of the slope are dearer by a good bit.”
“Mind,” said Soames, “I’ve not decided; it’s quite possible I shan’t build at all. The ground rent’s very high.”
“Well, Mr. Forsyte, I shall be sorry if you go off, and I think you’ll make a mistake, Sir. There’s not a bit of land near London with such a view as this, nor one that’s cheaper, all things considered; we’ve only to advertise, to get a mob of people after it.”
They looked at each other. Their faces said very plainly: ‘I respect you as a man of business; and you can’t expect me to believe a word you say.’
Well, repeated Soames, “I haven’t made up my mind; the thing will very likely go off!” With these words, taking up his umbrella, he put his chilly52 hand into the agent’s, withdrew it without the faintest pressure, and went out into the sun.
He walked slowly back towards the site in deep thought. His instinct told him that what the agent had said was true. A cheap site. And the beauty of it was, that he knew the agent did not really think it cheap; so that his own intuitive knowledge was a victory over the agent’s.
‘Cheap or not, I mean to have it,’ he thought.
The larks sprang up in front of his feet, the air was full of butterflies, a sweet fragrance53 rose from the wild grasses. The sappy scent54 of the bracken stole forth55 from the wood, where, hidden in the depths, pigeons were cooing, and from afar on the warm breeze, came the rhythmic56 chiming of church bells.
Soames walked with his eyes on the ground, his lips opening and closing as though in anticipation57 of a delicious morsel58. But when he arrived at the site, Bosinney was nowhere to be seen. After waiting some little time, he crossed the warren in the direction of the slope. He would have shouted, but dreaded the sound of his voice.
The warren was as lonely as a prairie, its silence only broken by the rustle59 of rabbits bolting to their holes, and the song of the larks.
Soames, the pioneer-leader of the great Forsyte army advancing to the civilization of this wilderness60, felt his spirit daunted61 by the loneliness, by the invisible singing, and the hot, sweet air. He had begun to retrace62 his steps when he at last caught sight of Bosinney.
The architect was sprawling63 under a large oak tree, whose trunk, with a huge spread of bough64 and foliage65, ragged66 with age, stood on the verge67 of the rise.
Soames had to touch him on the shoulder before he looked up.
“Hallo! Forsyte,” he said, “I’ve found the very place for your house! Look here!”
Soames stood and looked, then he said, coldly:
“You may be very clever, but this site will cost me half as much again.”
“Hang the cost, man. Look at the view!”
Almost from their feet stretched ripe corn, dipping to a small dark copse beyond. A plain of fields and hedges spread to the distant grey-bluedowns. In a silver streak68 to the right could be seen the line of the river.
The sky was so blue, and the sun so bright, that an eternal summer seemed to reign69 over this prospect70. Thistledown floated round them, enraptured71 by the serenity72, of the ether. The heat danced over the corn, and, pervading73 all, was a soft, insensible hum, like the murmur74 of bright minutes holding revel75 between earth and heaven.
Soames looked. In spite of himself, something swelled76 in his breast. To live here in sight of all this, to be able to point it out to his friends, to talk of it, to possess it! His cheeks flushed. The warmth, the radiance, the glow, were sinking into his senses as, four years before, Irene’s beauty had sunk into his senses and made him long for her. He stole a glance at Bosinney, whose eyes, the eyes of the coachman’s ‘half-tame leopard,’ seemed running wild over the landscape. The sunlight had caught the promontories77 of the fellow’s face, the bumpy78 cheekbones, the point of his chin, the vertical79 ridges80 above his brow; and Soames watched this rugged81, enthusiastic, careless face with an unpleasant feeling.
A long, soft ripple82 of wind flowed over the corn, and brought a puff83 of warm air into their faces.
“I could build you a teaser here,” said Bosinney, breaking the silence at last.
“I dare say,” replied Soames, drily. “You haven’t got to pay for it.”
“For about eight thousand I could build you a palace.”
Soames had become very pale — a struggle was going on within him. He dropped his eyes, and said stubbornly:
“I can’t afford it.”
And slowly, with his mousing walk, he led the way back to the first site.
They spent some time there going into particulars of the projected house, and then Soames returned to the agent’s cottage.
He came out in about half an hour, and, joining Bosinney, started for the station.
“Well,” he said, hardly opening his lips, “I’ve taken that site of yours, after all.”
And again he was silent, confusedly debating how it was that this fellow, whom by habit he despised, should have overborne his own decision.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
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： |
|
|
|
|
2
irritation
|
|
| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
besieged
|
|
| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
adroitly
|
|
| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
malleable
|
|
| adj.(金属)可锻的;有延展性的；(性格)可训练的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
eastwards
|
|
| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
doggedly
|
|
| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
solicited
|
|
| v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
grievance
|
|
| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
dreaded
|
|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
sleek
|
|
| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
tinge
|
|
| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
secrecy
|
|
| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
imperturbable
|
|
| adj.镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
appraisement
|
|
| n.评价，估价；估值 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
robin
|
|
| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
conceited
|
|
| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
precluded
|
|
| v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 )；排除；妨碍；使…行不通 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
nominal
|
|
| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
edifice
|
|
| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
complacently
|
|
| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
optimist
|
|
| n.乐观的人，乐观主义者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
defrauding
|
|
| v.诈取，骗取( defraud的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
upwards
|
|
| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
dome
|
|
| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
fascination
|
|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
aisles
|
|
| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
scrutinizing
|
|
| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
awed
|
|
| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
hue
|
|
| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
swells
|
|
| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
favourably
|
|
| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
gravel
|
|
| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
peculiarities
|
|
| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
eccentricities
|
|
| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
inevitably
|
|
| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
clump
|
|
| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
larks
|
|
| n.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的名词复数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了v.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的第三人称单数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
countless
|
|
| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
divulge
|
|
| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
solicitor
|
|
| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
chilly
|
|
| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
fragrance
|
|
| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
scent
|
|
| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
rhythmic
|
|
| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
anticipation
|
|
| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
morsel
|
|
| n.一口，一点点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
rustle
|
|
| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
daunted
|
|
| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
retrace
|
|
| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
sprawling
|
|
| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
bough
|
|
| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
foliage
|
|
| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
verge
|
|
| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
streak
|
|
| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
enraptured
|
|
| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
serenity
|
|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
pervading
|
|
| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
revel
|
|
| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
swelled
|
|
| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
promontories
|
|
| n.岬，隆起，海角( promontory的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
78
bumpy
|
|
| adj.颠簸不平的，崎岖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
vertical
|
|
| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
ridges
|
|
| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
rugged
|
|
| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
ripple
|
|
| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
puff
|
|
| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |