But, if undue18 partialities could be supposed to influence me, Monsieur du Miroir might hope to profit rather than to suffer by them, for in the whole of our long intercourse19 we have seldom had the slightest disagreement; and, moreover, there are reasons for supposing him a near relative of mine, and consequently entitled to the best word that I can give him. He bears indisputably a strong personal resemblance to myself, and generally puts on mourning at the funerals of the family. On the other hand, his name would indicate a French descent; in which case, infinitely20 preferring that my blood should flow from a bold British and pure Puritan source, I beg leave to disclaim21 all kindred with Monsieur du Miroir. Some genealogists trace his origin to Spain, and dub22 him a knight23 of the order of the CABALLEROS DE LOS ESPEJOZ, one of whom was overthrown24 by Don Quixote. But what says Monsieur du Miroir himself of his paternity and his fatherland? Not a word did he ever say about the matter; and herein, perhaps, lies one of his most especial reasons for maintaining such a vexatious mystery, that he lacks the faculty25 of speech to expound26 it. His lips are sometimes seen to move; his eyes and countenance27 are alive with shifting expression, as if corresponding by visible hieroglyphics28 to his modulated29 breath; and anon he will seem to pause with as satisfied an air as if he had been talking excellent sense. Good sense or bad, Monsieur du Miroir is the sole judge of his own conversational30 powers, never having whispered so much as a syllable31 that reached the ears of any other auditor32. Is he really dumb? or is all the world deaf? or is it merely a piece of my friend’s waggery, meant for nothing but to make fools of us? If so, he has the joke all to himself.
This dumb devil which possesses Monsieur do Miroir is, I am persuaded, the sole reason that he does not make me the most flattering protestations of friendship. In many particulars — indeed, as to all his cognizable and not preternatural points, except that, once in a great while, I speak a word or two — there exists the greatest apparent sympathy between us. Such is his confidence in my taste that he goes astray from the general fashion and copies all his dresses after mine. I never try on a new garment without expecting to meet, Monsieur du Miroir in one of the same pattern. He has duplicates of all my waistcoats and cravats34, shirt-bosoms of precisely35 a similar plait, and an old coat for private wear, manufactured, I suspect, by a Chinese tailor, in exact imitation of a beloved old coat of mine, with a facsimile, stitch by stitch, of a patch upon the elbow. In truth, the singular and minute coincidences that occur, both in the accidents of the passing day and the serious events of our lives, remind me of those doubtful legends of lovers, or twin children, twins of fate, who have lived, enjoyed, suffered, and died in unison36, each faithfully repeating the last tremor37 of the other’s breath, though separated by vast tracts38 of sea and land. Strange to say, my incommodities belong equally to my companion, though the burden is nowise alleviated39 by his participation40. The other morning, after a night of torment41 from the toothache, I met Monsieur du Miroir with such a swollen42 anguish43 in his cheek that my own pangs44 were redoubled, as were also his, if I might judge by a fresh contortion45 of his visage. All the inequalities of my spirits are communicated to him, causing the unfortunate Monsieur du Miroir to mope and scowl46 through a whole summer’s day, or to laugh as long, for no better reason than the gay or gloomy crotchets of my brain. Once we were joint sufferers of a three months’ sickness, and met like mutual47 ghosts in the first days of convalescence48. Whenever I have been in love, Monsieur du Miroir has looked passionate49 and tender; and never did my mistress discard me, but this too susceptible50 gentleman grew lackadaisical51. His temper, also, rises to blood heat, fever heat, or boiling-water beat, according to the measure of any wrong which might seem to have fallen entirely52 on myself. I have sometimes been calmed down by the sight of my own inordinate53 wrath54 depicted55 on his frowning brow. Yet, however prompt in taking up my quarrels, I cannot call to mind that he ever struck a downright blow in my behalf; nor, in fact, do I perceive that any real and tangible56 good has resulted from his constant interference in my affairs; so that, in my distrustful moods, I am apt to suspect Monsieur du Miroir’s sympathy to be mere33 outward show, not a whit57 better nor worse than other people’s sympathy. Nevertheless, as mortal man must have something in the guise58 of sympathy — and whether the true metal, or merely copper-washed, is of less moment — I choose rather to content myself with Monsieur du Miroir’s, such as it is, than to seek the sterling59 coin, and perhaps miss even the counterfeit60.
In my age of vanities I have often seen him in the ballroom61, and might again were I to seek him there. We have encountered each other at the Tremont Theatre, where, however, he took his seat neither in the dress-circle, pit, nor upper regions, nor threw a single glance at the stage, though the brightest star, even Fanny Kemble herself, might be culminating there. No; this whimsical friend of mine chose to linger in the saloon, near one of the large looking-glasses which throw back their pictures of the illuminated62 room. He is so full of these unaccountable eccentricities63 that I never like to notice Monsieur du Miroir, nor to acknowledge the slightest connection with him, in places of public resort. He, however, has no scruple64 about claiming my acquaintance, even when his common-sense, if he had any, might teach him that I would as willingly exchange a nod with the Old Nick. It was but the other day that he got into a large brass65 kettle at the entrance of a hardware-store, and thrust his head, the moment afterwards, into a bright, new warming-pan, whence he gave me a most merciless look of recognition. He smiled, and so did I; but these childish tricks make decent people rather shy of Monsieur du Miroir, and subject him to more dead cuts than any other gentleman in town.
One of this singular person’s most remarkable peculiarities66 is his fondness for water, wherein he excels any temperance man whatever. His pleasure, it must be owned, is not so much to drink it (in which respect a very moderate quantity will answer his occasions) as to souse himself over head and ears wherever he may meet with it. Perhaps he is a merman, or born of a mermaid’s marriage with a mortal, and thus amphibious by hereditary67 right, like the children which the old river deities68, or nymphs of fountains, gave to earthly love. When no cleaner bathing-place happened to be at hand, I have seen the foolish fellow in a horse-pond. Some times he refreshes himself in the trough of a town-pump, without caring what the people think about him. Often, while carefully picking my way along the street after a heavy shower, I have been scandalized to see Monsieur du Miroir, in full dress, paddling from one mud-puddle to another, and plunging69 into the filthy70 depths of each. Seldom have I peeped into a well without discerning this ridiculous gentleman at the bottom, whence he gazes up, as through a long telescopic tube, and probably makes discoveries among the stars by daylight. Wandering along lonesome paths or in pathless forests, when I have come to virgin71 fountains of which it would have been pleasant to deem myself the first discoverer, I have started to find Monsieur du Miroir there before me. The solitude72 seemed lonelier for his presence. I have leaned from a precipice73 that frowns over Lake George, which the French call nature’s font of sacramental water, and used it in their log-churches here and their cathedrals beyond the sea, and seen him far below in that pure element. At Niagara, too, where I would gladly have forgotten both myself and him, I could not help observing my companion in the smooth water on the very verge74 of the cataract75 just above the Table Rock. Were I to reach the sources of the Nile, I should expect to meet him there. Unless he be another Ladurlad, whose garments the depth of ocean could not moisten, it is difficult to conceive how he keeps himself in any decent pickle76; though I am bound to confess that his clothes seem always as dry and comfortable as my own. But, as a friend, I could wish that he would not so often expose himself in liquor.
All that I have hitherto related may be classed among those little personal oddities which agreeably diversify77 the surface of society, and, though they may sometimes annoy us, yet keep our daily intercourse fresher and livelier than if they were done away. By an occasional hint, however, I have endeavored to pave the way for stranger things to come, which, had they been disclosed at once, Monsieur du Miroir might have been deemed a shadow, and myself a person of no veracity78, and this truthful79 history a fabulous80 legend. But, now that the reader knows me worthy81 of his confidence, I will begin to make him stare.
To speak frankly82, then, I could bring the most astounding83 proofs that Monsieur du Miroir is at least a conjurer, if not one of that unearthly tribe with whom conjurers deal. He has inscrutable methods of conveying himself from place to place with the rapidity of the swiftest steamboat or rail-car. Brick walls and oaken doors and iron bolts are no impediment to his passage. Here in my chamber84, for instance, as the evening deepens into night, I sit alone — the key turned and withdrawn85 from the lock, the keyhole stuffed with paper to keep out a peevish86 little blast of wind. Yet, lonely as I seem, were I to lift one of the lamps and step five paces eastward87, Monsieur du Miroir would be sure to meet me with a lamp also in his hand; and were I to take the stage-coach tomorrow, without giving him the least hint of my design, and post onward88 till the week’s end, at whatever hotel I might find myself I should expect to share my private apartment with this inevitable89 Monsieur du Miroir. Or, out of a mere wayward fantasy, were I to go, by moonlight, and stand beside the stone Pout90 of the Shaker Spring at Canterbury, Monsieur du Miroir would set forth91 on the same fool’s errand, and would not fail to meet me there. Shall I heighten the reader’s wonder? While writing these latter sentences, I happened to glance towards the large, round globe of one off the brass andirons, and lo! a miniature apparition92 of Monsieur du Miroir, with his face widened and grotesquely93 contorted, as if he were making fun of my amazement94! But he has played so many of these jokes that they begin to lose their effect. Once, presumptuous95 that he was, he stole into the heaven of a young lady’s eyes; so that, while I gazed and was dreaming only of herself, I found him also in my dream. Years have so changed him since that he need never hope to enter those heavenly orbs96 again.
From these veritable statements it will be readily concluded that, had Monsieur du Miroir played such pranks97 in old witch times, matters might have gone hard with him; at least if the constable98 and posse comitatus could have executed a warrant, or the jailer had been cunning enough to keep him. But it has often occurred to me as a very singular circumstance, and as betokening99 either a temperament100 morbidly101 suspicious or some weighty cause of apprehension102, that he never trusts himself within the grasp even of his most intimate friend. If you step forward to meet him, he readily advances; if you offer him your hand, he extends his own with an air of the utmost frankness; but, though you calculate upon a hearty103 shake, you do not get hold of his little finger. Ah, this Monsieur du Miroir is a slippery fellow!
These truly are matters of special admiration104. After vainly endeavoring, by the strenuous105 exertion106 of my own wits, to gain a satisfactory insight into the character of Monsieur du Miroir, I had recourse to certain wise men, and also to books of abstruse107 philosophy, seeking who it was that haunted me, and why. I heard long lectures and read huge volumes with little profit beyond the knowledge that many former instances are recorded, in successive ages, of similar connections between ordinary mortals and beings possessing the attributes of Monsieur du Miroir. Some now alive, perhaps, besides myself, have such attendants. Would that Monsieur du Miroir could be persuaded to transfer his attachment108 to one of those, and allow some other of his race to assume the situation that he now holds in regard to me! If I must needs have so intrusive109 an intimate, who stares me in the face in my closest privacy, and follows me even to my bedchamber, I should prefer — scandal apart — the laughing bloom of a young girl to the dark and bearded gravity of my present companion. But such desires are never to be gratified. Though the members of Monsieur du Miroir’s family have been accused, perhaps justly, of visiting their friends often in splendid halls, and seldom in darksome dungeons110, yet they exhibit a rare constancy to the objects of their first attachment, however unlovely in person or unamiable in disposition111 — however unfortunate, or even infamous112, and deserted113 by all the world besides. So will it be with my associate. Our fates appear inseparably blended. It is my belief, as I find him mingling114 with my earliest recollections, that we came into existence together, as my shadow follows me into the sunshine, and that hereafter, as heretofore, the brightness or gloom of my fortunes will shine upon, or darken, the face of Monsieur du Miroir. As we have been young together, and as it is now near the summer noon with both of us, so, if long life be granted, shall each count his own wrinkles on the other’s brow and his white hairs on the other’s head. And when the coffin-lid shall have closed over me and that face and form, which, more truly than the lover swears it to his beloved, are the sole light of his existence — when they shall be laid in that dark chamber, whither his swift and secret footsteps cannot bring him — then what is to become of poor Monsieur du Miroir? Will he have the fortitude115, with my other friends, to take a last look at my pale countenance? Will he walk foremost in the funeral train? Will he come often and haunt around my grave, and weed away the nettles116, and plant flowers amid the verdure, and scrape the moss117 out of the letters of my burial-stone? Will he linger where I have lived, to remind the neglectful world of one who staked much to win a name, but will not then care whether he lost or won?
Not thus will he prove his deep fidelity118. O, what terror, if this friend of mine, after our last farewell, should step into the crowded street, or roam along our old frequented path by the still waters, or sit down in the domestic circle where our faces are most familiar and beloved! No; but when the rays of heaven shall bless me no more, nor the thoughtful lamplight gleam upon my studies, nor the cheerful fireside gladden the meditative119 man, then, his task fulfilled, shall this mysterious being vanish from the earth forever. He will pass to the dark realm of nothingness, but will not find me there.
There is something fearful in bearing such a relation to a creature so imperfectly known, and in the idea that, to a certain extent, all which concerns myself will be reflected in its consequences upon him. When we feel that another is to share the self-same fortune with ourselves we judge more severely120 of our prospects121, and withhold122 our confidence from that delusive123 magic which appears to shed an infallibility of happiness over our own pathway. Of late years, indeed, there has been much to sadden my intercourse with Monsieur de Miroir. Had not our union been a necessary condition of our life, we must have been estranged124 ere now. In early youth, when my affections were warm and free, I loved him well, and could always spend a pleasant hour in his society, chiefly because it gave me an excellent opinion of myself. Speechless as he was, Monsieur du Miroir had then a most agreeable way of calling me a handsome fellow; and I, of course, returned the compliment; so that, the more we kept each other’s company, the greater coxcombs we mutually grew. But neither of us need apprehend125 any such misfortune now. When we chance to meet — for it is chance oftener than design — each glances sadly at the other’s forehead, dreading126 wrinkles there; and at our temples, whence the hair is thinning away too early; and at the sunken eyes, which no longer shed a gladsome light over the whole face. I involuntarily peruse127 him as a record of my heavy youth, which has been wasted in sluggishness128 for lack of hope and impulse, or equally thrown away in toil129 that had no wise motive130 and has accomplished131 no good end. I perceive that the tranquil132 gloom of a disappointed soul has darkened through his countenance, where the blackness of the future seems to mingle133 with the shadows of the past, giving him the aspect of a fated man. Is it too wild a thought that my fate may have assumed this image of myself, and therefore haunts me with such inevitable pertinacity134, originating every act which it appears to imitate, while it deludes135 me by pretending to share the events of which it is merely the emblem136 and the prophecy? I must banish137 this idea, or it will throw too deep an awe138 round my companion. At our next meeting, especially if it be at midnight or in solitude, I fear that I shall glance aside and shudder139; in which case, as Monsieur du Miroir is extremely sensitive to ill-treatment, he also will avert140 his eyes and express horror or disgust.
But no; this is unworthy of me. As of old I sought his society for the bewitching dreams of woman’s love which he inspired, and because I fancied a bright fortune in his aspect, so now will I hold daily and long communion with hint for the sake of the stern lessons that he will teach my manhood. With folded arms we will sit face to face, and lengthen141 out our silent converse142 till a wiser cheerfulness shall have been wrought143 from the very texture144 of despondency. He will say, perhaps indignantly, that it befits only him to mourn for the decay of outward grace, which, while he possessed145 it, was his all. But have not you, he will ask, a treasure in reserve, to which every year may add far more value than age or death itself can snatch from that miserable146 clay? He will tell me that though the bloom of life has been nipped with a frost, yet the soul must not sit shivering in its cell, but bestir itself manfully, and kindle147 a genial148 warmth from its own exercise against; the autumnal and the wintry atmosphere. And I, in return, will bid him be of good cheer, nor take it amiss that I must blanch149 his locks and wrinkle him up like a wilted150 apple, since it shall be my endeavor so to beautify his face with intellect and mild benevolence151 that he shall profit immensely by the change. But here a smile will glimmer152 somewhat sadly over Monsieur du Miroir’s visage.
When this subject shall have been sufficiently153 discussed we may take up others as important. Reflecting upon his power of following me to the remotest regions and into the deepest privacy, I will compare the attempt to escape him to the hopeless race that men sometimes run with memory, or their own hearts, or their moral selves, which, though burdened with cares enough to crush an elephant, will never be one step behind. I will be self-contemplative, as nature bids me, and make him the picture or visible type of what I muse154 upon, that my mind may not wander so vaguely155 as heretofore, chasing its own shadow through a chaos156 and catching157 only the monsters that abide158 there. Then will we turn our thoughts to the spiritual world, of the reality of which my companions shall furnish me an illustration, if not an argument; for, as we have only the testimony of the eye to Monsieur du Miroir’s existence, while all the other senses would fail to inform us that such a figure stands within arm’s-length, wherefore should there not be beings innumerable close beside us, and filling heaven and earth with their multitude, yet of whom no corporeal159 perception can take cognizance? A blind man might as reasonably deny that Monsieur du Miroir exists, as we, because the Creator has hitherto withheld160 the spiritual perception, can therefore contend that there are no spirits. O, there are! And, at this moment, when the subject of which I write has grown strong within me and surrounded itself with those solemn and awful associations which might have seemed most alien to it, I could fancy that Monsieur du Miroir himself is a wanderer from the spiritual world, with nothing human except his delusive garment of visibility. Methinks I should tremble now were his wizard power of gliding161 through all impediments in search of me to place him suddenly before my eyes.
Ha! What is yonder? Shape of mystery, did the tremor of my heartstrings vibrate to thine own, and call thee from thy home among the dancers of the northern lights, and shadows flung from departed sunshine, and giant spectres that appear on clouds at daybreak and affright the climber of the Alps? In truth it startled me, as I threw a wary162 glance eastward across the chamber, to discern an unbidden guest with his eyes bent163 on mine. The identical Monsieur Du Miroir! Still there he sits and returns my gaze with as much of awe and curiosity as if he, too, had spent a solitary164 evening in fantastic musings and made me his theme. So inimitably does he counterfeit that I could almost doubt which of us is the visionary form, or whether each be not the other’s mystery, and both twin brethren of one fate, in mutually reflected spheres. O friend, canst thou not hear and answer me? Break down the barrier between us! Grasp my hand! Speak! Listen! A few words, perhaps, might satisfy the feverish165 yearning166 of my soul for some master-thought that should guide me through this labyrinth167 of life, teaching wherefore I was born, and how to do my task on earth, and what is death. Alas168! Even that unreal image should forget to ape me and smile at these vain questions. Thus do mortals deify, as it were, a mere shadow of themselves, a spectre of human reason, and ask of that to unveil the mysteries which Divine Intelligence has revealed so far as needful to our guidance, and hid the rest.
Farewell, Monsieur du Miroir. Of you, perhaps, as of many men, it may be doubted whether you are the wiser, though your whole business is reflection.
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1
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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incited
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| 刺激，激励，煽动( incite的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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6
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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7
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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8
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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diffuses
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| （使光）模糊，漫射，漫散( diffuse的第三人称单数 )； （使）扩散； （使）弥漫； （使）传播 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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17
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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18
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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disclaim
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| v.放弃权利，拒绝承认 | |
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dub
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| vt.（以某种称号）授予，给...起绰号，复制 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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expound
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| v.详述；解释；阐述 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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hieroglyphics
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| n.pl.象形文字 | |
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modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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auditor
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| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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cravats
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| n.（系在衬衫衣领里面的）男式围巾( cravat的名词复数 ) | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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alleviated
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| 减轻，缓解，缓和( alleviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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43
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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44
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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45
contortion
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| n.扭弯，扭歪，曲解 | |
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46
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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47
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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48
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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49
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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50
susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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51
lackadaisical
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| adj.无精打采的，无兴趣的；adv.无精打采地，不决断地 | |
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52
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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53
inordinate
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| adj.无节制的；过度的 | |
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54
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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55
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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56
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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57
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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58
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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59
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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60
counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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61
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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62
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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63
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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64
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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65
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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66
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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67
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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68
deities
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| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
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69
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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70
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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71
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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72
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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73
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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74
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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75
cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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76
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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77
diversify
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| v.（使）不同，（使）变得多样化 | |
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78
veracity
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| n.诚实 | |
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79
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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80
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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81
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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82
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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83
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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84
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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85
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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86
peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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87
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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88
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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89
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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90
pout
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| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
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91
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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92
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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93
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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94
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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95
presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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96
orbs
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| abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球，天体，圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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97
pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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98
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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99
betokening
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的现在分词 ) | |
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100
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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101
morbidly
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| adv.病态地 | |
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102
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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103
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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104
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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105
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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106
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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107
abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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108
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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109
intrusive
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| adj.打搅的；侵扰的 | |
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110
dungeons
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| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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111
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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112
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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113
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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114
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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115
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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116
nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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117
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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118
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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119
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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120
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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121
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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122
withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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123
delusive
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| adj.欺骗的，妄想的 | |
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124
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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125
apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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126
dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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127
peruse
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| v.细读，精读 | |
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128
sluggishness
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| 不振，萧条，呆滞；惰性；滞性；惯性 | |
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129
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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130
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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131
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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132
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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133
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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134
pertinacity
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| n.执拗，顽固 | |
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135
deludes
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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136
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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137
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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138
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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139
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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140
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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141
lengthen
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| vt.使伸长，延长 | |
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142
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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143
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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144
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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145
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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146
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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147
kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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148
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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149
blanch
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| v.漂白；使变白；使(植物)不见日光而变白 | |
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150
wilted
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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152
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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153
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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154
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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155
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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156
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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157
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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158
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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159
corporeal
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| adj.肉体的，身体的；物质的 | |
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160
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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161
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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162
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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163
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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164
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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165
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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166
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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167
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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168
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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