For Jane, as we know, the marvels had already begun. She came back from Danbury not alto ether like herself; unsettled a little, as it appeared; and Michael’s illness, befalling so soon, brought her into a nervous state such as she had not known for a long time. The immediate14 effect of the disclosure made to her by Michael whilst he was recovering was to overwhelm her with a sense of responsibilities, to throw her mind into painful tumult15. Slow of thought, habituated to the simplest views of her own existence, very ignorant of the world beyond the little circle in which her life had been passed, she could not at once bring into the control of her reflection this wondrous16 future to which her eyes had been opened. The way in which she had been made acquainted with the facts was unfortunate. Michael Snowdon, in spite of his deep affection for her, and of the trust he had come to repose17 in her character, did not understand Jane well enough to bring about this revelation with the needful prudence18. Between him, a man burdened with the sorrowful memories of a long life, originally of stern temperament19, and now, in the feebleness of his age, possessed20 by an enthusiasm which in several respects disturbed his judgment21, which made him desperately22 eager to secure his end now that he felt life slipping away from him — between him and such a girl as Jane there was a wider gulf23 than either of them could be aware of. Little as he desired it, he could not help using a tone which seemed severe rather than tenderly trustful. Absorbed in his great idea, conscious that it had regulated every detail in his treatment of Jane since she came to live with him, he forgot that the girl herself was by no means adequately prepared to receive the solemn injunctions which he now delivered to her. His language was as general as were the ideas of beneficent activity which he desired to embody24 in Jane’s future; but instead of inspiring her with his own zeal25, he afflicted26 her with grievous spiritual trouble. For a time she could only feel that something great and hard and high was suddenly required of her; the old man’s look seemed to keep repeating, ‘Are you worthy27?’ The tremor28 of bygone days came back upon her as she listened, the anguish29 of timidity, the heart-sinking, with which she had been wont31 to strain her attention when Mrs. Peckover or Clem imposed a harsh task.
One thing alone had she grasped as soon as it was uttered; one word of reassurance32 she could recall when she sat down in solitude33 to collect her thoughts. Her grandfather had mentioned that Sidney Kirkwood already knew this secret. To Sidney her whole being turned in this hour of distress34; he was the friend who would help her with counsel and teach her to be strong. But hereupon there revived in her a trouble which for the moment she had forgotten, and it became so acute that she was driven to speak to Michael in a way which had till now seemed impossible. When she entered his room — it was the morning after their grave conversation — Michael welcomed her with a face of joy, which, however, she still felt to be somewhat stern and searching in its look. When they had talked for a few moments, Jane said:
‘I may speak about this to Mr. Kirkwood, grandfather?’
‘I hope you will, Jane. Strangers needn’t know of it yet, but we can speak freely to him.’
After many endeavours to find words that would veil her thought, she constrained35 herself to ask:
‘Does he think I can be all you wish?’
Michael looked at her with a smile.
‘Sidney has no less faith in you than I have, be sure of that.’
‘I’ve been thinking — that perhaps he distrusted me a little.’
‘Why, my child?’
‘I don’t quite know. But there’s been a little difference in him, I think, since we came back.’
Michael’s countenance36 fell.
‘Difference? How?’
But Jane could not go further. She wished she had not spoken. Her face began to grow hot, and she moved away.
‘It’s only your fancy,’ continued Michael. ‘But may be that — You think he isn’t quite so easy in his talking to you as he was?’
‘I’ve fancied it. But it was only —’
‘Well, you may be partly right,’ said her grandfather, softening38 his voice. ‘See, Jane, I’ll tell you something. I think there’s no harm; perhaps I ought to. You must know that I hadn’t meant to speak to Sidney of these things just when I did. It came about, because he had something to tell me, and something I was well pleased to hear. It was about you, Jane, and in that way I got talking — something about you, my child. Afterwards, I asked him whether he wouldn’t speak to you yourself, but he said no — not till you’d heard all that was before you. I think I understood him, and I dare say you will, if you think it over.’
Matter enough for thinking over, in these words. Did she understand them aright? Before leaving the room she had not dared to look her grandfather in the face, but she knew well that he was regarding her still with the same smile. Did she understand him aright?
Try to read her mind. The world had all at once grown very large, a distress to her imagination; worse still, she had herself become a person of magnified importance, irrecognisable in her own sight, moving, thinking so unnaturally39. Jane, I assure you, had thought very little of herself hitherto — in both senses of the phrase. Joyous40 because she could not help it, full of gratitude41, admiration42, generosity43, she occupied her thoughts very much with other people, but knew not self-seeking, knew not self-esteem. The one thing affecting herself over which she mused44 frequently was her suffering as a little thrall45 in Clerkenwell Close, and the result was to make her very humble46. She had been an ill-used, ragged47, work-worn child, and something of that degradation48 seemed, in her feeling, still to cling to her. Could she have known Bob Hewett’s view of her position, she would have felt its injustice49, but at the same time would have bowed her head. And in this spirit had she looked up to Sidney Kirkwood, regarding him as when she was a child, save for that subtle modification50 which began on the day when she brought news of Clara Hewett’s disappearance51. Perfect in kindness, Sidney had never addressed a word to her which implied more than friendship — never until that evening at the farm; then for the first time had he struck a new note. His words seemed spoken with the express purpose of altering his and her relations to each other. So much Jane had felt, and his change since then was all the more painful to her, all the more confusing. Now that of a sudden she had to regard herself in an entirely52 new way, the dearest interest of her life necessarily entered upon another phase. Struggling to understand how her grandfather could think her worthy of such high trust, she inevitably53 searched her mind for testimony54 as to the account in which Sidney held her. A fearful hope had already flushed her cheeks before Michael spoke37 the words which surely could have but one meaning.
On one point Sidney had left her no doubts; that his love for Clara Hewett was a thing of the past he had told her distinctly. And why did he wish her to be assured of that? Oh, had her grandfather been mistaken in those words he reported? Durst she put faith in them, coming thus to her by another’s voice?
Doubts and dreads55 and self-reproofs might still visit her from hour to hour, but the instinct of joy would not allow her to refuse admission to this supreme56 hope. As if in spite of herself, the former gladness — nay57, a gladness multiplied beyond conception — reigned58 once more in her heart. Her grandfather would not speak lightly in such a matter as this; the meaning of his words was confessed, to all eternity59 immutable60. Had it, then, come to this? The friend to whom she looked up with such reverence61, with voiceless gratitude, when he condescended62 to speak kindly63 to her, the Peckovers’ miserable64 little servant — he, after all these changes and chances of life, sought her now that she was a woman, and had it on his lips to say that he loved her. Hitherto the impossible, the silly thought to be laughed out of her head, the desire for which she would have chid65 herself durst she have faced it seriously — was it become a very truth? ‘Keep a good heart, Jane; things’ll be better some day.’ How many years since the rainy and windy night when he threw his coat over her and spoke those words? Yet she could hear them now, and the tears that rushed to her eyes as she blessed him for his manly66 goodness were as much those of the desolate67 child as of the full-hearted woman.
And the change that she had observed in him since that evening at Danbury? A real change, but only of manner. He would not say to her what he had meant to say until she knew the truth about her own circumstances. In simple words, she being rich and he having only what he earned by his daily work, Sidney did not think it right to speak whilst she was still in ignorance. The delicacy68 of her instincts, and the sympathies awakened69 by her affection, made this perfectly70 clear to her, strange and difficult to grasp as the situation was at first. When she understood, how her soul laughed with exulting71 merriment! Consecration72 to a great idea, endowment with the means of wide beneficence — this not only left her cold, but weighed upon her, afflicted her beyond her strength. What was it, in truth, that restored her to herself and made her heart beat joyously73? Knit your brows against her; shake your head and raze74 her name from that catalogue of saints whereon you have inscribed75 it in anticipation76. Jane rejoiced simply because she loved a poor man, and had riches that she could lay at his feet.
Great sums of money, vague and disturbing to her imagination when she was bidden hold them in trust for unknown people, gleamed and made music now that she could think of them as a gift of love. By this way of thought she could escape from the confusion in which Michael’s solemn appeal had left her. Exalted77 by her great hope, calmed by the assurance of aid that would never fail her, she began to feel the beauty of the task to which she was summoned; the appalling78 responsibility became a high privilege now that it was to be shared with one in whose wisdom and strength she had measureless confidence. She knew now what wealth meant; it was a great and glorious power, a source of blessings79 incalculable. This power it would be hers to bestow80, and no man more worthy than he who should receive it at her hands.
It was not without result that Jane had been so long a listener to the conversations between Michael and Kirkwood. Defective81 as was her instruction in the ordinary sense, those evenings spent in the company of the two men had done much to refine her modes of thought. In spite of the humble powers of her mind and her narrow experience, she had learned to think on matters which are wholly strange to girls of her station, to regard the life of the world and the individual in a light of idealism and with a freedom from ignoble82 association rare enough in any class. Her forecast of the future to be spent with Sidney was pathetic in its simplicity83, but had the stamp of nobleness. Thinking of the past years, she made clear to herself all the significance of her training. In her general view of things, wealth was naturally allied84 with education, but she understood why Michael had had her taught so little. A wealthy woman is called a lady; yes, but that was exactly what she was not to become. On that account she had gone to work, when in reality there was no need for her to do so. Never must she remove herself from the poor and the laborious85, her kin30, her care; never must she forget those bitter sufferings of her childhood, precious as enabling her to comprehend the misery86 of others for whom had come no rescue. She saw, moreover, what was meant by Michael’s religious teaching, why he chose for her study such parts of the Bible as taught the beauty of compassion87, of service rendered to those whom the world casts forth88 and leaves to perish. All this grew upon her, when once the gladness of her heart was revived. It was of the essence of her being to exercise all human and self-forgetful virtues89, and the consecration to a life of beneficence moved her profoundly now that it followed upon consecration to the warmer love.
When Sidney paid his next visit Jane was alone in the new sitting-room; her grandfather said he did not feel well enough to come down this evening. It was the first time that Kirkwood had seen the new room. After making his inquiries90 about Michael he surveyed the arrangements, which were as simple as they could be, and spoke a few words regarding the comfort Jane would find in them. He had his hand on a chair, but did not sit down, nor lay aside his hat. Jane suffered from a constraint91 which she had never before felt in his presence.
‘You know what grandfather has been telling me?’ she said at length, regarding him with grave eyes.
‘Yes. He told me of his intention.’
‘I asked him if I might speak to you about it. It was bard92 to understand at first.’
‘It would be, I’ve no doubt.’
Jane moved a little, took up some sewing, and seated herself. Sidney let his hat drop on to the chair, but remained standing93, his arms resting on the back.
‘It’s a very short time since I myself knew of it,’ he continued. ‘Till then, I as little imagined as you did that —’ He paused, then resumed more quickly, ‘But it explains many things which I had always understood in a simpler way.’
‘I feel, too, that I know grandfather much better than I did,’ Jane said. ‘He’s always been thinking about the time when I should be old enough to hear what plans he’d made for me. I do so hope he really trusts me, Mr. Kirkwood! I don’t know whether I speak about it as he wishes. It isn’t easy to say all I think, but I mean to do my best to be what he —’
‘He knows that very well. Don’t be anxious; he feels that all his hopes have been realised in you.’
There was silence. Jane made a pretence94 of using her needle, and Sidney watched her hands.
‘He spoke to you of a lady called Mrs. Lant?’ were his next words.
‘Yes. He just mentioned her.’
‘Are you going to see her soon?’
‘I don’t know. Have you seen her?’
‘No. But I believe she’s a woman you could soon he friendly with. I hope your grandfather will ask her to come here before long.’
‘I’m rather afraid of strangers.’
‘No doubt,’ said the other, smiling. ‘But you’ll get over that. I shall do my best to persuade Mr. Snowdon to make you acquainted with her.’
Jane drew in her breath uneasily.
‘She won’t want me to know other people, I hope?’
‘Oh, if she does, they’ll be kind and nice and easy to talk to.’
Jane raised her eyes and said half-laughingly:
‘I feel as if I was very childish, and that makes me feel it still more. Of course, if it’s necessary, I’ll do my best to talk to strangers. But they won’t expect too much of me, at first? I mean, if they find me a little slow, they won’t be impatient?’
‘You mustn’t think that hard things are going to be asked of you. You’ll never be required to say or do anything that you haven’t already said and done many a time, quite naturally. Why, it’s some time since you began the kind of work of which your grandfather has been speaking.’
‘I have begun it? How?’
‘Who has been such a good friend to Pennyloaf, and helped her as nobody else could have done?’
‘Oh, but that’s nothing!’
Sidney was on the point of replying! but suddenly altered his intention. He raised himself from the leaning attitude, and took his hat.
‘Well, we’ll talk about it another time,’ he said carelessly. ‘I can’t stop long to-night, so I’ll go up and see your grandfather.’
Jane rose silently.
‘I’ll just look in and say good-night before I go,’ Sidney added, as he left the room.
He did so, twenty minutes after. When he opened the door Jane was sewing busily, but it was only on hearing his footsteps that she had so applied95 herself. He gave a friendly nod, and departed.
Still the same change in his manner. A little while ago he would have chatted freely and forgotten the time.
Another week, and Jane made the acquaintance of the lady whose name we have once or twice heard, Miss Lant, the friend of old Mr. Percival. Of middle age and with very plain features, Miss Lant had devoted herself to philanthropic work; she had an income of a few hundred pounds, and lived almost as simply as the Snowdons in order to save money for charitable expenditure96. Unfortunately the earlier years of her life had been joyless, and in the energy which she brought to this self-denying enterprise there was just a touch of excess, common enough in those who have been defrauded97 of their natural satisfactions and find a resource in altruism98. She was no pietist, but there is nowadays coming into existence a class of persons who substitute for the old religious acerbity99 a narrow and oppressive zeal for good works of purely100 human sanction, and to this order Miss Lant might be said to belong. However, nothing but what was agreeable manifested itself in her intercourse101 with Michael and Jane; the former found her ardent102 spirit very congenial, and the latter was soon at ease in her company.
It was a keen distress to Jane when she heard from Pennyloaf that Bob would allow no future meetings between them. In vain she sought an explanation; Pennyloaf professed103 to know nothing of her husband’s motives104, but implored105 her friend to keep away for a time, as any disregard of Bob’s injunction would only result in worse troubles than she yet had to endure. Jane sought the aid of Kirkwood, begging him to interfere106 with young Hewett; the attempt was made, but proved fruitless. ‘Sic volo, sic jubeo,’ was Bob’s standpoint, and he as good as bade Sidney mind his own affairs.
Jane suffered, and more than she herself would have anticipated. She had conceived a liking107, almost an affection, for poor, shiftless Pennyloaf, strengthened, of course, by the devotion with which the latter repaid her. But something more than this injury to her feelings was involved in her distress on being excluded from those sorry lodgings108. Pennyloaf was comparatively an old friend; she represented the past, its contented109 work, its familiar associations, its abundant happiness. And now, though Jane did not acknowledge to herself that she regretted the old state of things, still less that she feared the future, it was undeniable that the past seemed very bright in her memory, and that something weighed upon her heart, forbidding such gladsomeness as she had known.
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1 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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2 lodgers | |
n.房客,租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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3 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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4 appeasement | |
n.平息,满足 | |
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5 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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6 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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7 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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8 invalid | |
n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
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9 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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10 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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11 jubilation | |
n.欢庆,喜悦 | |
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12 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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13 marvels | |
n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 );令人惊奇的事物(或事例);不平凡的成果;成就v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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14 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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15 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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16 wondrous | |
adj.令人惊奇的,奇妙的;adv.惊人地;异乎寻常地;令人惊叹地 | |
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17 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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18 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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19 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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20 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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21 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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22 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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23 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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24 embody | |
vt.具体表达,使具体化;包含,收录 | |
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25 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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26 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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28 tremor | |
n.震动,颤动,战栗,兴奋,地震 | |
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29 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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30 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
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31 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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32 reassurance | |
n.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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33 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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34 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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35 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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36 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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37 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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38 softening | |
变软,软化 | |
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39 unnaturally | |
adv.违反习俗地;不自然地;勉强地;不近人情地 | |
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40 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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41 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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42 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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43 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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44 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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45 thrall | |
n.奴隶;奴隶制 | |
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46 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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47 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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48 degradation | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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49 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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50 modification | |
n.修改,改进,缓和,减轻 | |
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51 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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52 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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53 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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54 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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55 dreads | |
n.恐惧,畏惧( dread的名词复数 );令人恐惧的事物v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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56 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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57 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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58 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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59 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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60 immutable | |
adj.不可改变的,永恒的 | |
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61 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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62 condescended | |
屈尊,俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 ); 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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63 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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64 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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65 chid | |
v.责骂,责备( chide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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67 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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68 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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69 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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70 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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71 exulting | |
vi. 欢欣鼓舞,狂喜 | |
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72 consecration | |
n.供献,奉献,献祭仪式 | |
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73 joyously | |
ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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74 raze | |
vt.铲平,把(城市、房屋等)夷为平地,拆毁 | |
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75 inscribed | |
v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
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76 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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77 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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78 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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79 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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80 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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81 defective | |
adj.有毛病的,有问题的,有瑕疵的 | |
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82 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
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83 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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84 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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85 laborious | |
adj.吃力的,努力的,不流畅 | |
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86 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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87 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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88 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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89 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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90 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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91 constraint | |
n.(on)约束,限制;限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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92 bard | |
n.吟游诗人 | |
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93 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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94 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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95 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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96 expenditure | |
n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出;使用,消耗 | |
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97 defrauded | |
v.诈取,骗取( defraud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98 altruism | |
n.利他主义,不自私 | |
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99 acerbity | |
n.涩,酸,刻薄 | |
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100 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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101 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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102 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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103 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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104 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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105 implored | |
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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107 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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108 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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109 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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