At this time (the end of April) the weather was very fine, although the thermometer ranged high. The wind being steady at south accounted for the unusual height of the barometrical4 column, which rose to 30.600. On the night of the 20th we had a heavy dew, the first since our departure from the Darling. On the morning of the 28th it thundered, and a dense5 cloud passed over to the north, the wind was unsteady, and I hoped that the storm would have worked round, but it did not. At ten the wind sprung up from the south, the sky cleared and all our hopes were blighted6.
Notwithstanding that we treated the natives who came to the creek7 with every kindness, none ever visited us, and I was the more surprised at this, because I could not but think that we were putting them to great inconvenience by our occupation of this spot. Towards the end of the month, it was so cold that we were glad to have fires close to our tents. Mr. Poole had gradually become worse and worse, and was now wholly confined to his bed, unable to stir, a melancholy8 affliction both to himself and us, rendering9 our detention10 in that gloomy region still more painful. My men generally were in good health, but almost all had bleeding at the nose; I was only too thankful that my own health did not give way, though I still felt the scurvy11 in a mitigated12 form, but Mr. Browne had more serious symptoms about him.
The 10th of May completed the ninth month of our absence from Adelaide, and still we were locked up without the hope of escape, whilst every day added fresh causes of anxiety to those I had already to bear up against. Mr. Poole became worse, all his skin along the muscles turned black, and large pieces of spongy flesh hung from the roof of his mouth, which was in such a state that he could hardly eat. Instead of looking with eagerness to the moment of our liberation, I now dreaded13 the consequent necessity of moving him about in so dreadful a condition. Mr. Browne attended him with a constancy and kindness that could not but raise him in my estimation, doing every thing which friendship or sympathy could suggest.
On the 11th about 3 p.m. I was roused by the dogs simultaneously springing up and rushing across the creek, but supposing they had seen a native dog, I did not rise; however, I soon knew by their continued barking that they had something at bay, and Mr. Piesse not long after came to inform me a solitary14 native was on the top of some rising ground in front of the camp. I sent him therefore with some of the men to call off the dogs, and to bring him down to the tents. The poor fellow had fought manfully with the dogs, and escaped injury, but had broken his waddy over one of them. He was an emaciated15 and elderly man, rather low in stature16, and half dead with hunger and thirst; he drank copiously17 of the water that was offered to him, and then ate as much as would have served me for four and twenty dinners. The men made him up a screen of boughs18 close to the cart near the servants, and I gave him a blanket in which he rolled himself up and soon fell fast asleep. Whence this solitary stranger could have come from we could not divine. No other natives approached to look after him, nor did he shew anxiety for any absent companion. His composure and apparent self-possession were very remarkable19, for he neither exhibited astonishment20 or curiosity at the novelties by which he was surrounded. His whole demeanour was that of a calm and courageous21 man, who finding himself placed in unusual jeopardy22, had determined23 not to be betrayed into the slightest display of fear or timidity.
From the period of our return from the eastward24, I had remained quiet in the camp, watching every change in the sky; I was indeed reluctant to absent myself for any indefinite period, in consequence of Mr. Poole’s precarious25 state of health. He had now used all the medicines we had brought out, and none therefore remained either for him or any one else who might subsequently be taken ill. As however he was better, on the 12th, I determined to make a second excursion to the eastward, to see if there were any more natives in the neighbourhood of the grassy26 plains than when I was last there. Wishing to get some samples of wood I took the light cart and Tampawang also, in the hope that he would be of use.
Although the water in the creek had sunk fearfully there was still a month’s supply remaining, but if it had been used by our stock it would then have been dry. Close to the spot where we had before stopped, there were two huts that had been recently erected27. Before these two fires were burning, and some troughs of grass seed were close to them, but no native could we see, neither did any answer to our call. Mr. Browne, however, observing some recent tracks, ran them down, and discovered a native and his lubra who had concealed28 themselves in the hollow of a tree, from which they crept as soon as they saw they were discovered. The man, we had seen before, and the other proved to be the frail29 one who exhibited such indignation at our rejecting her addresses on a former occasion; being a talkative damsel, we were glad to renew our acquaintance with her. We learnt from them that the second hut belonged to an absent native who was out hunting, the father of a pretty little girl who now obeyed their signal and came forth30. They said the water on the plain had dried up, and that the only water-holes remaining were to the west, viz. at our camp, and to the south, where they said there were two water-holes. As they had informed us, the absent native made his appearance at sunset, but his bag was very light, so we once more gave them all our mutton; he proved to be the man Mr. Browne chased on the sand hills, the strongest native we had seen; he wanted the front tooth, but was not circumcised.
In the evening we had a thunder storm, but could have counted the drops of rain that fell, notwithstanding the thunder was loud and the lightning vivid. We returned to the Depot31 on the 13th, and on crossing the plain Mr. Browne had well nigh captured a jerboa, which sprang from under my horse’s legs, but managed to elude32 him, and popped into a little hole before he could approach sufficiently33 near to strike at it. On reaching the tents we had the mortification34 to find Mr. Poole still worse, but I attributed his relapse in some measure to a depression of spirits. The old man who had come to the camp the day before we left it, was still there, and had apparently taken up his quarters between the cart and my tent. During our absence the men had shewn him all the wonders of the camp, and he in his turn had strongly excited their anticipations35, by what he had told them.
He appeared to be quite aware of the use of the boat, intimating that it was turned upside down, and pointed36 to the N.W. as the quarter in which we should use her. He mistook the sheep net for a fishing net, and gave them to understand that there were fish in those waters so large that they would not get through the meshes37. Being anxious to hear what he had to say I sent for him to my tent, and with Mr. Browne cross-questioned him.
It appeared quite clear to us that he was aware of the existence of large water somewhere or other to the northward38 and westward39. He pointed from W.N.W. round to the eastward of north, and explained that large waves higher than his head broke on the shore. On my shewing him the fish figured in Sir Thomas Mitchell’s work he knew only the cod40. Of the fish figured in Cuvier’s works he gave specific names to those he recognised, as the hippocampus, the turtle, and several sea fish, as the chetodon, but all the others he included under one generic41 name, that of “guia,” fish.
He put his hands very cautiously on the snakes, and withdrew them suddenly as if he expected they would bite him, and evinced great astonishment when he felt nothing but the soft paper. On being asked, he expressed his readiness to accompany us when there should be water, but said we should not have rain yet. I must confess this old native raised my hopes, and made me again anxious for the moment when we should resume our labours, but when that time was to come God only knew.
It had been to no purpose that we had traversed the country in search for water. None any longer remained on the parched42 surface of the stony43 desert, if I except what remained at the Depot, and the little in the creek to the eastward. There were indeed the ravages44 of floods and the vestiges45 of inundations to be seen in the neighbourhood of every creek we had traced, and upon every plain we had crossed, but the element that had left such marks of its fury was no where to be found.
From this period I gave up all hope of success in any future effort I might make to escape from our dreary46 prison. Day after day, and week after week passed over our heads, without any apparent likelihood of any change in the weather. The consequences of our detention weighed heavily on my mind, and depressed47 my spirits, for in looking over Mr. Piesse’s monthly return of provisions on hand, I found that unless some step was taken to enable me to keep the field, I should on the fall of rain be obliged to retreat. I had by severe exertion48 gained a most commanding position, the wide field of the interior lay like an open sea before me, and yet every sanguine49 hope I had ever indulged appeared as if about to be extinguished. The only plan for me to adopt was to send a portion of the men back to Adelaide. I found by calculation that if I divided the party, retaining nine in all, and sending the remainder home, I should secure the means of pushing my researches to the end of December, before which time I hoped, (however much it had pleased Providence50 to stay my progress hitherto,) to have performed my task, or penetrated52 the heartless desert before me, to such a distance as would leave no doubt as to the question I had been directed to solve.
The old man left us on the 17th with the promise of returning, and from the careful manner in which he concealed the different things that had been given to him I thought he would have done so, but we never saw him more, and I cannot but think that he perished from the want of water in endeavouring to return to his kindred.
I have repeatedly remarked that we had been deserted53 by all the feathered tribes. Not only was this the case, but we had witnessed a second migration54 of the later broods; after these were gone, there still remained with us about fifty of the common kites and as many crows: these birds continued with us for the offals of the sheep, and had become exceedingly tame; the kites in particular came flying from the trees when a whistle was sounded, to the great amusement of the men, who threw up pieces of meat for them to catch before they fell to the ground. When the old man first came to us, we fed him on mutton, but one of the men happening to shoot a crow, he shewed such a decided55 preference for it, that he afterwards lived almost exclusively upon them. He was, as I have stated, when he first came to us a thin and emaciated being, but at the expiration56 of a fortnight when he rose to depart, he threw off his blanket and exhibited a condition that astonished us all. He was absolutely fat, and yet his face did not at all indicate such a change. If he had been fed in the dark like capons, he could not have got into better condition. Mr. Browne was anxious to accompany him, but I thought that if his suspicions were aroused he would not return, and I therefore let him depart as he came. With him all our hopes vanished, for even the presence of that savage57 was soothing58 to us, and so long as he remained, we indulged in anticipations as to the future. From the time of his departure a gloomy silence pervaded59 the camp; we were, indeed, placed under the most trying circumstances; every thing combined to depress our spirits and exhaust our patience. We had gradually been deserted by every beast of the field, and every fowl60 of the air. We had witnessed migration after migration of the feathered tribes, to that point to which we were so anxious to push our way. Flights of cockatoos, of parrots, of pigeons, and of bitterns, birds also whose notes had cheered us in the wilderness61, all had taken the same high road to a better and more hospitable62 region. The vegetable kingdom was at a stand, and there was nothing either to engage the attention or attract the eye. Our animals had laid the ground bare for miles around the camp, and never came towards it but to drink. The axe63 had made a broad gap in the line of gum-trees which ornamented64 the creek, and had destroyed its appearance. We had to witness the gradual and fearful diminution65 of the water, on the possession of which our lives depended; day after day we saw it sink lower and lower, dissipated alike by the sun and the winds. From its original depth of nine feet, it now scarcely measured two, and instead of extending from bank to bank it occupied only a narrow line in the centre of the channel. Had the drought continued for a month longer than it pleased the Almighty66 to terminate it, that creek would have been as dry as the desert on either side. Almost heart-broken, Mr. Browne and I seldom left our tents, save to visit our sick companion. Mr. Browne had for some time been suffering great pain in his limbs, but with a generous desire to save me further anxiety carefully concealed it from me; but it was his wont67 to go to some acacia trees in the bed of the creek to swing on their branches, as he told me to exercise his muscles, in the hope of relaxing their rigidity68.
One day, when I was sitting with Mr. Poole, he suggested the erection of two stations, one on the Red Hill and the other on the Black Hill, as points for bearings when we should leave the Depot. The idea had suggested itself to me, but I had observed that we soon lost sight of the hills in going to the north-west; and that, therefore, for such a purpose, the works would be of little use, but to give the men occupation; and to keep them in health I employed them in erecting69 a pyramid of stones on the summit of the Red Hill. It is twenty-one feet at the base, and eighteen feet high, and bears 329 degrees from the camp, or 31 degrees to the west of north. I little thought when I was engaged in that work, that I was erecting Mr. Poole’s monument, but so it was, that rude structure looks over his lonely grave, and will stand for ages as a record of all we suffered in the dreary region to which we were so long confined.
The months of May and June, and the first and second weeks of July passed over our heads, yet there was no indication of a change of weather. It had been bitterly cold during parts of this period, the thermometer having descended70 to 24 degrees; thus making the difference between the extremes of summer heat and winter’s cold no less than 133 degrees.
About the middle of June I had the drays put into serviceable condition, the wheels wedged up, and every thing prepared for moving away.
Anxious to take every measure to prevent unnecessary delay, when the day of liberation should arrive, I had sent Mr. Stuart and Mr. Piesse, with a party of chainers, to measure along the line on which I intended to move when the Depot was broken up. I had determined, as I have elsewhere informed the reader, to penetrate51 to the westward, in the hope of finding Lake Torrens connected with some more extensive and more central body of water; and I thought it would be satisfactory to ascertain71, as nearly as possible, the distance of that basin from the Darling, and in so doing to unite the eastern and western surveys. I had assumed Sir Thomas Mitchell’s position at Williorara as correct, and had taken the most careful bearings from that point to the Depot, and the position in which they fixed72 it differed but little from the result of the many lunars I took during my stay there. As I purpose giving the elements of all my calculations, those more qualified73 than myself to judge on these matters, will correct me if I have been in error; but, as the mean of my lunars was so close to the majority of the single lunars, I cannot think they are far from the truth. Be that as it may, I assumed my position at the Depot to be in lat. 29 degrees 40 minutes 14 seconds S. and in long. 141 degrees 29 minutes 41 seconds E., the variation being 5 degrees 14 minutes East. Allowing for the variation, I directed Mr. Stuart to run the chain line on a bearing of 55 degrees to the west of north, which I intended to cut a little to the west of the park-like and grassy plain at the termination of the creek I had traced in that direction. By supplying the party with water from the camp, I enabled them to prolong the line to 30 miles.
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1 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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2 velocity | |
n.速度,速率 | |
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3 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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4 barometrical | |
气压计的 | |
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5 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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6 blighted | |
adj.枯萎的,摧毁的 | |
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7 creek | |
n.小溪,小河,小湾 | |
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8 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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9 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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10 detention | |
n.滞留,停留;拘留,扣留;(教育)留下 | |
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11 scurvy | |
adj.下流的,卑鄙的,无礼的;n.坏血病 | |
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12 mitigated | |
v.减轻,缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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) | |
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14 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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15 emaciated | |
adj.衰弱的,消瘦的 | |
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16 stature | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
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17 copiously | |
adv.丰富地,充裕地 | |
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18 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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19 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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20 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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21 courageous | |
adj.勇敢的,有胆量的 | |
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22 jeopardy | |
n.危险;危难 | |
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23 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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24 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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25 precarious | |
adj.不安定的,靠不住的;根据不足的 | |
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26 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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27 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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28 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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29 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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30 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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31 depot | |
n.仓库,储藏处;公共汽车站;火车站 | |
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32 elude | |
v.躲避,困惑 | |
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33 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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34 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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35 anticipations | |
预期( anticipation的名词复数 ); 预测; (信托财产收益的)预支; 预期的事物 | |
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36 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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37 meshes | |
网孔( mesh的名词复数 ); 网状物; 陷阱; 困境 | |
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38 northward | |
adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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39 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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40 cod | |
n.鳕鱼;v.愚弄;哄骗 | |
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41 generic | |
adj.一般的,普通的,共有的 | |
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42 parched | |
adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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43 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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44 ravages | |
劫掠后的残迹,破坏的结果,毁坏后的残迹 | |
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45 vestiges | |
残余部分( vestige的名词复数 ); 遗迹; 痕迹; 毫不 | |
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46 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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47 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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48 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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49 sanguine | |
adj.充满希望的,乐观的,血红色的 | |
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50 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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51 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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52 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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53 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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54 migration | |
n.迁移,移居,(鸟类等的)迁徙 | |
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55 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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56 expiration | |
n.终结,期满,呼气,呼出物 | |
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57 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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58 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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59 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60 fowl | |
n.家禽,鸡,禽肉 | |
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61 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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62 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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63 axe | |
n.斧子;v.用斧头砍,削减 | |
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64 ornamented | |
adj.花式字体的v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65 diminution | |
n.减少;变小 | |
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66 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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67 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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68 rigidity | |
adj.钢性,坚硬 | |
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69 erecting | |
v.使直立,竖起( erect的现在分词 );建立 | |
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70 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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71 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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72 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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73 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
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