‘How’s the Giant?’ said Short, when they all sat smoking round the fire.
‘Rather weak upon his legs,’ returned Mr Vuffin. ‘I begin to be afraid he’s going at the knees.’
‘That’s a bad look-out,’ said Short.
‘Aye! Bad indeed,’ replied Mr Vuffin, contemplating8 the fire with a sigh. ‘Once get a giant shaky on his legs, and the public care no more about him than they do for a dead cabbage stalk.’
‘What becomes of old giants?’ said Short, turning to him again after a little reflection.
‘They’re usually kept in carawans to wait upon the dwarfs10,’ said Mr Vuffin.
‘The maintaining of ’em must come expensive, when they can’t be shown, eh?’ remarked Short, eyeing him doubtfully.
‘It’s better that, than letting ’em go upon the parish or about the streets,” said Mr Vuffin. ‘Once make a giant common and giants will never draw again. Look at wooden legs. If there was only one man with a wooden leg what a property he’d be!’
‘So he would!’ observed the landlord and Short both together. ‘That’s very true.’
‘Instead of which,’ pursued Mr Vuffin, ‘if you was to advertise Shakspeare played entirely12 by wooden legs,’ it’s my belief you wouldn’t draw a sixpence.’
‘I don’t suppose you would,’ said Short. And the landlord said so too.
‘This shows, you see,’ said Mr Vuffin, waving his pipe with an argumentative air, ‘this shows the policy of keeping the used-up giants still in the carawans, where they get food and lodging13 for nothing, all their lives, and in general very glad they are to stop there. There was one giant — a black ’un — as left his carawan some year ago and took to carrying coach-bills about London, making himself as cheap as crossing-sweepers. He died. I make no insinuation against anybody in particular,’ said Mr Vuffin, looking solemnly round, ‘but he was ruining the trade; — and he died.’
The landlord drew his breath hard, and looked at the owner of the dogs, who nodded and said gruffly that he remembered.
‘I know you do, Jerry,’ said Mr Vuffin with profound meaning. ‘I know you remember it, Jerry, and the universal opinion was, that it served him right. Why, I remember the time when old Maunders as had three-and-twenty wans9 — I remember the time when old Maunders had in his cottage in Spa Fields in the winter time, when the season was over, eight male and female dwarfs setting down to dinner every day, who was waited on by eight old giants in green coats, red smalls, blue cotton stockings, and high-lows: and there was one dwarf11 as had grown elderly and wicious who whenever his giant wasn’t quick enough to please him, used to stick pins in his legs, not being able to reach up any higher. I know that’s a fact, for Maunders told it me himself.’
‘What about the dwarfs when they get old?’ inquired the landlord.
‘The older a dwarf is, the better worth he is,’ returned Mr Vuffin; ‘a grey-headed dwarf, well wrinkled, is beyond all suspicion. But a giant weak in the legs and not standing14 upright! — keep him in the carawan, but never show him, never show him, for any persuasion15 that can be offered.’
While Mr Vuffin and his two friends smoked their pipes and beguiled16 the time with such conversation as this, the silent gentleman sat in a warm corner, swallowing, or seeming to swallow, sixpennyworth of halfpence for practice, balancing a feather upon his nose, and rehearsing other feats17 of dexterity18 of that kind, without paying any regard whatever to the company, who in their turn left him utterly19 unnoticed. At length the weary child prevailed upon her grandfather to retire, and they withdrew, leaving the company yet seated round the fire, and the dogs fast asleep at a humble20 distance.
After bidding the old man good night, Nell retired21 to her poor garret, but had scarcely closed the door, when it was gently tapped at. She opened it directly, and was a little startled by the sight of Mr Thomas Codlin, whom she had left, to all appearance, fast asleep down stairs.
‘What is the matter?’ said the child.
‘Nothing’s the matter, my dear,’ returned her visitor. ‘I’m your friend. Perhaps you haven’t thought so, but it’s me that’s your friend — not him.’
‘Not who?’ the child inquired.
‘Short, my dear. I tell you what,’ said Codlin, ‘for all his having a kind of way with him that you’d be very apt to like, I’m the real, open-hearted man. I mayn’t look it, but I am indeed.’
The child began to be alarmed, considering that the ale had taken effect upon Mr Codlin, and that this commendation of himself was the consequence.
‘Short’s very well, and seems kind,’ resumed the misanthrope22, ‘but he overdoes23 it. Now I don’t.’
Certainly if there were any fault in Mr Codlin’s usual deportment, it was that he rather underdid his kindness to those about him, than overdid24 it. But the child was puzzled, and could not tell what to say.
‘Take my advice,’ said Codlin: ‘don’t ask me why, but take it. As long as you travel with us, keep as near me as you can. Don’t offer to leave us — not on any account — but always stick to me and say that I’m your friend. Will you bear that in mind, my dear, and always say that it was me that was your friend?’
‘Say so where — and when?’ inquired the child innocently.
‘O, nowhere in particular,’ replied Codlin, a little put out as it seemed by the question; ‘I’m only anxious that you should think me so, and do me justice. You can’t think what an interest I have in you. Why didn’t you tell me your little history — that about you and the poor old gentleman? I’m the best adviser25 that ever was, and so interested in you — so much more interested than Short. I think they’re breaking up down stairs; you needn’t tell Short, you know, that we’ve had this little talk together. God bless you. Recollect26 the friend. Codlin’s the friend, not Short. Short’s very well as far as he goes, but the real friend is Codlin — not Short.’
Eking27 out these professions with a number of benevolent28 and protecting looks and great fervour of manner, Thomas Codlin stole away on tiptoe, leaving the child in a state of extreme surprise. She was still ruminating29 upon his curious behaviour, when the floor of the crazy stairs and landing cracked beneath the tread of the other travellers who were passing to their beds. When they had all passed, and the sound of their footsteps had died away, one of them returned, and after a little hesitation30 and rustling31 in the passage, as if he were doubtful what door to knock at, knocked at hers.
‘Yes,’ said the child from within.
‘It’s me — Short’— a voice called through the keyhole. ‘I only wanted to say that we must be off early to-morrow morning, my dear, because unless we get the start of the dogs and the conjuror32, the villages won’t be worth a penny. You’ll be sure to be stirring early and go with us? I’ll call you.’
The child answered in the affirmative, and returning his ‘good night’ heard him creep away. She felt some uneasiness at the anxiety of these men, increased by the recollection of their whispering together down stairs and their slight confusion when she awoke, nor was she quite free from a misgiving33 that they were not the fittest companions she could have stumbled on. Her uneasiness, however, was nothing, weighed against her fatigue34; and she soon forgot it in sleep. Very early next morning, Short fulfilled his promise, and knocking softly at her door, entreated35 that she would get up directly, as the proprietor of the dogs was still snoring, and if they lost no time they might get a good deal in advance both of him and the conjuror, who was talking in his sleep, and from what he could be heard to say, appeared to be balancing a donkey in his dreams. She started from her bed without delay, and roused the old man with so much expedition that they were both ready as soon as Short himself, to that gentleman’s unspeakable gratification and relief.
After a very unceremonious and scrambling36 breakfast, of which the staple38 commodities were bacon and bread, and beer, they took leave of the landlord and issued from the door of the jolly Sandboys. The morning was fine and warm, the ground cool to the feet after the late rain, the hedges gayer and more green, the air clear, and everything fresh and healthful. Surrounded by these influences, they walked on pleasantly enough.
They had not gone very far, when the child was again struck by the altered behaviour of Mr Thomas Codlin, who instead of plodding39 on sulkily by himself as he had heretofore done, kept close to her, and when he had an opportunity of looking at her unseen by his companion, warned her by certain wry40 faces and jerks of the head not to put any trust in Short, but to reserve all confidences for Codlin. Neither did he confine himself to looks and gestures, for when she and her grandfather were walking on beside the aforesaid Short, and that little man was talking with his accustomed cheerfulness on a variety of indifferent subjects, Thomas Codlin testified his jealousy41 and distrust by following close at her heels, and occasionally admonishing42 her ankles with the legs of the theatre in a very abrupt43 and painful manner.
All these proceedings44 naturally made the child more watchful45 and suspicious, and she soon observed that whenever they halted to perform outside a village alehouse or other place, Mr Codlin while he went through his share of the entertainments kept his eye steadily46 upon her and the old man, or with a show of great friendship and consideration invited the latter to lean upon his arm, and so held him tight until the representation was over and they again went forward. Even Short seemed to change in this respect, and to mingle47 with his good-nature something of a desire to keep them in safe custody48. This increased the child’s misgivings49, and made her yet more anxious and uneasy.
Meanwhile, they were drawing near the town where the races were to begin next day; for, from passing numerous groups of gipsies and trampers on the road, wending their way towards it, and straggling out from every by-way and cross-country lane, they gradually fell into a stream of people, some walking by the side of covered carts, others with horses, others with donkeys, others toiling50 on with heavy loads upon their backs, but all tending to the same point. The public-houses by the wayside, from being empty and noiseless as those in the remoter parts had been, now sent out boisterous51 shouts and clouds of smoke; and, from the misty52 windows, clusters of broad red faces looked down upon the road. On every piece of waste or common ground, some small gambler drove his noisy trade, and bellowed53 to the idle passersby54 to stop and try their chance; the crowd grew thicker and more noisy; gilt55 gingerbread in blanket-stalls exposed its glories to the dust; and often a four-horse carriage, dashing by, obscured all objects in the gritty cloud it raised, and left them, stunned56 and blinded, far behind.
It was dark before they reached the town itself, and long indeed the few last miles had been. Here all was tumult57 and confusion; the streets were filled with throngs58 of people — many strangers were there, it seemed, by the looks they cast about — the church-bells rang out their noisy peals59, and flags streamed from windows and house-tops. In the large inn-yards waiters flitted to and fro and ran against each other, horses clattered60 on the uneven61 stones, carriage steps fell rattling62 down, and sickening smells from many dinners came in a heavy lukewarm breath upon the sense. In the smaller public-houses, fiddles63 with all their might and main were squeaking64 out the tune65 to staggering feet; drunken men, oblivious66 of the burden of their song, joined in a senseless howl, which drowned the tinkling67 of the feeble bell and made them savage68 for their drink; vagabond groups assembled round the doors to see the stroller woman dance, and add their uproar69 to the shrill70 flageolet and deafening71 drum.
Through this delirious72 scene, the child, frightened and repelled73 by all she saw, led on her bewildered charge, clinging close to her conductor, and trembling lest in the press she should be separated from him and left to find her way alone. Quickening their steps to get clear of all the roar and riot, they at length passed through the town and made for the race-course, which was upon an open heath, situated74 on an eminence75, a full mile distant from its furthest bounds.
Although there were many people here, none of the best favoured or best clad, busily erecting76 tents and driving stakes in the ground, and hurrying to and fro with dusty feet and many a grumbled77 oath — although there were tired children cradled on heaps of straw between the wheels of carts, crying themselves to sleep — and poor lean horses and donkeys just turned loose, grazing among the men and women, and pots and kettles, and half-lighted fires, and ends of candles flaring78 and wasting in the air — for all this, the child felt it an escape from the town and drew her breath more freely. After a scanty79 supper, the purchase of which reduced her little stock so low, that she had only a few halfpence with which to buy a breakfast on the morrow, she and the old man lay down to rest in a corner of a tent, and slept, despite the busy preparations that were going on around them all night long.
And now they had come to the time when they must beg their bread. Soon after sunrise in the morning she stole out from the tent, and rambling37 into some fields at a short distance, plucked a few wild roses and such humble flowers, purposing to make them into little nosegays and offer them to the ladies in the carriages when the company arrived. Her thoughts were not idle while she was thus employed; when she returned and was seated beside the old man in one corner of the tent, tying her flowers together, while the two men lay dozing80 in another corner, she plucked him by the sleeve, and slightly glancing towards them, said, in a low voice —
‘Grandfather, don’t look at those I talk of, and don’t seem as if I spoke81 of anything but what I am about. What was that you told me before we left the old house? That if they knew what we were going to do, they would say that you were mad, and part us?’
The old man turned to her with an aspect of wild terror; but she checked him by a look, and bidding him hold some flowers while she tied them up, and so bringing her lips closer to his ear, said —
‘I know that was what you told me. You needn’t speak, dear. I recollect it very well. It was not likely that I should forget it. Grandfather, these men suspect that we have secretly left our friends, and mean to carry us before some gentleman and have us taken care of and sent back. If you let your hand tremble so, we can never get away from them, but if you’re only quiet now, we shall do so, easily.’
‘How?’ muttered the old man. ‘Dear Nelly, how? They will shut me up in a stone room, dark and cold, and chain me up to the wall, Nell — flog me with whips, and never let me see thee more!’
‘You’re trembling again,’ said the child. ‘Keep close to me all day. Never mind them, don’t look at them, but me. I shall find a time when we can steal away. When I do, mind you come with me, and do not stop or speak a word. Hush82! That’s all.’
‘Halloa! what are you up to, my dear?’ said Mr Codlin, raising his head, and yawning. Then observing that his companion was fast asleep, he added in an earnest whisper, ‘Codlin’s the friend, remember — not Short.’
‘Making some nosegays,’ the child replied; ‘I am going to try and sell some, these three days of the races. Will you have one — as a present I mean?’
Mr Codlin would have risen to receive it, but the child hurried towards him and placed it in his hand. He stuck it in his buttonhole with an air of ineffable83 complacency for a misanthrope, and leering exultingly84 at the unconscious Short, muttered, as he laid himself down again, ‘Tom Codlin’s the friend, by G—!’
As the morning wore on, the tents assumed a gayer and more brilliant appearance, and long lines of carriages came rolling softly on the turf. Men who had lounged about all night in smock-frocks and leather leggings, came out in silken vests and hats and plumes85, as jugglers or mountebanks; or in gorgeous liveries as soft-spoken servants at gambling86 booths; or in sturdy yeoman dress as decoys at unlawful games. Black-eyed gipsy girls, hooded87 in showy handkerchiefs, sallied forth88 to tell fortunes, and pale slender women with consumptive faces lingered upon the footsteps of ventriloquists and conjurors, and counted the sixpences with anxious eyes long before they were gained. As many of the children as could be kept within bounds, were stowed away, with all the other signs of dirt and poverty, among the donkeys, carts, and horses; and as many as could not be thus disposed of ran in and out in all intricate spots, crept between people’s legs and carriage wheels, and came forth unharmed from under horses’ hoofs89. The dancing-dogs, the stilts90, the little lady and the tall man, and all the other attractions, with organs out of number and bands innumerable, emerged from the holes and corners in which they had passed the night, and flourished boldly in the sun.
Along the uncleared course, Short led his party, sounding the brazen91 trumpet92 and revelling93 in the voice of Punch; and at his heels went Thomas Codlin, bearing the show as usual, and keeping his eye on Nelly and her grandfather, as they rather lingered in the rear. The child bore upon her arm the little basket with her flowers, and sometimes stopped, with timid and modest looks, to offer them at some gay carriage; but alas94! there were many bolder beggars there, gipsies who promised husbands, and other adepts95 in their trade, and although some ladies smiled gently as they shook their heads, and others cried to the gentlemen beside them ‘See, what a pretty face!’ they let the pretty face pass on, and never thought that it looked tired or hungry.
There was but one lady who seemed to understand the child, and she was one who sat alone in a handsome carriage, while two young men in dashing clothes, who had just dismounted from it, talked and laughed loudly at a little distance, appearing to forget her, quite. There were many ladies all around, but they turned their backs, or looked another way, or at the two young men (not unfavourably at them), and left her to herself. She motioned away a gipsy-woman urgent to tell her fortune, saying that it was told already and had been for some years, but called the child towards her, and taking her flowers put money into her trembling hand, and bade her go home and keep at home for God’s sake.
Many a time they went up and down those long, long lines, seeing everything but the horses and the race; when the bell rang to clear the course, going back to rest among the carts and donkeys, and not coming out again until the heat was over. Many a time, too, was Punch displayed in the full zenith of his humour, but all this while the eye of Thomas Codlin was upon them, and to escape without notice was impracticable.
At length, late in the day, Mr Codlin pitched the show in a convenient spot, and the spectators were soon in the very triumph of the scene. The child, sitting down with the old man close behind it, had been thinking how strange it was that horses who were such fine honest creatures should seem to make vagabonds of all the men they drew about them, when a loud laugh at some extemporaneous96 witticism97 of Mr Short’s, having allusion98 to the circumstances of the day, roused her from her meditation99 and caused her to look around.
If they were ever to get away unseen, that was the very moment. Short was plying100 the quarter-staves vigorously and knocking the characters in the fury of the combat against the sides of the show, the people were looking on with laughing faces, and Mr Codlin had relaxed into a grim smile as his roving eye detected hands going into waistcoat pockets and groping secretly for sixpences. If they were ever to get away unseen, that was the very moment. They seized it, and fled.
They made a path through booths and carriages and throngs of people, and never once stopped to look behind. The bell was ringing and the course was cleared by the time they reached the ropes, but they dashed across it insensible to the shouts and screeching101 that assailed102 them for breaking in upon its sanctity, and creeping under the brow of the hill at a quick pace, made for the open fields.
点击收听单词发音
1 haven | |
n.安全的地方,避难所,庇护所 | |
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2 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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3 deranged | |
adj.疯狂的 | |
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4 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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5 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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6 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
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7 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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8 contemplating | |
深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
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9 wans | |
vt.& vi.(使)变苍白,(使)呈病态(wan的第三人称单数形式) | |
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10 dwarfs | |
n.侏儒,矮子(dwarf的复数形式)vt.(使)显得矮小(dwarf的第三人称单数形式) | |
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11 dwarf | |
n.矮子,侏儒,矮小的动植物;vt.使…矮小 | |
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12 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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13 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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14 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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15 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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16 beguiled | |
v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 );使陶醉;使高兴;消磨(时间等) | |
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17 feats | |
功绩,伟业,技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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18 dexterity | |
n.(手的)灵巧,灵活 | |
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19 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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20 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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21 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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22 misanthrope | |
n.恨人类的人;厌世者 | |
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23 overdoes | |
v.做得过分( overdo的第三人称单数 );太夸张;把…煮得太久;(工作等)过度 | |
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24 overdid | |
v.做得过分( overdo的过去式 );太夸张;把…煮得太久;(工作等)过度 | |
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25 adviser | |
n.劝告者,顾问 | |
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26 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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27 eking | |
v.(靠节省用量)使…的供应持久( eke的现在分词 );节约使用;竭力维持生计;勉强度日 | |
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28 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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29 ruminating | |
v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 );反复考虑;反刍;倒嚼 | |
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30 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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31 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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32 conjuror | |
n.魔术师,变戏法者 | |
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33 misgiving | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕 | |
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34 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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35 entreated | |
恳求,乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36 scrambling | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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37 rambling | |
adj.[建]凌乱的,杂乱的 | |
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38 staple | |
n.主要产物,常用品,主要要素,原料,订书钉,钩环;adj.主要的,重要的;vt.分类 | |
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39 plodding | |
a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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40 wry | |
adj.讽刺的;扭曲的 | |
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41 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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42 admonishing | |
v.劝告( admonish的现在分词 );训诫;(温和地)责备;轻责 | |
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43 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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44 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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45 watchful | |
adj.注意的,警惕的 | |
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46 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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47 mingle | |
vt.使混合,使相混;vi.混合起来;相交往 | |
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48 custody | |
n.监护,照看,羁押,拘留 | |
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49 misgivings | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕;疑虑,担心,恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 );疑惧 | |
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50 toiling | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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51 boisterous | |
adj.喧闹的,欢闹的 | |
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52 misty | |
adj.雾蒙蒙的,有雾的 | |
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53 bellowed | |
v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的过去式和过去分词 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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54 passersby | |
n. 过路人(行人,经过者) | |
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55 gilt | |
adj.镀金的;n.金边证券 | |
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56 stunned | |
adj. 震惊的,惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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57 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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58 throngs | |
n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群,挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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59 peals | |
n.(声音大而持续或重复的)洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 );隆隆声;洪亮的钟声;钟乐v.(使)(钟等)鸣响,(雷等)发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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60 clattered | |
发出咔哒声(clatter的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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61 uneven | |
adj.不平坦的,不规则的,不均匀的 | |
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62 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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63 fiddles | |
n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 );欺诈;(需要运用手指功夫的)细巧活动;当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 );篡改;骗取;修理或稍作改动 | |
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64 squeaking | |
v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 );吱吱叫;告密;充当告密者 | |
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65 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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66 oblivious | |
adj.易忘的,遗忘的,忘却的,健忘的 | |
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67 tinkling | |
n.丁当作响声 | |
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68 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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69 uproar | |
n.骚动,喧嚣,鼎沸 | |
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70 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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71 deafening | |
adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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72 delirious | |
adj.不省人事的,神智昏迷的 | |
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73 repelled | |
v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 );使厌恶;排斥;推开 | |
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74 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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75 eminence | |
n.卓越,显赫;高地,高处;名家 | |
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76 erecting | |
v.使直立,竖起( erect的现在分词 );建立 | |
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77 grumbled | |
抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
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78 flaring | |
a.火焰摇曳的,过份艳丽的 | |
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79 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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80 dozing | |
v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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81 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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82 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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83 ineffable | |
adj.无法表达的,不可言喻的 | |
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84 exultingly | |
兴高采烈地,得意地 | |
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85 plumes | |
羽毛( plume的名词复数 ); 羽毛饰; 羽毛状物; 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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86 gambling | |
n.赌博;投机 | |
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87 hooded | |
adj.戴头巾的;有罩盖的;颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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88 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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89 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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90 stilts | |
n.(支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的)桩子,支柱( stilt的名词复数 );高跷 | |
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91 brazen | |
adj.厚脸皮的,无耻的,坚硬的 | |
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92 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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93 revelling | |
v.作乐( revel的现在分词 );狂欢;着迷;陶醉 | |
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94 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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95 adepts | |
n.专家,能手( adept的名词复数 ) | |
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96 extemporaneous | |
adj.即席的,一时的 | |
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97 witticism | |
n.谐语,妙语 | |
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98 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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99 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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100 plying | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的现在分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
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101 screeching | |
v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 );发出粗而刺耳的声音;高叫 | |
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102 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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