The London season was very nearly come to an end, and Lord Farintosh had danced I don’t know how many times with Miss Newcome, had drunk several bottles of the old Kew port, had been seen at numerous breakfasts, operas, races, and public places by the young lady’s side, and had not as yet made any such proposal as Lady Kew expected for her granddaughter. Clive going to see his military friends in the Regent’s Park once, and finish Captain Butts1’s portrait in barracks, heard two or three young men talking, and one say to another, “I bet you three to two Farintosh don’t marry her, and I bet you even that he don’t ask her.” Then as he entered Mr. Butts’s room, where these gentlemen were conversing2, there was a silence and an awkwardness. The young fellows were making an “event” out of Ethel’s marriage, and sporting their money freely on it.
To have an old countess hunting a young marquis so resolutely3 that all the world should be able to look on and speculate whether her game would be run down by that staunch toothless old pursuer — that is an amusing sport, isn’t it? and affords plenty of fun and satisfaction to those who follow the hunt. But for a heroine of a story, be she ever so clever, handsome, and sarcastic4, I don’t think for my part, at this present stage of the tale, Miss Ethel Newcome occupies a very dignified5 position. To break her heart in silence for Tomkins who is in love with another; to suffer no end of poverty, starvation, capture by ruffians, ill-treatment by a bullying6 husband, loss of beauty by the small-pox, death even at the end of the volume; all these mishaps8 a young heroine must endure (and has endured in romances over and over again), without losing the least dignity, or suffering any diminution9 of the sentimental10 reader’s esteem11. But a girl of great beauty, high temper, and strong natural intellect, who submits to be dragged hither and thither12 in an old grandmother’s leash13, and in pursuit of a husband who will run away from the couple, such a person, I say, is in a very awkward position as a heroine; and I declare if I had another ready to my hand (and unless there were extenuating14 circumstances) Ethel should be deposed16 at this very sentence.
But a novelist must go on with his heroine, as a man with his wife, for better or worse, and to the end. For how many years have the Spaniards borne with their gracious queen, not because she was faultless, but because she was there? So Chambers17 and grandees18 cried, God save her. Alabarderos turned out: drums beat, cannons19 fired, and people saluted20 Isabella Segunda, who was no better than the humblest washerwoman of her subjects. Are we much better than our neighbours? Do we never yield to our peculiar21 temptation, our pride, or our avarice22 or our vanity, or what not? Ethel is very wrong certainly. But recollect23, she is very young. She is in other people’s hands. She has been bred up and governed by a very worldly family, and taught their traditions. We would hardly, for instance, the staunchest Protestant in England would hardly be angry with poor Isabella Segunda for being a Catholic. So if Ethel worships at a certain image which a great number of good folks in England bow to, let us not be too angry with her idolatry, and bear with our queen a little before we make our pronunciamiento.
No, Miss Newcome, yours is not a dignified position in life, however you may argue that hundreds of people in the world are doing like you. O me! what a confession24 it is, in the very outset of life and blushing brightness of youth’s morning, to own that the aim with which a young girl sets out, and the object of her existence, is to marry a rich man; that she was endowed with beauty so that she might buy wealth, and a title with it; that as sure as she has a soul to be saved, her business here on earth is to try and get a rich husband. That is the career for which many a woman is bred and trained. A young man begins the world with some aspirations25 at least; he will try to be good and follow the truth; he will strive to win honours for himself, and never do a base action; he will pass nights over his books, and forgo26 ease and pleasure so that he may achieve a name. Many a poor wretch27 who is worn-out now and old, and bankrupt of fame and money too, has commenced life at any rate with noble views and generous schemes, from which weakness, idleness, passion, or overpowering hostile fortune have turned him away. But a girl of the world, bon Dieu! the doctrine28 with which she begins is that she is to have a wealthy husband: the article of faith in her catechism is, “I believe in elder sons, and a house in town, and a house in the country!” They are mercenary as they step fresh and blooming into the world out of the nursery. They have been schooled there to keep their bright eyes to look only on the prince and the duke, Croesus and Dives. By long cramping29 and careful process, their little natural hearts have been squeezed up, like the feet of their fashionable little sisters in China. As you see a pauper’s child, with an awful premature30 knowledge of the pawnshop, able to haggle31 at market with her wretched halfpence, and battle bargains at hucksters’ stalls, you shall find a young beauty, who was a child in the schoolroom a year since, as wise and knowing as the old practitioners32 on that exchange; as economical of her smiles, as dexterous33 in keeping back or producing her beautiful wares34; as skilful35 in setting one bidder36 against another; as keen as the smartest merchant in Vanity Fair.
If the young gentlemen of the Life Guards Green who were talking about Miss Newcome and her suitors, were silent when Clive appeared amongst them, it was because they were aware not only of his relationship to the young lady, but his unhappy condition regarding her. Certain men there are who never tell their love, but let concealment37, like a worm in the bud, feed on their damask cheeks; others again must be not always thinking, but talking, about the darling object. So it was not very long before Captain Crackthorpe was taken into Clive’s confidence, and through Crackthorpe very likely the whole mess became acquainted with his passion. These young fellows, who had been early introduced into the world, gave Clive small hopes of success, putting to him, in their downright phraseology, the point of which he was already aware, that Miss Newcome was intended for his superiors, and that he had best not make his mind uneasy by sighing for those beautiful grapes which were beyond his reach.
But the good-natured Crackthorpe, who had a pity for the young painter’s condition, helped him so far (and gained Clive’s warmest thanks for his good offices), by asking admission for Clive to entertain evening parties of the beau-monde, where he had the gratification of meeting his charmer. Ethel was surprised and pleased, and Lady Kew surprised and angry, at meeting Clive Newcome at these fashionable houses; the girl herself was touched very likely at his pertinacity38 in following her. As there was no actual feud39 between them, she could not refuse now and again to dance with her cousin; and thus he picked up such small crumbs40 of consolation41 as a youth in his state can get; lived upon six words vouchsafed42 to him in a quadrille, or brought home a glance of the eyes which she had presented to him in a waltz, or the remembrance of a squeeze of the hand on parting or meeting. How eager he was to get a card to this party or that! how attentive43 to the givers of such entertainments! Some friends of his accused him of being a tuft-hunter and flatterer of the aristocracy, on account of his politeness to certain people; the truth was, he wanted to go wherever Miss Ethel was; and the ball was blank to him which she did not attend.
This business occupied not only one season, but two. By the time of the second season, Mr. Newcome had made so many acquaintances that he needed few more introductions into society. He was very well known as a good-natured handsome young man, and a very good waltzer, the only son of an Indian officer of large wealth, who chose to devote himself to painting, and who was supposed to entertain an unhappy fondness for his cousin the beautiful Miss Newcome. Kind folks who heard of this little tendre, and were sufficiently45 interested in Mr. Clive, asked him to their houses in consequence. I dare say those people who were good to him may have been themselves at one time unlucky in their own love-affairs.
When the first season ended without a declaration from my lord, Lady Kew carried off her young lady to Scotland, where it also so happened that Lord Farintosh was going to shoot, and people made what surmises46 they chose upon this coincidence. Surmises, why not? You who know the world, know very well that if you see Mrs. So-and-so’s name in the list of people at an entertainment, on looking down the list you will presently be sure to come on Mr. What-d’-you-call-’em’s. If Lord and Lady of Suchandsuch Castle, received a distinguished47 circle (including Lady Dash), for Christmas or Easter, without reading farther the names of the guests, you may venture on any wager48 that Captain Asterisk49 is one of the company. These coincidences happen every day; and some people are so anxious to meet other people, and so irresistible50 is the magnetic sympathy, I suppose, that they will travel hundreds of miles in the worst of weather to see their friends, and break your door open almost, provided the friend is inside it.
I am obliged to own the fact, that for many months Lady Kew hunted after Lord Farintosh. This rheumatic old woman went to Scotland, where, as he was pursuing the deer, she stalked his lordship: from Scotland she went to Paris, where he was taking lessons in dancing at the Chaumiere; from Paris to an English country-house, for Christmas, where he was expected, but didn’t come — not being, his professor said, quite complete in the polka, and so on. If Ethel were privy51 to these manoeuvres, or anything more than an unwittingly consenting party, I say we would depose15 her from her place of heroine at once. But she was acting52 under her grandmother’s orders, a most imperious, irresistible, managing old woman, who exacted everybody’s obedience53, and managed everybody’s business in her family. Lady Anne Newcome being in attendance on her sick husband, Ethel was consigned54 to the Countess of Kew, her grandmother, who hinted that she should leave Ethel her property when dead, and whilst alive expected the girl should go about with her. She had and wrote as many letters as a Secretary of State almost. She was accustomed to set off without taking anybody’s advice, or announcing her departure until within an hour or two of the event. In her train moved Ethel, against her own will, which would have led her to stay at home with her father, but at the special wish and order of her parents. Was such a sum as that of which Lady Kew had the disposal (Hobson Brothers knew the amount of it quite well) to be left out of the family? Forbid it, all ye powers! Barnes — who would have liked the money himself, and said truly that he would live with his grandmother anywhere she liked if he could get it — Barnes joined most energetically with Sir Brian and Lady Anne in ordering Ethel’s obedience to Lady Kew. You know how difficult it is for one young woman not to acquiesce55 when the family council strongly orders. In fine, I hope there was a good excuse for the queen of this history, and that it was her wicked domineering old prime minister who led her wrong. Otherwise I say, we would have another dynasty. Oh, to think of a generous nature, and the world, and nothing but the world, to occupy it! — of a brave intellect, and the milliner’s bandboxes, and the scandal of the coteries56, and the fiddle-faddle etiquette57 of the Court for its sole exercise! of the rush and hurry from entertainment to entertainment; of the constant smiles and cares of representation; of the prayerless rest at night, and the awaking to a godless morrow! This was the course of life to which Fate, and not her own fault altogether, had for awhile handed over Ethel Newcome. Let those pity her who can feel their own weakness and misgoing; let those punish her who are without fault themselves.
Clive did not offer to follow her to Scotland. he knew quite well that the encouragement he had had was only of the smallest; that as a relation she received him frankly58 and kindly59 enough; but checked him when he would have adopted another character. But it chanced that they met in Paris, whither he went in the Easter of the ensuing year, having worked to some good purpose through the winter, and despatched as on a former occasion his three or four pictures, to take their chance at the Exhibition.
Of these it is our pleasing duty to be able to corroborate60 to some extent, Mr. F. Bayham’s favourable61 report. Fancy sketches62 and historical pieces our young man had eschewed63; having convinced himself either that be had not an epic64 genius, or that to draw portraits of his friends, was a much easier task than that which he had set himself formerly65. Whilst all the world was crowding round a pair of J. J,.‘s little pictures, a couple of chalk heads were admitted into the Exhibition (his great picture of Captain Crackthorpe on horseback, in full uniform, I must admit was ignominiously66 rejected), and the friends of the parties had the pleasure of recognising in the miniature room, No. 1246, “Picture of an Officer,”— viz., Augustus Butts, Esq., of the Life Guards Green; and “Portrait of the Rev44. Charles Honeyman,” No. 1272. Miss Sherrick the hangers67 refused; Mr. Binnie, Clive had spoiled, as usual, in the painting; the heads, however, before-named, were voted to be faithful likenesses, and executed in a very agreeable and spirited manner. F. Bayham’s criticism on these performances, it need not be said, was tremendous. “Since the days of Michael Angelo you would have thought there never had been such drawings.” In fact, F. B., as some other critics do, clapped his friends so boisterously68 on the back, and trumpeted69 their merits with such prodigious70 energy, as to make his friends themselves sometimes uneasy.
Mr. Clive, whose good father was writing home more and more wonderful accounts of the Bundelcund Bank, in which he had engaged, and who was always pressing his son to draw for more money, treated himself to comfortable rooms at Paris, in the very same hotel where the young Marquis of Farintosh occupied lodgings71 much more splendid, and where he lived, no doubt, so as to be near the professor, who was still teaching his lordship the polka. Indeed, it must be said that Lord Farintosh made great progress under this artist, and that he danced very much better in his third season than in the first and second years after he had come upon the town. From the same instructor72 the Marquis learned the latest novelties in French conversation, the choicest oaths and phrases (for which he was famous), so that although his French grammar was naturally defective73, he was enabled to order a dinner at Philippe’s, and to bully7 a waiter, or curse a hackney-coachman with extreme volubility. A young nobleman of his rank was received with the distinction which was his due, by the French sovereign of that period; and at the Tuileries, and the houses of the French nobility, which he visited, Monsieur le Marquis de Farintosh excited considerable remark, by the use of some of the phrases which his young professor had taught to him. People even went so far as to say that the Marquis was an awkward and dull young man, of the very worst manners.
Whereas the young Clive Newcome — and it comforted the poor fellow’s heart somewhat, and be sure pleased Ethel, who was looking on at his triumphs — was voted the most charming young Englishman who had been seen for a long time in our salons75. Madame de Florac, who loved him as a son of her own, actually went once or twice into the world in order to see his debut76. Madame de Moncontour inhabited a part of the Hotel de Florac, and received society there. The French people did not understand what bad English she talked, though they comprehended Lord Farintosh’s French blunders. “Monsieur Newcome is an artist! What a noble career!” cries a great French lady, the wife of a Marshal to the astonished Miss Newcome. “This young man is the cousin, of the charming mees? You must be proud to possess such a nephew, madame!” says another French lady to the Countess of Kew (who, you may be sure, is delighted to have such a relative). And the French lady invites Clive to her receptions expressly in order to make herself agreeable to the old Comtesse. Before the cousins have been three minutes together in Madame de Florac’s salon74, she sees that Clive is in love with Ethel Newcome. She takes the boy’s hand and says, “J’ai votre secret, mon ami;” and her eyes regard him for a moment as fondly, as tenderly, as ever they looked at his father. Oh, what tears have they shed, gentle eyes! Oh, what faith has it kept, tender heart! If love lives through all life; and survives through all sorrow; and remains77 steadfast78 with us through all changes; and in all darkness of spirit burns brightly; and, if we die, deplores79 us for ever, and loves still equally; and exists with the very last gasp80 and throb81 of the faithful bosom82 — whence it passes with the pure soul, beyond death; surely it shall be immortal83? Though we who remain are separated from it, is it not ours in Heaven? If we love still those we lose, can we altogether lose those we love? Forty years have passed away. Youth and dearest memories revisit her, and Hope almost wakes up again out of its grave, as the constant lady holds the young man’s hand, and looks at the son of Thomas Newcome.
点击收听单词发音
1 butts | |
笑柄( butt的名词复数 ); (武器或工具的)粗大的一端; 屁股; 烟蒂 | |
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2 conversing | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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3 resolutely | |
adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
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4 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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5 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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6 bullying | |
v.恐吓,威逼( bully的现在分词 );豪;跋扈 | |
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7 bully | |
n.恃强欺弱者,小流氓;vt.威胁,欺侮 | |
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8 mishaps | |
n.轻微的事故,小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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9 diminution | |
n.减少;变小 | |
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10 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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11 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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12 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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13 leash | |
n.牵狗的皮带,束缚;v.用皮带系住 | |
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14 extenuating | |
adj.使减轻的,情有可原的v.(用偏袒的辩解或借口)减轻( extenuate的现在分词 );低估,藐视 | |
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15 depose | |
vt.免职;宣誓作证 | |
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16 deposed | |
v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 );(在法庭上)宣誓作证 | |
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17 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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18 grandees | |
n.贵族,大公,显贵者( grandee的名词复数 ) | |
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19 cannons | |
n.加农炮,大炮,火炮( cannon的名词复数 ) | |
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20 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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21 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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22 avarice | |
n.贪婪;贪心 | |
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23 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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24 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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25 aspirations | |
强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
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26 forgo | |
v.放弃,抛弃 | |
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27 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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28 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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29 cramping | |
图像压缩 | |
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30 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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31 haggle | |
vi.讨价还价,争论不休 | |
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32 practitioners | |
n.习艺者,实习者( practitioner的名词复数 );从业者(尤指医师) | |
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33 dexterous | |
adj.灵敏的;灵巧的 | |
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34 wares | |
n. 货物, 商品 | |
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35 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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36 bidder | |
n.(拍卖时的)出价人,报价人,投标人 | |
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37 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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38 pertinacity | |
n.执拗,顽固 | |
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39 feud | |
n.长期不和;世仇;v.长期争斗;世代结仇 | |
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40 crumbs | |
int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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41 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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42 vouchsafed | |
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 );允诺 | |
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43 attentive | |
adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
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44 rev | |
v.发动机旋转,加快速度 | |
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45 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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46 surmises | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的第三人称单数 );揣测;猜想 | |
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47 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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48 wager | |
n.赌注;vt.押注,打赌 | |
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49 asterisk | |
n.星号,星标 | |
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50 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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51 privy | |
adj.私用的;隐密的 | |
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52 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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53 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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54 consigned | |
v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的过去式和过去分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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55 acquiesce | |
vi.默许,顺从,同意 | |
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56 coteries | |
n.(有共同兴趣的)小集团( coterie的名词复数 ) | |
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57 etiquette | |
n.礼仪,礼节;规矩 | |
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58 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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59 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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60 corroborate | |
v.支持,证实,确定 | |
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61 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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62 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
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63 eschewed | |
v.(尤指为道德或实际理由而)习惯性避开,回避( eschew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
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65 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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66 ignominiously | |
adv.耻辱地,屈辱地,丢脸地 | |
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67 hangers | |
n.衣架( hanger的名词复数 );挂耳 | |
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68 boisterously | |
adv.喧闹地,吵闹地 | |
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69 trumpeted | |
大声说出或宣告(trumpet的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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70 prodigious | |
adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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71 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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72 instructor | |
n.指导者,教员,教练 | |
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73 defective | |
adj.有毛病的,有问题的,有瑕疵的 | |
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74 salon | |
n.[法]沙龙;客厅;营业性的高级服务室 | |
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75 salons | |
n.(营业性质的)店( salon的名词复数 );厅;沙龙(旧时在上流社会女主人家的例行聚会或聚会场所);(大宅中的)客厅 | |
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76 debut | |
n.首次演出,初次露面 | |
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77 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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78 steadfast | |
adj.固定的,不变的,不动摇的;忠实的;坚贞不移的 | |
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79 deplores | |
v.悲叹,痛惜,强烈反对( deplore的第三人称单数 ) | |
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80 gasp | |
n.喘息,气喘;v.喘息;气吁吁他说 | |
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81 throb | |
v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
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82 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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83 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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