“Now, then,” continued Sir Ulick, “of all the figures in nature or art, the formal circle is universally the most obnoxious3 to conversation, and, to me, the most formidable; all my faculties4 are spell-bound — here I am like a bird in a circle of chalk, that dare not move so much as its head or its eyes, and can’t, for the life of it, take to its legs.”
A titter ran round that part of the circle where the young ladies sat — Sir Ulick was a favourite, and they rejoiced when he came among them; because, as they observed, “he always said something pleasant, or set something pleasant a-going.”
“Lady O’Shane, for mercy’s sake let us have no more of these permanent circle sittings at Castle Hermitage, my dear!”
“Sir Ulick, I am sure I should be very glad if it were possible,” replied Lady O’Shane, “to have no more permanent sittings at Castle Hermitage; but when gentlemen are at their bottle, I really don’t know what the ladies can do but sit in a circle.”
“Can’t they dance in a circle, or any way? or have not they an elegant resource in their music? There’s many here who, to my knowledge, can caper5 as well as they modulate,” said Sir Ulick, “to say nothing of cards for those that like them.”
“Lady Annaly does not like cards,” said Lady O’Shane, “and I could not ask any of these young ladies to waste their breath and their execution, singing and playing before the gentlemen came out.”
“These young ladies would not, I’m sure, do us old fellows the honour of waiting for us; and the young beaux deserted6 to your tea-table a long hour ago — so why you have not been dancing is a mystery beyond my comprehension.”
“Tea or coffee, Sir Ulick O’Shane, for the third time of asking?” cried a sharp female voice from the remote tea-table.
“Wouldn’t you swear to that being the voice of a presbyterian?” whispered Sir Ulick, over his shoulder to the curate: then aloud he replied to the lady, “Miss Black, you are three times too obliging. Neither tea nor coffee I’ll take from you to-night, I thank you kindly7.”
“Fortunate for yourself, sir — for both are as cold as stones — and no wonder!” said Miss Black.
“No wonder!” echoed Lady O’Shane, looking at her watch, and sending forth8 an ostentatious sigh.
“What o’clock is it by your ladyship?” asked Miss Black. “I have a notion it’s tremendously late.”
“No matter — we are not pinned to hours in this house, Miss Black,” said Sir Ulick, walking up to the tea-table, and giving her a look, which said as plainly as look could say, “You had better be quiet.”
Lady O’Shane followed her husband, and putting her arm within his, began to say something in a fondling tone; and in a most conciliatory manner she went on talking to him for some moments. He looked absent, and replied coldly.
“I’ll take a cup of coffee from you now, Miss Black,” said he, drawing away his arm from his wife, who looked much mortified9.
“We are too long, Lady O’Shane,” added he, “standing here like lovers, talking to no one but ourselves — awkward in company.”
“Like lovers!” The sound pleased poor Lady O’Shane’s ear, and she smiled for the first time this night — Lady O’Shane was perhaps the last woman in the room whom a stranger would have guessed to be Sir Ulick’s wife.
He was a fine gallant10 off-hand looking Irishman, with something of dash in his tone and air, which at first view might lead a common observer to pronounce him to be vulgar; but at five minutes after sight, a good judge of men and manners would have discovered in him the power of assuming whatever manner he chose, from the audacity11 of the callous12 profligate13 to the deference14 of the accomplished15 courtier — the capability16 of adapting his conversation to his company and his views, whether his object were “to set the senseless table in a roar,” or to insinuate17 himself into the delicate female heart. Of this latter power, his age had diminished but not destroyed the influence. The fame of former conquests still operated in his favour, though he had long since passed his splendid meridian18 of gallantry.
While Sir Ulick is drinking his cup of cold coffee, we may look back a little into his family history. To go no farther than his legitimate19 loves, he had successively won three wives, who had each, in her turn, been desperately20 enamoured: the first he loved, and married imprudently for love, at seventeen; the second he admired, and married prudently21, for ambition, at thirty; the third he hated, but married, from necessity, for money, at five-and-forty. The first wife, Miss Annaly, after ten years’ martyrdom of the heart, sank, childless — a victim, it was said, to love and jealousy22. The second wife, Lady Theodosia, struggled stoutly23 for power, backed by strong and high connexions; having, moreover, the advantage of being a mother, and mother of an only son and heir, the representative of a father in whom ambition had, by this time, become the ruling passion: the Lady Theodosia stood her ground, wrangling24 and wrestling through a fourteen years’ wedlock25, till at last, to Sir Ulick’s great relief, not to say joy, her ladyship was carried off by a bad fever, or a worse apothecary26. His present lady, formerly27 Mrs. Scraggs, a London widow of very large fortune, happened to see Sir Ulick when he went to present some address, or settle some point between the English and Irish government:— he was in deep mourning at the time, and the widow pitied him very much. But she was not the sort of woman he would ever have suspected could like him — she was a strict pattern lady, severe on the times, and, not unfrequently, lecturing young men gratis29. Now Sir Ulick O’Shane was a sinner; how then could he please a saint? He did, however — but the saint did not please him — though she set to work for the good of his soul, and in her own person relaxed, to please his taste, even to the wearing of rouge30 and pearl-powder, and false hair, and false eyebrows31, and all the falsifications which the setters-up could furnish. But after she had purchased all of youth which age can purchase for money, it would not do. The Widow Scraggs might, with her “lack lustre” eyes, have speculated for ever in vain upon Sir Ulick, but that, fortunately for her passion, at one and the same time, the Irish ministry32 were turned out, and an Irish canal burst. Sir Ulick losing his place by the change of ministry, and one half of his fortune by the canal, in which it had been sunk; and having spent in unsubstantial schemes and splendid living more than the other half; now, in desperate misery33, laid hold of the Widow Scraggs. After a nine days’ courtship she became a bride, and she and her plum in the stocks — but not her messuage, house, and lands, in Kent — became the property of Sir Ulick O’Shane. “Love was then lord of all” with her, and she was now to accompany Sir Ulick to Ireland. Late in life she was carried to a new country, and set down among a people whom she had all her previous days been taught to hold in contempt or aversion: she dreaded34 Irish disturbances35 much, and Irish dirt more; she was persuaded that nothing could be right, good, or genteel, that was not English. Her habits and tastes were immutably36 fixed37. Her experience had been confined to a London life, and in proportion as her sphere of observation had been contracted, her disposition38 was intolerant. She made no allowance for the difference of opinion, customs, and situation, much less for the faults or foibles of people who were to her strangers and foreigners — her ladyship was therefore little likely to please or be pleased in her new situation. Her husband was the only individual, the only thing, animate39 or inanimate, that she liked in Ireland — and while she was desperately in love with an Irishman, she disliked Ireland and the Irish: even the Irish talents and virtues40, their wit, humour, generosity42 of character, and freedom of manner, were lost upon her — her country neighbours were repelled43 by her air of taciturn self-sufficiency — and she, for her part, declared she would have been satisfied to have lived alone at Castle Hermitage with Sir Ulick. But Sir Ulick had no notion of living alone with her, or for any body. His habits were all social and convivial44 — he loved show and company: he had been all his life in the habit of entertaining all ranks of people at Castle Hermitage, from his excellency the Lord–Lieutenant and the commander-in-chief for the time being, to Tim the gauger45, and honest Tom Kelly, the stalko.
He talked of the necessity of keeping up a neighbourhood, and maintaining his interest in the county, as the first duties of man. Ostensibly Sir Ulick had no motive46 in all this, but the hospitable47 wish of seeing Castle Hermitage one continued scene of festivity; but under this good fellowship and apparent thoughtlessness and profusion48, there was an eye to his own interest, and a keen view to the improvement of his fortune and the advancement49 of his family. With these habits and views, it was little likely that he should yield to the romantic, jealous, or economic tastes of his new lady — a bride ten years older than himself! Lady O’Shane was, soon after her arrival in Ireland, compelled to see her house as full of company as it could possibly hold; and her ladyship was condemned50 eternally, to do the honours to successive troops of friends, of whom she knew nothing, and of whom she disliked all she saw or heard. Her dear Sir Ulick was, or seemed, so engrossed51 by the business of pleasure, so taken up with his guests, that but a few minutes in the day could she ever obtain of his company. She saw herself surrounded by the young, the fair, and the gay, to whom Sir Ulick devoted52 his assiduous and gallant attentions; and though his age, and his being a married man, seemed to preclude53, in the opinion of the cool or indifferent spectator, all idea of any real cause for jealousy, yet it was not so with poor Lady O’Shane’s magnifying imagination. The demon54 of jealousy tortured her; and to enhance her sufferings, she was obliged to conceal55 them, lest they should become subjects of private mockery or public derision. It is the peculiar56 misfortune or punishment of misplaced, and yet more of unseasonable, passions, that in their distresses58 they obtain no sympathy; and while the passion is in all its consequence tragics to the sufferer, in all its exhibitions it is — ludicrous to the spectator. Lady O’Shane could not be young, and would not be old: so without the charms of youth, or the dignity of age, she could neither inspire love, nor command respect; nor could she find fit occupation or amusement, or solace59 or refuge, in any combination of company or class of society. Unluckily, as her judgment60, never discriminating61, was now blinded by jealousy, the two persons of all his family connexions upon whom she pitched as the peculiar objects of her fear and hatred62 were precisely63 those who were most disposed to pity and befriend her — to serve her in private with Sir Ulick, and to treat her with deference in public: these two persons were Lady Annaly and her daughter. Lady Annaly was a distant relation of Sir Ulick’s first wife, during whose life some circumstances had occurred which had excited her ladyship’s indignation against him. For many years all commerce between them had ceased. Lady Annaly was a woman of generous indignation, strong principles, and warm affections. Her rank, her high connexions, her high character, her having, from the time she was left a young and beautiful widow, devoted herself to the education and the interests of her children; her having persevered64 in her lofty course, superior to all the numerous temptations of love, vanity, or ambition, by which she was assailed65; her long and able administration of a large property, during the minority of her son; her subsequent graceful66 resignation of power; his affection, gratitude67, and deference for his mother, which now continued to prolong her influence, and exemplify her precepts68 in every act of his own; altogether placed this lady high in public consideration — high as any individual could stand in a country, where national enthusiastic attachment69 is ever excited by certain noble qualities congenial with the Irish nature. Sir Ulick O’Shane, sensible of the disadvantage of having estranged70 such a family connexion, and fully71 capable of appreciating the value of her friendship, had of late years taken infinite pains to redeem72 himself in Lady Annaly’s opinion. His consummate73 address, aided and abetted74 and concealed75 as it was by his off-hand manner, would scarcely have succeeded, had it not been supported also by some substantial good qualities, especially by the natural candour and generosity of his disposition. In favour of the originally strong, and, through all his errors, wonderfully surviving taste for virtue41, some of his manifold transgressions76 might be forgiven: there was much hope and promise of amendment77; and besides, to state things just as they were, he had propitiated78 the mother, irresistibly79, by his enthusiastic admiration80 of the daughter — so that Lady Annaly had at last consented to revisit Castle Hermitage. Her ladyship and her daughter were now on this reconciliation81 visit; Sir Ulick was extremely anxious to make it agreeable. Besides the credit of her friendship, he had other reasons for wishing to conciliate her: his son Marcus was just twenty — two years older than Miss Annaly — in course of time, Sir Ulick thought it might be a match — his son could not possibly make a better — beauty, fortune, family connexions, every thing that the hearts of young and old desire. Besides (for in Sir Ulick’s calculations besides was a word frequently occurring), besides, Miss Annaly’s brother was not as strong in body as in mind — in two illnesses his life had been despaired of — a third might carry him off — the estate would probably come to Miss Annaly. Besides, be this hereafter as it might, there was at this present time a considerable debt due by Sir Ulick to these Annalys, with accumulated interest, since the time of his first marriage; and this debt would be merged82 in Miss Annaly’s portion, should she become his son’s wife. All this was well calculated; but to say nothing of the character or affections of the son, Sir Ulick had omitted to consider Lady O’Shane, or he had taken it for granted that her love for him would induce her at once to enter into and second his views. It did not so happen. On the contrary, the dislike which Lady O’Shane took at sight to both the mother and daughter — to the daughter instinctively83, at sight of her youth and beauty; to the mother reflectively, on account of her matronly dress and dignified84 deportment, in too striking contrast to her own frippery appearance — increased every day, and every hour, when she saw the attentions, the adoration85, that Sir Ulick paid to Miss Annaly, and the deference and respect he showed to Lady Annaly, all for qualities and accomplishments86 in which Lady O’Shane was conscious that she was irremediably deficient87. Sir Ulick thought to extinguish her jealousy, by opening to her his views on Miss Annaly for his son; but the jealousy, taking only a new direction, strengthened in its course. Lady O’Shane did not like her stepson — had indeed no great reason to like him; Marcus disliked her, and was at no pains to conceal his dislike. She dreaded the accession of domestic power and influence he would gain by such a marriage. She could not bear the thoughts of having a daughter-in-law brought into the house — placed in eternal comparison with her. Sir Ulick O’Shane was conscious that his marriage exposed him to some share of ridicule88; but hitherto, except when his taste for raillery, and the diversion of exciting her causeless jealousy, interfered89 with his purpose, he had always treated her ladyship as he conceived that Lady O’Shane ought to be treated. Naturally good-natured, and habitually90 attentive91 to the sex, he had indeed kept up appearances better than could have been expected, from a man of his former habits, to a woman of her ladyship’s present age; but if she now crossed his favourite scheme, it would be all over with her — her submission92 to his will had hitherto been a sufficient and a convenient proof, and the only proof he desired, of her love. Her ladyship’s evil genius, in the shape of Miss Black, her humble93 companion, was now busily instigating94 her to be refractory95. Miss Black had frequently whispered, that if Lady O’Shane would show more spirit, she would do better with Sir Ulick; that his late wife, Lady Theodosia, had ruled him, by showing proper spirit; that in particular, she should make a stand against the encroachments of Sir Ulick’s son Marcus, and of his friend and companion, young Ormond. In consequence of these suggestions, Lady O’Shane had most judiciously96 thwarted97 both these young men in trifles, till she had become their aversion: this aversion Marcus felt more than he expressed, and Ormond expressed more strongly than he felt. To Sir Ulick, his son and heir was his first great object in life; yet, though in all things he preferred the interest of Marcus, he was not as fond of Marcus as he was of young Ormond. Young Ormond was the son of the friend of Sir Ulick O’Shane’s youthful and warm-hearted days — the son of an officer who had served in the same regiment98 with him in his first campaign. Captain Ormond afterwards made an unfortunate marriage — that is, a marriage without a fortune — his friends would not see him or his wife — he was soon in debt, and in great distress57. He was obliged to leave his wife and go to India. She had then one child at nurse in an Irish cabin. She died soon afterwards. Sir Ulick O’Shane took the child, that had been left at nurse, into his own house. From the time it was four years old, little Harry99 Ormond became his darling and grew up his favourite. Sir Ulick’s fondness, however, had not extended to any care of his education — quite the contrary; he had done all he could to spoil him by the most injudicious indulgence, and by neglect of all instruction or discipline. Marcus had been sent to school and college; but Harry Ormond, meantime, had been let to run wild at home: the gamekeeper, the huntsman, and a cousin of Sir Ulick, who called himself the King of the Black Islands, had had the principal share in his education. Captain Ormond, his father, was not heard of for many years; and Sir Ulick always argued, that there was no use in giving Harry Ormond the education of an estated gentleman, when he was not likely to have an estate. Moreover, he prophesied100 that Harry would turn out the cleverest man of the two; and in the progress of the two boys towards manhood Sir Ulick had shown a strange sort of double and inconsistent vanity in his son’s acquirements, and in the orphan101 Harry’s natural genius. Harry’s extremely warm, generous, grateful temper, delighted Sir Ulick; but he gloried in the superior polish of his own son. Harry Ormond grew up with all the faults that were incident to his natural violence of passions, and that might necessarily be expected from his neglected and deficient education. His devoted gratitude and attachment to his guardian102 father, as he called Sir Ulick, made him amenable103 in an instant, even in the height and tempest of his passions, to whatever Sir Ulick desired; but he was ungovernable by most other people, and rude even to insolence104, where he felt tyranny or suspected meanness. Miss Black and he were always at open war; to Lady O’Shane he submitted, though with an ill grace; yet he did submit, for his guardian’s sake, where he himself only was concerned; but most imprudently and fiercely he contended upon every occasion where Marcus, when aggrieved105, had declined contending with his mother-in-law.
Upon the present occasion the two youths had been long engaged to dine with, and keep the birthday of, Mr. Cornelius O’Shane, the King of the Black Islands — next to Sir Ulick the being upon earth to whom Harry Ormond thought himself most obliged, and to whom he felt himself most attached. This he had represented to Lady O’Shane, and had earnestly requested that, as the day for the intended dance was a matter of indifference106 to her, it might not be fixed on this day; but her ladyship had purposely made it a trial of strength, and had insisted upon their returning at a certain hour. She knew that Sir Ulick would be much vexed107 by their want of punctuality on this occasion, where the Annalys were concerned, though, in general, punctuality was a virtue for which he had no regard.
Sir Ulick had finished his cup of coffee. “Miss Black, send away the tea-things — send away all these things,” cried he. “Young ladies, better late than never, you know — let’s have dancing now; clear the decks for action.”
The young ladies started from their seats immediately. All was now in happy motion. The servants answered promptly108 — the tea-things retired109 in haste — tables rolled away — chairs swung into the back-ground — the folding-doors of the dancing-room were thrown open — the pyramids of wax-candles in the chandeliers (for this was ere argands were on earth) started into light — the musicians tuning110, screwing, scraping, sounded, discordant111 as they were, joyful112 notes of preparation.
“But where’s my son — where’s Marcus?” said Sir Ulick, drawing Lady O’Shane aside. “I don’t see him any where.”
“No,” said Lady O’Shane; “you know that he would go to dine to-day with that strange cousin of yours, and neither he nor his companion have thought proper to return yet.”
“I wish you had given me a hint,” said Sir Ulick, “and I would have waited; for Marcus ought to lead off with Miss Annaly.”
“Ought— to be sure.” said Lady O’Shane; “but that is no rule for young gentlemen’s conduct. I told both the young gentlemen that we were to have a dance to-night. I mentioned the hour, and begged them to be punctual.”
“Young men are never punctual,” said Sir Ulick; “but Marcus is inexcusable to-night on account of the Annalys.”
Sir Ulick pondered for a moment with an air of vexation, then turning to the musicians, who were behind him, “You four-and-twenty fiddlers all in a row, you gentlemen musicians, scrape and tune28 on a little longer, if you please. Remember you are not ready till I draw on my gloves. Break a string or two, if necessary.”
“We will — we shall — plase your honour.”
“I wish, Lady O’Shane,” continued Sir Ulick in a lower tone, “I wish you had given me a hint of this.”
“Truth to tell, Sir Ulick, I did, I own, conceive from your walk and way, that you were not in a condition to take any hint I could give.”
“Pshaw, my dear, after having known me, I won’t say loved me, a calendar year, how can you be so deceived by outward appearances? Don’t you know that I hate drinking? But when I have these county electioneering friends, the worthy113 red noses, to entertain, I suit myself to the company, by acting114 spirits instead of swallowing them, for I should scorn to appear to flinch115!”
This was true. Sir Ulick could, and often did, to the utmost perfection, counterfeit116 every degree of intoxication117. He could act the rise, decline, and fall of the drunken man, marking the whole progress, from the first incipient118 hesitation119 of reason to the glorious confusion of ideas in the highest state of elevation120, thence through all the declining cases of stultified121 paralytic122 ineptitude123, down to the horizontal condition of preterpluperfect ebriety.
“Really, Sir Ulick, you are so good an actor that I don’t pretend to judge — I can seldom find out the truth from you.”
“So much the better for you, my dear, if you knew but all,” said Sir Ulick, laughing.
“If I knew but all!” repeated her ladyship, with an alarmed look.
“But that’s not the matter in hand at present, my dear.”
Sir Ulick protracted124 the interval125 before the opening of the ball as long as he possibly could — but in vain — the young gentlemen did not appear. Sir Ulick drew on his gloves. The broken strings126 of the violins were immediately found to be mended. Sir Ulick opened the ball himself with Miss Annaly, after making as handsome an apology for his son as the case would admit — an apology which was received by the young lady with the most graceful good-nature. She declined dancing more than one dance, and Sir Ulick sat down between her and Lady Annaly, exerting all his powers of humour to divert them, at the expense of his cousin, the King of the Black Islands, whose tedious ferry, or whose claret, or more likely whose whiskey-punch, he was sure, had been the cause of Marcus’s misdemeanour. It was now near twelve o’clock. Lady O’Shane, who had made many aggravating127 reflections upon the disrespectful conduct of the young gentlemen, grew restless on another count. The gates were left open for them — the gates ought to be locked! There were disturbances in the country. “Pshaw!” Sir Ulick said. Opposite directions were given at opposite doors to two servants.
“Dempsey, tell them they need not lock the gates till the young gentlemen come home, or at least till one o’clock,” said Sir Ulick.
“Stone,” said Lady O’Shane to her own man in a very low voice, “go down directly, and see that the gates are locked, and bring me the keys.”
Dempsey, an Irishman, who was half drunk, forgot to see or say any thing about it. Stone, an Englishman, went directly to obey his lady’s commands, and the gates were locked, and the keys brought to her ladyship, who put them immediately into her work-table.
Half an hour afterwards, as Lady O’Shane was sitting with her back to the glass-door of the green house, which opened into the ball-room, she was startled by a peremptory128 tap on the glass behind her; she turned, and saw young Ormond, pale as death, and stained with blood.
“The keys of the gate instantly,” cried he, “for mercy’s sake!”
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收听单词发音
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1
petrifying
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| v.吓呆，使麻木( petrify的现在分词 )；使吓呆，使惊呆；僵化 | |
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2
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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3
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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4
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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5
caper
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| v.雀跃，欢蹦；n.雀跃，跳跃；续随子，刺山柑花蕾；嬉戏 | |
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6
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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7
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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10
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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12
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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13
profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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14
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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15
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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16
capability
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| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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17
insinuate
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| vt.含沙射影地说，暗示 | |
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18
meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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19
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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23
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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24
wrangling
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| v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的现在分词 ) | |
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wedlock
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| n.婚姻，已婚状态 | |
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apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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27
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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28
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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30
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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31
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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32
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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33
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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34
dreaded
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| 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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35
disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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36
immutably
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| adv.不变地，永恒地 | |
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37
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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38
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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39
animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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40
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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41
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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42
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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43
repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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44
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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45
gauger
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| n.收税官 | |
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46
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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47
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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48
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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49
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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50
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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51
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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52
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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53
preclude
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| vt.阻止，排除，防止；妨碍 | |
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54
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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55
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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56
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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57
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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58
distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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59
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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60
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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61
discriminating
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| a.有辨别能力的 | |
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62
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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63
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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64
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
assailed
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| 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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66
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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67
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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68
precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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69
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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70
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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71
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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72
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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74
abetted
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| v.教唆（犯罪）( abet的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；怂恿；支持 | |
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75
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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76
transgressions
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| n.违反，违法，罪过( transgression的名词复数 ) | |
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77
amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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78
propitiated
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| v.劝解，抚慰，使息怒( propitiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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80
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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81
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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82
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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83
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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84
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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85
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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86
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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87
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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88
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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89
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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90
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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91
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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92
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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93
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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94
instigating
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| v.使（某事物）开始或发生，鼓动( instigate的现在分词 ) | |
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95
refractory
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| adj.倔强的，难驾驭的 | |
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96
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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97
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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98
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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99
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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100
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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102
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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103
amenable
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| adj.经得起检验的；顺从的；对负有义务的 | |
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104
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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105
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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106
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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107
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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108
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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109
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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110
tuning
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| n.调谐，调整，调音v.调音( tune的现在分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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111
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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112
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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113
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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114
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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115
flinch
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| v.畏缩，退缩 | |
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116
counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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117
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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118
incipient
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| adj.起初的，发端的，初期的 | |
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119
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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120
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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121
stultified
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| v.使成为徒劳，使变得无用( stultify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
paralytic
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| adj. 瘫痪的 n. 瘫痪病人 | |
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123
ineptitude
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| n.不适当；愚笨，愚昧的言行 | |
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124
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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125
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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126
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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127
aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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128
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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