My merry, merry men!
— JOANNA BAILLIE.
When the moon rose that night, there was one spot upon which she palely broke, about ten miles distant from Warlock, which the forewarned traveller would not have been eager to pass, but which might not have afforded a bad study to such artists as have caught from the savage1 painter of the Apennines a love for the wild and the adventurous2. Dark trees, scattered3 far and wide over a broken but verdant4 sward, made the background; the moon shimmered5 through the boughs6 as she came slowly forth7 from her pavilion of cloud, and poured a broader beam on two figures just advanced beyond the trees. More plainly brought into light by her rays than his companion, here a horseman, clad in a short cloak that barely covered the crupper of his steed, was looking to the priming of a large pistol which he had just taken from his holster. A slouched hat and a mask of black crape conspired8 with the action to throw a natural suspicion on the intentions of the rider. His horse, a beautiful dark gray, stood quite motionless, with arched neck, and its short ears quickly moving to and fro, demonstrative of that sagacious and anticipative attention which characterizes the noblest of all tamed animals; you would not have perceived the impatience9 of the steed, but for the white foam10 that gathered round the bit, and for an occasional and unfrequent toss of the head. Behind this horseman, and partially11 thrown into the dark shadow of the trees, another man, similarly clad, was busied in tightening12 the girths of a horse, of great strength and size. As he did so, he hummed, with no unmusical murmur13, the air of a popular drinking-song.
“‘Sdeath, Ned!” said his comrade, who had for some time been plunged14 in a silent revery — ”‘Sdeath! why can you not stifle15 your love for the fine arts at a moment like this? That hum of thine grows louder every moment; at last I expect it will burst out into a full roar. Recollect16 we are not at Gentleman George’s now!”
“The more’s the pity, Augustus,” answered Ned. “Soho, Little John; woaho, sir! A nice long night like this is made on purpose for drinking. Will you, sir? keep still then!”
“Man never is, but always to be blest,” said the moralizing Tomlinson; “you see you sigh for other scenes even when you have a fine night and the chance of a God-send before you.”
“Ay, the night is fine enough,” said Ned, who was rather a grumbler17, as, having finished his groom-like operation, he now slowly mounted. “D—— it, Oliver! [The moon] looks out as broadly as if he were going to blab. For my part, I love a dark night, with a star here and there winking18 at us, as much as to say, ‘I see you, my boys, but I won’t say a word about it,’ and a small, pattering, drizzling19, mizzling rain, that prevents Little John’s hoofs20 being heard, and covers one’s retreat, as it were. Besides, when one is a little wet, it is always necessary to drink the more, to keep the cold from one’s stomach when one gets home.”
“Or in other words,” said Augustus, who loved a maxim21 from his very heart, “light wet cherishes heavy wet!”
“Good!” said Ned, yawning. “Hang it, I wish the captain would come. Do you know what o’clock it is? Not far short of eleven, I suppose?”
“About that! Hist, is that a carriage? No, it is only a sudden rise in the wind.”
“Very self-sufficient in Mr. Wind to allow himself to be raised without our help!” said Ned; “by the way, we are of course to go back to the Red Cave?”
“So Captain Lovett says. Tell me, Ned, what do you think of the new tenant22 Lovett has put into the cave?”
“Oh, I have strange doubts there,” answered Ned, shaking the hairy honours of his head. “I don’t half like it; consider the cave is our stronghold, and ought only to be known —”
“To men of tried virtue,” interrupted Tomlinson. “I agree with you; I must try and get Lovett to discard his singular protege, as the French say.”
“‘Gad, Augustus, how came you by so much learning? You know all the poets by heart, to say nothing of Latin and French.”
“Oh, hang it, I was brought up, like the captain, to a literary way of life.”
“That’s what makes you so thick with him, I suppose. He writes (and sings too) a tolerable song, and is certainly a deuced clever fellow. What a rise in the world he has made! Do you recollect what a poor sort of way he was in when you introduced him at Gentleman George’s? and now he’s the Captain Crank of the gang.”
“The gang! the company, you mean. Gang, indeed! One would think you were speaking of a knot of pickpockets23. Yes, Lovett is a clever fellow; and, thanks to me, a very decent philosopher!” It is impossible to convey to our reader the grave air of importance with which Tomlinson made his concluding laudation. “Yes,” said he, after a pause, “he has a bold, plain way of viewing things, and, like Voltaire, he becomes a philosopher by being a Man of Sense! Hist! see my horse’s ears! Some one is coming, though I don’t hear him! Keep watch!”
The robbers grew silent; the sound of distant hoofs was indistinctly heard, and, as it came nearer, there was a crash of boughs, as if a hedge had been ridden through. Presently the moon gleamed picturesquely24 on the figure of a horseman, approaching through the copse in the rear of the robbers.
Now he was half seen among the sinuosities of his forest path; now in full sight, now altogether hid; then his horse neighed impatiently; now he again came in sight, and in a moment more he had joined the pair! The new-corner was of a tall and sinewy25 frame, and in the first bloom of manhood. A frock of dark green, edged with a narrow silver lace, and buttoned from the throat to the middle, gave due effect to an upright mien26, a broad chest, and a slender but rounded waist, that stood in no need of the compression of the tailor. A short riding-cloak, clasped across the throat with a silver buckle27, hung picturesquely over one shoulder, while his lower limbs were cased in military boots, which, though they rose above the knee, were evidently neither heavy nor embarrassing to the vigorous sinews of the horseman. The caparisons of the steed — the bit, the bridle28, the saddle, the holster — were according to the most approved fashion of the day; and the steed itself was in the highest condition, and of remarkable29 beauty. The horseman’s air was erect30 and bold; a small but coal-black mustachio heightened the resolute31 expression of his short, curved lip; and from beneath the large hat which overhung his brow his long locks escaped, and waved darkly in the keen night air. Altogether, horseman and horse exhibited a gallant32 and even a chivalrous33 appearance, which the hour and the scene heightened to a dramatic and romantic effect.
“Ha! Lovett.”
“How are you, my merry men?” were the salutations exchanged.
“What news?” said Ned.
“Brave news! look to it. My lord and his carriage will be by in ten minutes at most.”
“Have you got anything more out of the parson I frightened so gloriously?” asked Augustus.
“No; more of that hereafter. Now for our new prey34.”
“Are you sure our noble friend will be so soon at hand?” said Tomlinson, patting his steed, that now pawed in excited hilarity36.
“Sure! I saw him change horses; I was in the stable-yard at the time. He got out for half an hour, to eat, I fancy. Be sure that I played him a trick in the mean while.”
“What for?” asked Ned.
“Self and servant.”
“The post-boys?”
“Ay, I forgot them. Never mind, you, must frighten them.”
“Forwards!” cried Ned; and his horse sprang from his armed heel.
“One moment,” said Lovett; “I must put on my mask. Soho, Robin37, soho! Now for it — forwards!”
As the trees rapidly disappeared behind them, the riders entered, at a hand gallop38, on a broad tract39 of waste land interspersed40 with dikes and occasionally fences of hurdles41, over which their horses bounded like quadrupeds well accustomed to such exploits.
Certainly at that moment, what with the fresh air, the fitful moonlight now breaking broadly out, now lost in a rolling cloud, the exciting exercise, and that racy and dancing stir of the blood, which all action, whether evil or noble in its nature, raises in our veins42; what with all this, we cannot but allow the fascination43 of that lawless life — a fascination so great that one of the most noted44 gentlemen highwaymen of the day, one too who had received an excellent education and mixed in no inferior society, is reported to have said, when the rope was about his neck, and the good Ordinary was exhorting45 him to repent46 of his ill-spent life, “Ill-spent, you dog! ‘Gad!” (smacking his lips) “it was delicious!”
“Fie! fie! Mr. ———— raise your thoughts to Heaven!”
“But a canter across the common — oh!” muttered the criminal; and his soul cantered off to eternity47.
So briskly leaped the heart of the leader of the three that, as they now came in view of the main road, and the distant wheel of a carriage whirred on the ear, he threw up his right hand with a joyous48 gesture, and burst into a boyish exclamation49 of hilarity and delight.
“Whist, captain!” said Ned, checking his own spirits with a mock air of gravity, “let us conduct ourselves like gentlemen; it is only your low fellows who get into such confoundedly high spirits; men of the world like us should do everything as if their hearts were broken.”
“Melancholy50 ever cronies with Sublimity51, and Courage is sublime52,” said Augustus, with the pomp of a maxim-maker.
[A maxim which would have pleased Madame de Stael, who thought that philosophy consisted in fine sentiments. In the “Life of Lord Byron,” just published by Mr. Moore, the distinguished53 biographer makes a similar assertion to that of the sage54 Augustus: “When did ever a sublime thought spring up in the soul that melancholy was not to be found, however latent, in its neighbourhood?” Now, with due deference55 to Mr. Moore, this is a very sickly piece of nonsense, that has not even an atom of truth to stand on. “God said, Let there be light, and there was light!”— we should like to know where lies the melancholy of that sublime sentence. “Truth,” says Plato, “is the body of God, and light is his shadow.” In the name of common-sense, in what possible corner in the vicinity of that lofty image lurks56 the jaundiced face of this eternal bete noir of Mr. Moore’s? Again, in that sublimest57 passage in the sublimest of the Latin poets (Lucretius), which bursts forth in honour of Epicurus, is there anything that speaks to us of sadness? On the contrary, in the three passages we have referred to, especially in the two first quoted, there is something splendidly luminous58 and cheering. Joy is often a great source of the sublime; the suddenness of its ventings would alone suffice to make it so. What can be more sublime than the triumphant59 Psalms60 of David, intoxicated61 as they are with an almost delirium62 of transport? Even in the gloomiest passages of the poets, where we recognize sublimity, we do not often find melancholy. We are stricken by terror, appalled63 by awe35, but seldom softened64 into sadness. In fact, melancholy rather belongs to another class of feelings than those excited by a sublime passage or those which engender65 its composition. On one hand, in the loftiest flights of Homer, Milton, and Shakspeare, we will challenge a critic to discover this “green sickness” which Mr. Moore would convert into the magnificence of the plague. On the other hand, where is the evidence that melancholy made the habitual66 temperaments68 of those divine men? Of Homer we know nothing; of Shakspeare and Milton, we have reason to believe the ordinary temperament67 was constitutionally cheerful. The latter boasts of it. A thousand instances, in contradiction to an assertion it were not worth while to contradict, were it not so generally popular, so highly sanctioned, and so eminently69 pernicious to everything that is manly70 and noble in literature, rush to our memory. But we think we have already quoted enough to disprove the sentence, which the illustrious biographer has himself disproved in more than twenty passages, which, if he is pleased to forget, we thank Heaven posterity71 never will. Now we are on the subject of this Life, so excellent in many respects, we cannot but observe that we think the whole scope of its philosophy utterly72 unworthy of the accomplished73 mind of the writer; the philosophy consists of an unpardonable distorting of general truths, to suit the peculiarities74 of an individual, noble indeed, but proverbially morbid76 and eccentric. A striking instance of this occurs in the laboured assertion that poets make but sorry domestic characters. What! because Lord Byron is said to have been a bad husband, was (to go no further back for examples)— was Walter Scott a bad husband, or was Campbell, or is Mr. Moore himself? why, in the name of justice, should it be insinuated77 that Milton was a bad husband, when, as far as any one can judge of the matter, it was Mrs. Milton who was the bad wife? And why, oh! why should we be told by Mr. Moore — a man who, to judge by Captain Rock and the Epicurean, wants neither learning nor diligence — why are we to be told, with peculiar75 emphasis, that Lord Bacon never married, when Lord Bacon not only married, but his marriage was so advantageous78 as to be an absolute epoch79 in his career? Really, really, one begins to believe that there is not such a thing as a fact in the world!]
“Now for the hedge!” cried Lovett, unheeding his comrades; and his horse sprang into the road.
The three men now were drawn80 up quite still and motionless by the side of the hedge. The broad road lay before them, curving out of sight on either side; the ground was hardening under an early tendency to frost, and the clear ring of approaching hoofs sounded on the ear of the robbers, ominous81, haply, of the chinks of “more attractive metal” about, if Hope told no flattering tale, to be their own.
Presently the long-expected vehicle made its appearance at the turn of the road, and it rolled rapidly on behind four fleet post-horses.
“You, Ned, with your large steed, stop the horses; you, Augustus, bully82 the post-boys; leave me to do the rest,” said the captain.
“As agreed,” returned Ned, laconically83. “Now, look at me!” and the horse of the vain highwayman sprang from its shelter. So instantaneous were the operations of these experienced tacticians, that Lovett’s orders were almost executed in a briefer time than it had cost him to give them.
The carriage being stopped, and the post-boys white and trembling, with two pistols (levelled by Augustus and Pepper) cocked at their heads, Lovett, dismounting, threw open the door of the carriage, and in a very civil tone and with a very bland84 address accosted85 the inmate86.
“Do not be alarmed, my lord, you are perfectly87 safe; we only require your watch and purse.”
“Really,” answered a voice still softer than that of the robber, while a marked and somewhat French countenance88, crowned with a fur cap, peered forth at the arrester — “Really, sir, your request is so modest that I were worse than cruel to refuse you. My purse is not very full, and you may as well have it as one of my rascally89 duns; but my watch I have a love for, and —”
“I understand you, my lord,” interrupted the highwayman. “What do you value your watch at?”
“Humph! to you it may be worth some twenty guineas.”
“Allow me to see it!”
“Your curiosity is extremely gratifying,” returned the nobleman, as with great reluctance90 he drew forth a gold repeater, set, as was sometimes the fashion of that day, in precious stones. The highwayman looked slightly at the bauble91.
“Your lordship,” said he, with great gravity, “was too modest in your calculation; your taste reflects greater credit on you. Allow me to assure you that your watch is worth fifty guinea’s to us, at the least. To show you that I think so most sincerely, I will either keep it, and we will say no more on the matter; or I will return it to you upon your word of honour that you will give me a check for fifty guineas payable92, by your real bankers, to ‘bearer for self.’ Take your choice; it is quite immaterial to me!”
“Upon my honour, sir,” said the traveller, with some surprise struggling to his features, “your coolness and self-possession are quite admirable. I see you know the world.”
“Your lordship flatters me!” returned Lovett, bowing. “How do you decide?”
“Why, is it possible to write drafts without ink, pen, or paper?”
Lovett drew back, and while he was searching in his pockets for writing implements93, which he always carried about him, the traveller seized the opportunity, and suddenly snatching a pistol from the pocket of the carriage, levelled it full at the head of the robber. The traveller was an excellent and practised shot — he was almost within arm’s length of his intended victim — his pistols were the envy of all his Irish friends. He pulled the trigger — the powder flashed in the pan; and the highwayman, not even changing countenance, drew forth a small ink-bottle, and placing a steel pen in it, handed it to the nobleman, saying, with incomparable sang froid: “Would you like, my lord, to try the other pistol? If so, oblige me by a quick aim, as you must see the necessity of despatch94. If not, here is the back of a letter, on which you can write the draft.”
The traveller was not a man apt to become embarrassed in anything save his circumstances; but he certainly felt a little discomposed and confused as he took the paper, and uttering some broken words, wrote the check. The highwayman glanced over it, saw it was written according to form, and then with a bow of cool respect, returned the watch, and shut the door of the carriage.
Meanwhile the servant had been shivering in front, boxed up in that solitary95 convenience termed, not euphoniously96, a dickey. Him the robber now briefly97 accosted.
“What have you got about you belonging to your master?”
“Only his pills, your honour! which I forgot to put in the —”
“Pills! — throw them down to me!” The valet tremblingly extricated98 from his side-pocket a little box, which he threw down and Lovett caught in his hand.
He opened the box, counted the pills — “One, two, four, twelve — aha!” He reopened the carriage door. “Are these your pills, my lord?”
The wondering peer, who had begun to resettle himself in the corner of his carriage, answered that they were.
“My lord, I see you are in a high state of fever; you were a little delirious99 just now when you snapped a pistol in your friend’s face. Permit me to recommend you a prescription100 — swallow off all these pills!”
“My God!” cried the traveller, startled into earnestness; “what do you mean? — twelve of those pills would kill a man!”
“Hear him!” said the robber, appealing to his comrades, who roared with laughter. “What, my lord, would you rebel against your doctor? Fie, fie! be persuaded.”
And with a soothing102 gesture he stretched the pill-box towards the recoiling103 nose of the traveller. But though a man who could as well as any one make the best of a bad condition, the traveller was especially careful of his health; and so obstinate104 was he where that was concerned, that he would rather have submitted to the effectual operation of a bullet than incurred105 the chance operation of an extra pill. He therefore, with great indignation, as the box was still extended towards him, snatched it from the hand of the robber, and flinging it across the road, said with dignity —
“Do your worst, rascals106! But if you leave me alive, you shall repent the outrage107 you have offered to one of his Majesty’s household!” Then, as if becoming sensible of the ridicule108 of affecting too much in his present situation, he added in an altered tone: “And now, for Heaven’s sake, shut the door; and if you must kill somebody, there’s my servant on the box — he’s paid for it.”
This speech made the robbers laugh more than ever; and Lovett, who liked a joke even better than a purse, immediately closed the carriage door, saying —
“Adieu, my lord; and let me give you a piece of advice: whenever you get out at a country inn, and stay half an hour while your horses are changing, take your pistols with you, or you may chance to have the charge drawn.”
With this admonition the robber withdrew; and seeing that the valet held out to him a long green purse, he said, gently shaking his head —
“Rogues should not prey on each other, my good fellow. You rob your master; so do we. Let each keep what he has got.”
Long Ned and Tomlinson then backing their horses, the carriage was freed; and away started the post-boys at a pace which seemed to show less regard for life than the robbers themselves had evinced.
Meanwhile the captain remounted his steed, and the three confederates, bounding in gallant style over the hedge through which they had previously109 gained the road, galloped110 off in the same direction they had come; the moon ever and anon bringing into light their flying figures, and the sound of many a joyous peal101 of laughter ringing through the distance along the frosty air.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
adventurous
|
|
| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
verdant
|
|
| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
shimmered
|
|
| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
boughs
|
|
| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
conspired
|
|
| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
foam
|
|
| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
tightening
|
|
| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
stifle
|
|
| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
recollect
|
|
| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
grumbler
|
|
| 爱抱怨的人，发牢骚的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
winking
|
|
| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
drizzling
|
|
| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
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 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
maxim
|
|
| n.格言，箴言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
tenant
|
|
| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
pickpockets
|
|
| n.扒手( pickpocket的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
picturesquely
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
sinewy
|
|
| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
mien
|
|
| n.风采；态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
buckle
|
|
| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
bridle
|
|
| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
resolute
|
|
| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
chivalrous
|
|
| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
hilarity
|
|
| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
robin
|
|
| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
gallop
|
|
| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
tract
|
|
| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
interspersed
|
|
| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
hurdles
|
|
| n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 )；跳栏；（供人或马跳跃的）栏架；跨栏赛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
fascination
|
|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
exhorting
|
|
| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
repent
|
|
| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
eternity
|
|
| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
sublimity
|
|
| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
sage
|
|
| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
deference
|
|
| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
lurks
|
|
| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
sublimest
|
|
| 伟大的( sublime的最高级 )； 令人赞叹的； 极端的； 不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
luminous
|
|
| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
triumphant
|
|
| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
psalms
|
|
| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
intoxicated
|
|
| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
delirium
|
|
| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
appalled
|
|
| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
engender
|
|
| v.产生，引起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
habitual
|
|
| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
temperaments
|
|
| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
eminently
|
|
| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
posterity
|
|
| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
peculiarities
|
|
| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
morbid
|
|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
insinuated
|
|
| v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
advantageous
|
|
| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
epoch
|
|
| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
ominous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
bully
|
|
| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
laconically
|
|
| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
bland
|
|
| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
accosted
|
|
| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
inmate
|
|
| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
rascally
|
|
| adj. 无赖的，恶棍的 adv. 无赖地，卑鄙地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
reluctance
|
|
| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
bauble
|
|
| n.美观而无价值的饰物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
payable
|
|
| adj.可付的，应付的，有利益的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
implements
|
|
| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
despatch
|
|
| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
euphoniously
|
|
| adj.悦耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
extricated
|
|
| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
delirious
|
|
| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
prescription
|
|
| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
peal
|
|
| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
recoiling
|
|
| v.畏缩( recoil的现在分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
obstinate
|
|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
incurred
|
|
| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
rascals
|
|
| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
outrage
|
|
| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
ridicule
|
|
| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
previously
|
|
| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
galloped
|
|
| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |