Gold?
Thus much of this will make black white, foul1 fair.
Timon of Athens.
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly drest,
Fresh as a bridegroom.
Henry the Fourth.
I do not know the man I should avoid
So soon as that spare Cassius!
He reads much. He is a great observer; and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men.
Often he smiles; but smiles in such a sort,
As if he mocked himself or scorned his spirit,
That could be moved to smile at anything.
Julius Caesar.
The next day, late at noon, as Lucy was sitting with her father, not as usual engaged either in work or in reading, but seemingly quite idle, with her pretty foot upon the squire2’s gouty stool, and eyes fixed3 on the carpet, while her hands (never were hands so soft and so small as Lucy’s, though they may have been eclipsed in whiteness) were lightly clasped together and reposed4 listlessly on her knees — the surgeon of the village abruptly5 entered with a face full of news and horror. Old Squire Brandon was one of those persons who always hear news, whatever it may be, later than any of their neighbours; and it was not till all the gossips of the neighbourhood had picked the bone of the matter quite bare, that he was now informed, through the medium of Mr. Pillum, that Lord Mauleverer had on the preceding night been stopped by three highwaymen in his road to his country-seat, and robbed to a considerable amount.
The fame of the worthy6 Dr. Slopperton’s maladventure having long ere this been spread far and wide, the whole neighbourhood was naturally thrown into great consternation7. Magistrates8 were sent to, large dogs borrowed, blunderbusses cleaned, and a subscription10 made throughout the parish for the raising of a patrol. There seemed little doubt but that the offenders11 in either case were members of the same horde12; and Mr. Pillum, in his own mind, was perfectly13 convinced that they meant to encroach upon his trade, and destroy all the surrounding householders who were worth the trouble.
The next week passed in the most diligent14 endeavours, on the part of the neighbouring magistrates and yeomanry, to detect and seize the robbers; but their labours were utterly15 fruitless; and one justice of peace, who had been particularly active, was himself entirely16 “cleaned out” by an old gentleman who, under the name of Mr. Bagshot — rather an ominous17 cognomen18 — offered to conduct the unsuspicious magistrate9 to the very spot where the miscreants19 might be seized. No sooner, however, had he drawn20 the poor justice away from his comrades into a lonely part of the road than he stripped him to his shirt. He did not even leave his worship his flannel21 drawers, though the weather was as bitter as the dog-days of 1829.
“It is not my way,” said the hoary22 ruffian, when the justice petitioned at least for the latter article of attire23 — ”‘t is not my way. I be ‘s slow about my work, but I does it thoroughly24; so off with your rags, old un.”
This was, however, the only additional instance of aggression25 in the vicinity of Warlock Manor-house; and by degrees, as the autumn declined, and no further enormities were perpetrated, people began to look out for a new topic of conversation. This was afforded them by a piece of unexpected good fortune to Lucy Brandon:
Mrs. Warner — an old lady to whom she was slightly related, and with whom she had been residing during her brief and only visit to London — died suddenly, and in her will declared Lucy to be her sole heiress. The property, which was in the Funds, and which amounted to L60,000, was to be enjoyed by Miss Brandon immediately on her attaining26 her twenty-first year; meanwhile the executors to the will were to pay to the young heiress the annual sum of L600. The joy which this news created in Warlock Manor-house may easily be conceived. The squire projected improvements here, and repairs there; and Lucy, poor girl, who had no idea of money for herself, beyond the purchase of a new pony27, or a gown from London, seconded with affectionate pleasure all her father’s suggestions, and delighted herself with the reflection that those fine plans, which were to make the Brandons greater than the Brandons ever were before, were to be realized by her own, own money! It was at this identical time that the surrounding gentry28 made a simultaneous and grand discovery — namely, of the astonishing merits and great good-sense of Mr. Joseph Brandon. It was a pity, they observed, that he was of so reserved and shy a turn — it was not becoming in a gentleman of so ancient a family; but why should they not endeavour to draw him from his retirement29 into those more public scenes which he was doubtless well calculated to adorn30?
Accordingly, as soon as the first month of mourning had expired, several coaches, chariots, chaises, and horses which had never been seen at Warlock Manor-house before, arrived there one after the other in the most friendly manner imaginable. Their owners admired everything — the house was such a fine relic31 of old times! — for their parts they liked an oak staircase! — and those nice old windows! — and what a beautiful peacock! — and, Heaven save the mark! that magnificent chestnut-tree was worth a forest! Mr. Brandon was requested to make one of the county hunt, not that he any longer hunted himself, but that his name would give such consequence to the thing! Miss Lucy must come to pass a week with her dear friends the Honourable32 Misses Sansterre! Augustus, their brother, had such a sweet lady’s horse! In short, the customary change which takes place in people’s characters after the acquisition of a fortune took place in the characters of Mr. and Miss Brandon; and when people become suddenly amiable33, it is no wonder that they should suddenly gain a vast accession of friends.
But Lucy, though she had seen so little of the world, was not quite blind; and the squire, though rather obtuse34, was not quite a fool. If they were not rude to their new visitors, they were by no means overpowered with gratitude35 at their condescension36. Mr. Brandon declined subscribing37 to the hunt, and Miss Lucy laughed in the face of the Honourable Augustus Sansterre. Among their new guests, however, was one who to great knowledge of the world joined an extreme and even brilliant polish of manners, which at least prevented deceit from being disagreeable, if not wholly from being unseen this was the new lieutenant38 of the county, Lord Mauleverer.
Though possessed39 of an immense property in that district, Lord Mauleverer had hitherto resided but little on his estates. He was one of those gay lords who are now somewhat uncommon40 in this country after mature manhood is attained41, who live an easy and rakish life, rather among their parasites42 than their equals, and who yet, by aid of an agreeable manner, natural talents, and a certain graceful43 and light cultivation44 of mind (not the less pleasant for its being universally coloured with worldliness, and an amusing rather than offensive regard for self), never lose their legitimate45 station in society; who are oracles46 in dress, equipages, cookery, and beauty, and, having no character of their own, are able to fix by a single word a character upon any one else. Thus, while Mauleverer rather lived the dissolute life of a young nobleman, who prefers the company of agreeable demireps to that of wearisome duchesses, than maintained the decorous state befitting a mature age, and an immense interest in the country, he was quite as popular at court, where he held a situation in the household, as he was in the green-room, where he enchanted47 every actress on the right side of forty. A word from him in the legitimate quarters of power went further than an harangue48 from another; and even the prudes — at least, all those who had daughters — confessed that his lordship was a very interesting character. Like Brandon, his familiar friend, he had risen in the world (from the Irish baron50 to the English earl) without having ever changed his politics, which were ultra-Tory; and we need not observe that he was deemed, like Brandon, a model of public integrity. He was possessed of two places under government, six votes in the House of Commons, and eight livings in the Church; and we must add, in justice to his loyal and religious principles, that there was not in the three kingdoms a firmer friend to the existing establishments.
Whenever a nobleman does not marry, people try to take away his character. Lord Mauleverer had never married. The Whigs had been very bitter on the subject; they even alluded51 to it in the House of Commons — that chaste52 assembly, where the never-failing subject of reproach against Mr. Pitt was the not being of an amorous53 temperament54; but they had not hitherto prevailed against the stout55 earl’s celibacy56. It is true that if he was devoid57 of a wife, he had secured to himself plenty of substitutes; his profession was that of a man of gallantry; and though he avoided the daughters, it was only to make love to the mothers. But his lordship had now attained a certain age, and it was at last circulated among his friends that he intended to look out for a Lady Mauleverer.
“Spare your caresses,” said his toady-inchief to a certain duchess, who had three portionless daughters; “Mauleverer has sworn that he will not choose among your order. You know his high politics, and you will not wonder at his declaring himself averse60 in matrimony as in morals to a community of goods.”
The announcement of the earl’s matrimonial design and the circulation of this anecdote61 set all the clergymen’s daughters in England on a blaze of expectation; and when Mauleverer came to shire, upon obtaining the honour of the lieutenancy62, to visit his estates and court the friendship of his neighbours, there was not an old-young lady of forty, who worked in broad-stitch and had never been to London above a week at a time, who did not deem herself exactly the sort of person sure to fascinate his lordship.
It was late in the afternoon when the travelling-chariot of this distinguished63 person, preceded by two outriders, in the earl’s undress livery of dark green, stopped at the hall door of Warlock House. The squire was at home, actually and metaphorically64; for he never dreamed of denying himself to any one, gentle or simple. The door of the carriage being opened, there descended65 a small slight man, richly dressed (for lace and silk vestments were not then quite discarded, though gradually growing less the mode), and of an air prepossessing and distinguished rather than dignified66. His years — for his countenance67, though handsome, was deeply marked, and evinced the tokens of dissipation — seemed more numerous than they really were; and though not actually past middle age, Lord Mauleverer might fairly have received the unpleasing epithet68 of elderly. However, his step was firm, his gait upright, and his figure was considerably69 more youthful than his physiognomy. The first compliments of the day having passed, and Lord Mauleverer having expressed his concern that his long and frequent absence from the county had hitherto prevented his making the acquaintance of Mr. Brandon, the brother of one of his oldest and most esteemed70 friends, conversation became on both sides rather an effort. Mr. Brandon first introduced the subject of the weather, and the turnips71; inquired whether his lordship was not very fond (for his part he used to be, but lately the rheumatism72 had disabled him; he hoped his lordship was not subject to that complaint) of shooting!
Catching73 only the last words — for, besides the awful complexity74 of the squire’s sentences, Mauleverer was slightly affected75 by the aristocratic complaint of deafness — the earl answered, with a smile —
“The complaint of shooting! Very good indeed, Mr. Brandon; it is seldom that I have heard so witty76 a phrase. No, I am not in the least troubled with that epidemic77. It is a disorder78 very prevalent in this county.”
“My lord!” said the squire, rather puzzled; and then, observing that Mauleverer did not continue, he thought it expedient79 to start another subject.
“I was exceedingly grieved to hear that your lordship, in travelling to Mauleverer Park (that is a very ugly road across the waste land; the roads in this country are in general pretty good — for my own part, when I was a magistrate I was very strict in that respect), was robbed. You have not yet, I believe, detected (for my part, though I do not profess58 to be much of a politician, I do think that in affairs of robbery there is a great deal of remissness80 in the ministers) the villains82!”
“Our friend is disaffected83!” thought the lord-lieutenant, imagining that the last opprobrious84 term was applied85 to the respectable personages specified86 in the parenthesis87. Bowing with a polished smile to the squire, Mauleverer replied aloud, that he was extremely sorry that their conduct (meaning the ministers) did not meet with Mr. Brandon’s approbation88.
“Well,” thought the squire, “that is playing the courtier with a vengeance89! — Meet with my approbation!” said he, warmly; “how could your lordship think me (for though I am none of your saints, I am, I hope, a good Christian90; an excellent one, judging from your words, your lordship must be!) so partial to crime!”
“I partial to crime!” returned Mauleverer, thinking he had stumbled unawares on some outrageous91 democrat92, yet smiling as softly as usual; “you judge me harshly, Mr. Brandon! You must do me more justice, and you can only do that by knowing me better.”
Whatever unlucky answer the squire might otherwise have made was cut off by the entrance of Lucy; and the earl, secretly delighted at the interruption, rose to render her his homage93, and to remind her of the introduction he had formerly94 been so happy as to obtain to her through the friendship of Mr. William Brandon — a “friendship,” said the gallant59 nobleman, “to which I have often before been indebted, but which was never more agreeably exerted on my behalf.”
Upon this Lucy, who though she had been so painfully bashful during her meeting with Mr. Clifford, felt no overpowering diffidence in the presence of so much greater a person, replied laughingly, and the earl rejoined by a second compliment. Conversation was now no longer an effort; and Mauleverer, the most consummate95 of epicures96, whom even royalty97 trembled to ask without preparation, on being invited by the unconscious squire to partake of the family dinner, eagerly accepted the invitation. It was long since the knightly98 walls of Warlock had been honoured by the presence of a guest so courtly. The good squire heaped his plate with a profusion99 of boiled beef; and while the poor earl was contemplating100 in dismay the Alps upon Alps which he was expected to devour101, the gray-headed butler, anxious to serve him with alacrity102, whipped away the overloaded103 plate, and presently returned it, yet more astoundingly surcharged with an additional world of a composition of stony104 colour and sudorific105 aspect, which, after examining in mute attention for some moments, and carefully removing as well as he was able to the extreme edge of his plate, the earl discovered to be suet pudding.
“You eat nothing, my lord,” cried the squire; “let me give you — this is more underdone;” holding between blade and fork in middle air abhorrent106 fragment of scarlet107, shaking its gory108 locks — “another slice.”
Swift at the word dropped upon Mauleverer’s plate the harpy finger and ruthless thumb of the gray-headed butler. “Not a morsel109 more,” cried the earl, struggling with the murderous domestic. “My dear sir, excuse me; I assure you I have never ate such a dinner before — never!”
“Nay110, now!” quoth the squire, expostulating, “you really (and this air is so keen that your lordship should indulge your appetite, if you follow the physician’s advice) eat nothing!”
Again Mauleverer was at fault.
“The physicians are right, Mr. Brandon,” said he, “very right, and I am forced to live abstemiously111; indeed I do not know whether, if I were to exceed at your hospitable112 table, and attack all that you would bestow113 upon me, I should ever recover it. You would have to seek a new lieutenant for your charming county, and on the tomb of the last Mauleverer the hypocritical and unrelated heir would inscribe114, ‘Died of the visitation of Beef, John, Earl, etc.’”
Plain as the meaning of this speech might have seemed to others, the squire only laughed at the effeminate appetite of the speaker, and inclined to think him an excellent fellow for jesting so good-humouredly on his own physical infirmity. But Lucy had the tact115 of her sex, and, taking pity on the earl’s calamitous116 situation, though she certainly never guessed at its extent, entered with so much grace and ease into the conversation which he sought to establish between them, that Mauleverer’s gentleman, who had hitherto been pushed aside by the zeal117 of the gray-headed butler, found an opportunity, when the squire was laughing and the butler staring, to steal away the overburdened plate unsuspected and unseen.
In spite, however, of these evils of board and lodgement, Mauleverer was exceedingly well pleased with his visit; nor did he terminate it till the shades of night had begun to close, and the distance from his own residence conspired119 with experience to remind him that it was possible for a highwayman’s audacity120 to attack the equipage even of Lord Mauleverer. He then reluctantly re-entered his carriage, and, bidding the postilions drive as fast as possible, wrapped himself in his roquelaire, and divided his thoughts between Lucy Brandon and the homard au gratin with which he proposed to console him self immediately on his return home. However, Fate, which mocks our most cherished hopes, ordained121 that on arriving at Mauleverer Park the owner should be suddenly afflicted122 with a loss of appetite, a coldness in the limbs, a pain in the chest, and various other ungracious symptoms of portending123 malady124. Lord Mauleverer went straight to bed; he remained there for some days, and when he recovered his physicians ordered him to Bath. The Whig Methodists, who hated him, ascribed his illness to Providence125; and his lordship was firmly of opinion that it should be ascribed to the beef and pudding. However this be, there was an end, for the present, to the hopes of young ladies of forty, and to the intended festivities at Mauleverer Park.
“Good heavens!” said the earl, as his carriage wheels turned from his gates, “what a loss to country tradesmen may be occasioned by a piece of underdone beef, especially if it be boiled!”
About a fortnight had elapsed since Mauleverer’s meteoric126 visit to Warlock House, when the squire received from his brother the following epistle:—
MY DEAR JOSEPH— You know my numerous avocations127, and, amid the press of business which surrounds me, will, I am sure, forgive me for being a very negligent128 and remiss81 correspondent. Nevertheless, I assure you, no one can more sincerely sympathize in that good fortune which has befallen my charming niece, and of which your last letter informed me, than I do. Pray give my best love to her, and tell her how complacently129 I look forward to the brilliant sensation she will create, when her beauty is enthroned upon that rank which, I am quite sure, it will one day or other command.
You are not aware, perhaps, my dear Joseph, that I have for some time been in a very weak and declining state of health. The old nervous complaint in my face has of late attacked me grievously, and the anguish130 is sometimes so great that I am scarcely able to bear it. I believe the great demand which my profession makes upon a frame of body never strong, and now beginning prematurely131 to feel the infirmities of time, is the real cause of my maladies. At last, however, I must absolutely punish my pocket, and indulge my inclinations132 by a short respite133 from toil134. The doctors — sworn friends, you know, to the lawyers, since they make common cause against mankind — have peremptorily135 ordered me to lie by, and to try a short course of air, exercise, social amusements, and the waters of Bath. Fortunately this is vacation time, and I can afford to lose a few weeks of emolument136, in order, perhaps, to secure many years of life. I purpose, then, early next week, repairing to that melancholy137 reservoir of the gay, where persons dance out of life and are fiddled138 across the Styx. In a word, I shall make one of the adventurers after health who seek the goddess at King Bladud’s pump-room. Will you and dear Lucy join me there? I ask it of your friendship, and I am quite sure that neither of you will shrink aghast at the proposal of solacing139 your invalid140 relation. At the same time that I am recovering health, my pretty niece will be avenging141 Pluto142, by consigning143 to his dominions144 many a better and younger hero in my stead. And it will be a double pleasure to me to see all the hearts, etc. — I break off, for what can I say on that subject which the little coquette does not anticipate? It is high time that Lucy should see the world; and though there are many — at Bath, above all places, to whom the heiress will be an object of interested attentions, yet there are also many in that crowded city by no means undeserving her notice. What say you, dear Joseph? But I know already: you will not refuse to keep company with me in my little holiday; and Lucy’s eyes are already sparkling at the idea of new bonnets145, Milsom Street, a thousand adorers, and the pump-room.
Ever, dear Joseph, yours affectionately,
WILLIAM BRANDON.
P. S. I find that my friend Lord Mauleverer is at Bath; I own that is an additional reason to take me thither146; by a letter from him, received the other day, I see that he has paid you a visit, and he now raves147 about his host and the heiress. Ah, Miss Lucy, Miss Lucy! are you going to conquer him whom all London has, for years more than I care to tell (yet not many, for Mauleverer is still young), assailed148 in vain? Answer me!
This letter created a considerable excitement in Warlock House. The old squire was extremely fond of his brother, and grieved to the heart to find that he spoke149 so discouragingly of his health. Nor did the squire for a moment hesitate at accepting the proposal to join his distinguished relative at Bath. Lucy also — who had for her uncle, possibly from his profuse150 yet not indelicate flattery, a very great regard and interest, though she had seen but little of him — urged the squire to lose no time in arranging matters for their departure, so as to precede the barrister, and prepare everything for his arrival. The father and daughter being thus agreed, there was little occasion for delay; an answer to the invalid’s letter was sent by return of post, and on the fourth day from their receipt of the said epistle, the good old squire, his daughter, a country girl by way of abigail, the gray-headed butler, and two or three live pets, of the size and habits most convenient for travelling, were on their way to a city which at that time was gayer at least, if somewhat less splendid, than the metropolis151.
On the second day of their arrival at Bath, Brandon (as in future, to avoid confusion, we shall call the younger brother, giving to the elder his patriarchal title of squire) joined them.
He was a man seemingly rather fond of parade, though at heart he disrelished and despised it. He came to their lodging152, which had not been selected in the very best part of the town, in a carriage and six, but attended only by one favourite servant.
They found him in better looks and better spirits than they had anticipated. Few persons, when he liked it, could be more agreeable than William Brandon; but at times there mixed with his conversation a bitter sarcasm153, probably a habit acquired in his profession, or an occasional tinge154 of morose155 and haughty156 sadness, possibly the consequence of his ill-health. Yet his disorder, which was somewhat approaching to that painful affliction the tic douloureux, though of fits more rare in occurrence than those of that complaint ordinarily are, never seemed even for an instant to operate upon his mood, whatever that might be. That disease worked unseen; not a muscle of his face appeared to quiver; the smile never vanished from his mouth, the blandness157 of his voice never grew faint as with pain, and, in the midst of intense torture, his resolute158 and stern mind conquered every external indication; nor could the most observant stranger have noted159 the moment when the fit attacked or released him. There was something inscrutable about the man. You felt that you took his character upon trust, and not on your own knowledge. The acquaintance of years would have left you equally dark as to his vices160 or his virtues161. He varied162 often, yet in each variation he was equally undiscoverable. Was he performing a series of parts, or was it the ordinary changes of a man’s true temperament that you beheld163 in him? Commonly smooth, quiet, attentive164, flattering in social intercourse165, he was known in the senate and courts of law for a cold asperity166, and a caustic167 venom168 — scarcely rivalled even in those arenas169 of contention170. It seemed as if the bitterer feelings he checked in private life, he delighted to indulge in public. Yet even there he gave not way to momentary171 petulance172 or gushing173 passion; all seemed with him systematic174 sarcasm or habitual175 sternness. He outraged176 no form of ceremonial or of society. He stung, without appearing conscious of the sting; and his antagonist177 writhed178 not more beneath the torture of his satire179 than the crushing contempt of his self-command. Cool, ready, armed and defended on all points, sound in knowledge, unfailing in observation, equally consummate in sophistry180 when needed by himself, and instantaneous in detecting sophistry in another; scorning no art, however painful; begrudging181 no labour, however weighty; minute in detail, yet not the less comprehending the whole subject in a grasp — such was the legal and public character William Brandon had established, and such was the fame he joined to the unsullied purity of his moral reputation. But to his friends he seemed only the agreeable, clever, lively, and, if we may use the phrase innocently, the worldly man — never affecting a superior sanctity, or an over-anxiety to forms, except upon great occasions; and rendering182 his austerity of manners the more admired, because he made it seem so unaccompanied by hypocrisy183.
“Well,” said Brandon, as he sat after dinner alone with his relations, and had seen the eyes of his brother close in diurnal184 slumber185, “tell me, Miss Lucy, what you think of Lord Mauleverer; do you find him agreeable?”
“Very; too much so, indeed!”
“Too much so! That is an uncommon fault, Lucy, unless you mean to insinuate186 that you find him too agreeable for your peace of mind.”
“Oh, no! there is little fear of that. All that I meant to express was that he seems to make it the sole business of his life to be agreeable, and that one imagines he had gained that end by the loss of certain qualities which one would have liked better.”
“Umph! and what are they?”
“Truth, sincerity187, independence, and honesty of mind.”
“My dear Lucy, it has been the professional study of my life to discover a man’s character, especially so far as truth is concerned, in as short a time as possible; but you excel me in intuition, if you can tell whether there be sincerity in a courtier’s character at the first interview you have with him.”
“Nevertheless, I am sure of my opinion,” said Lucy, laughing; “and I will tell you one instance I observed among a hundred. Lord Mauleverer is rather deaf, and he imagined, in conversation, that my father said one thing — it was upon a very trifling188 subject, the speech of some member of parliament [the lawyer smiled] — when in reality he meant to say another. Lord Mauleverer, in the warmest manner in the world, chimed in with him, appeared thoroughly of his opinion, applauded his sentiments, and wished the whole country of his mind. Suddenly my father spoke; Lord Mauleverer bent190 down his ear, and found that the sentiments he had so lauded189 were exactly those my father the least favoured. No sooner did he make this discovery than he wheeled round again — dexterously191 and gracefully192, I allow; condemned193 all that he had before extolled194, and extolled all that he had before abused!”
“And is that all, Lucy?” said Brandon, with a keener sneer195 on his lip than the occasion warranted. “Why, that is what every one does; only some more gravely than others. Mauleverer in society, I at the bar, the minister in parliament, friend to friend, lover to mistress, mistress to lover — half of us are employed in saying white is black, and the other half in swearing that black is white. There is only one difference, my pretty niece, between the clever man and the fool: the fool says what is false while the colours stare in his face and give him the lie; but the clever man takes as it were a brush and literally196 turns the black into white and the white into black before he makes the assertion, which is then true. The fool changes, and is a liar49; the clever man makes the colours change, and is a genius. But this is not for your young years yet, Lucy.”
“But I can’t see the necessity of seeming to agree with people,” said Lucy, simply; “surely they would be just as well pleased if you differed from them civilly and with respect?”
“No, Lucy,” said Brandon, still sneering197; “to be liked, it is not necessary to be anything but compliant198. Lie, cheat, make every word a snare199, and every act a forgery200; but never contradict. Agree with people, and they make a couch for you in their hearts. You know the story of Dante and the buffoon201. Both were entertained at the court of the vain pedant202, who called himself Prince Scaliger — the former poorly, the latter sumptuously203. ‘How comes it,’ said the buffoon to the poet, ‘that I am so rich and you so poor?’ ‘I shall be as rich as you,’ was the stinging and true reply, ‘whenever I can find a patron as like myself as Prince Scaliger is like you!’”
“Yet my birds,” said Lucy, caressing204 the goldfinch, which nestled to her bosom205, “are not like me, and I love them. Nay, I often think I could love those better who differ from me the most. I feel it so in books — when, for instance, I read a novel or a play; and you, uncle, I like almost in proportion to my perceiving in myself nothing in common with you.”
“Yes,” said Brandon, “you have in common with me a love for old stories of Sir Hugo and Sir Rupert, and all the other ‘Sirs’ of our mouldered206 and bygone race. So you shall sing me the ballad207 about Sir John de Brandon, and the dragon he slew208 in the Holy Land. We will adjourn209 to the drawing-room, not to disturb your father.”
Lucy agreed, took her uncle’s arm, repaired to the drawing-room, and seating herself at the harpsichord210, sang to an inspiriting yet somewhat rude air the family ballad her uncle had demanded.
It would have been amusing to note in the rigid211 face of the hardened and habitual man of peace and parchments a certain enthusiasm which ever and anon crossed his cheek, as the verses of the ballad rested on some allusion212 to the knightly House of Brandon and its old renown213. It was an early prejudice, breaking out despite of himself — a flash of character, stricken from the hard fossil in which it was imbedded. One would have supposed that the silliest of all prides (for the pride of money, though meaner, is less senseless), family pride, was the last weakness which at that time the callous214 and astute215 lawyer would have confessed, even to himself.
“Lucy,” said Brandon, as the song ceased, and he gazed on his beautiful niece with a certain pride in his aspect, “I long to witness your first appearance in the world. This lodging, my dear, is not fit — But pardon me! what I was about to say is this: your father and yourself are here at my invitation, and in my house you must dwell; you are my guests, not mine host and hostess. I have therefore already directed my servant to secure me a house and provide the necessary establishment; and I make no doubt, as he is a quick fellow, that within three days all will be ready. You must then be the magnet of my abode216, Lucy; and meanwhile you must explain this to my brother, and — for you know his jealous hospitality — obtain his acquiescence217.”
“But —” began Lucy.
“But me no buts,” said Brandon, quickly, but with an affectionate tone of wilfulness218; “and now, as I feel very much fatigued219 with my journey, you must allow me to seek my own room.”
“I will conduct you to it myself,” said Lucy, for she was anxious to show her father’s brother the care and forethought which she had lavished220 on her arrangements for his comfort. Brandon followed her into an apartment which his eye knew at a glance had been subjected to that female superintendence which makes such uses from what men reject as insignificant221; and he thanked her with more than his usual amenity222, for the grace which had presided over, and the kindness which had dictated223 her preparations. As soon as he was left alone, he wheeled his armchair near the clear, bright fire, and resting his face upon his hand, in the attitude of a man who prepares himself as it were for the indulgence of meditation224, he muttered —
“Yes! these women are, first, what Nature makes them, and that is good; next, what use make them, and that is evil! Now, could I persuade myself that we ought to be nice as to the use we put these poor puppets to, I should shrink from enforcing the destiny which I have marked for this girl. But that is a pitiful consideration, and he is but a silly player who loses his money for the sake of preserving his counters. So the young lady must go as another score to the fortunes of William Brandon. After all, who suffers? Not she. She will have wealth, rank, honour. I shall suffer, to yield so pretty and pure a gem118 to the coronet of — Faugh! How I despise that dog; but how I could hate, crush, mangle225 him, could I believe that he despised me! Could he do so? Umph! No, I have resolved myself that is impossible. Well, let me hope that matrimonial point will be settled; and now let me consider what next step I shall take for myself — myself, ay, only myself! With me perishes the last male of Brandon; but the light shall not go out under a bushel.”
As he said this, the soliloquist sunk into a more absorbed and silent revery, from which he was disturbed by the entrance of his servant. Brandon, who was never a dreamer save when alone, broke at once from his reflections.
“You have obeyed my orders, Barlow?” said he.
“Yes, sir,” answered the domestic. “I have taken the best house yet unoccupied; and when Mrs. Roberts [Brandon’s housekeeper] arrives from London, everything will, I trust, be exactly to your wishes.”
“Good! And you gave my note to Lord Mauleverer?”
“With my own hands, sir; his lordship will await you at home all tomorrow.”
“Very well! and now, Barlow, see that your room is within call [bells, though known, were not common at that day], and give out that I am gone to bed, and must not be disturbed. What’s the hour?”
“Just on the stroke of ten, sir.”
“Place on that table my letter-case and the inkstand. Look in, to help me to undress, at half-past one; I shall go to bed at that hour. And — stay — be sure, Barlow, that my brother believes me retired226 for the night. He does not know my habits, and will vex227 himself if he thinks I sit up so late in my present state of health.”
Drawing the table with its writing appurtenances near to his master, the servant left Brandon once more to his thoughts or his occupations.
点击收听单词发音
1 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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2 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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3 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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4 reposed | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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6 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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7 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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8 magistrates | |
地方法官,治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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9 magistrate | |
n.地方行政官,地方法官,治安官 | |
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10 subscription | |
n.预订,预订费,亲笔签名,调配法,下标(处方) | |
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11 offenders | |
n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 );犯规者;罪犯;妨害…的人(或事物) | |
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12 horde | |
n.群众,一大群 | |
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13 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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14 diligent | |
adj.勤勉的,勤奋的 | |
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15 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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16 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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17 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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18 cognomen | |
n.姓;绰号 | |
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19 miscreants | |
n.恶棍,歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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20 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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21 flannel | |
n.法兰绒;法兰绒衣服 | |
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22 hoary | |
adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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23 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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24 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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25 aggression | |
n.进攻,侵略,侵犯,侵害 | |
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26 attaining | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的现在分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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27 pony | |
adj.小型的;n.小马 | |
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28 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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29 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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30 adorn | |
vt.使美化,装饰 | |
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31 relic | |
n.神圣的遗物,遗迹,纪念物 | |
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32 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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33 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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34 obtuse | |
adj.钝的;愚钝的 | |
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35 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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36 condescension | |
n.自以为高人一等,贬低(别人) | |
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37 subscribing | |
v.捐助( subscribe的现在分词 );签署,题词;订阅;同意 | |
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38 lieutenant | |
n.陆军中尉,海军上尉;代理官员,副职官员 | |
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39 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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40 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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41 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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42 parasites | |
寄生物( parasite的名词复数 ); 靠他人为生的人; 诸虫 | |
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43 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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44 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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45 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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46 oracles | |
神示所( oracle的名词复数 ); 神谕; 圣贤; 哲人 | |
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47 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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48 harangue | |
n.慷慨冗长的训话,言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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49 liar | |
n.说谎的人 | |
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50 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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51 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52 chaste | |
adj.贞洁的;有道德的;善良的;简朴的 | |
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53 amorous | |
adj.多情的;有关爱情的 | |
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54 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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56 celibacy | |
n.独身(主义) | |
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57 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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58 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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59 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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60 averse | |
adj.厌恶的;反对的,不乐意的 | |
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61 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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62 lieutenancy | |
n.中尉之职,代理官员 | |
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63 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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64 metaphorically | |
adv. 用比喻地 | |
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65 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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66 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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67 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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68 epithet | |
n.(用于褒贬人物等的)表述形容词,修饰语 | |
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69 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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70 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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71 turnips | |
芜青( turnip的名词复数 ); 芜菁块根; 芜菁甘蓝块根; 怀表 | |
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72 rheumatism | |
n.风湿病 | |
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73 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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74 complexity | |
n.复杂(性),复杂的事物 | |
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75 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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76 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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77 epidemic | |
n.流行病;盛行;adj.流行性的,流传极广的 | |
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78 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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79 expedient | |
adj.有用的,有利的;n.紧急的办法,权宜之计 | |
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80 remissness | |
n.玩忽职守;马虎;怠慢;不小心 | |
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81 remiss | |
adj.不小心的,马虎 | |
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82 villains | |
n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 );罪犯;(小说、戏剧等中的)反面人物;淘气鬼 | |
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83 disaffected | |
adj.(政治上)不满的,叛离的 | |
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84 opprobrious | |
adj.可耻的,辱骂的 | |
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85 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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86 specified | |
adj.特定的 | |
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87 parenthesis | |
n.圆括号,插入语,插曲,间歇,停歇 | |
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88 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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89 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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90 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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91 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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92 democrat | |
n.民主主义者,民主人士;民主党党员 | |
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93 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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94 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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95 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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96 epicures | |
n.讲究饮食的人( epicure的名词复数 ) | |
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97 royalty | |
n.皇家,皇族 | |
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98 knightly | |
adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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99 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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100 contemplating | |
深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
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101 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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102 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
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103 overloaded | |
a.超载的,超负荷的 | |
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104 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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105 sudorific | |
n.发汗剂;adj.发汗的 | |
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106 abhorrent | |
adj.可恶的,可恨的,讨厌的 | |
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107 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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108 gory | |
adj.流血的;残酷的 | |
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109 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
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110 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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111 abstemiously | |
adv.适中地;有节制地;适度地 | |
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112 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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113 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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114 inscribe | |
v.刻;雕;题写;牢记 | |
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115 tact | |
n.机敏,圆滑,得体 | |
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116 calamitous | |
adj.灾难的,悲惨的;多灾多难;惨重 | |
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117 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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118 gem | |
n.宝石,珠宝;受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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119 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 | |
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120 audacity | |
n.大胆,卤莽,无礼 | |
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121 ordained | |
v.任命(某人)为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 );授予(某人)圣职;(上帝、法律等)命令;判定 | |
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122 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123 portending | |
v.预示( portend的现在分词 );预兆;给…以警告;预告 | |
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124 malady | |
n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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125 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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126 meteoric | |
adj.流星的,转瞬即逝的,突然的 | |
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127 avocations | |
n.业余爱好,嗜好( avocation的名词复数 );职业 | |
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128 negligent | |
adj.疏忽的;玩忽的;粗心大意的 | |
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129 complacently | |
adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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130 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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131 prematurely | |
adv.过早地,贸然地 | |
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132 inclinations | |
倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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133 respite | |
n.休息,中止,暂缓 | |
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134 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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135 peremptorily | |
adv.紧急地,不容分说地,专横地 | |
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136 emolument | |
n.报酬,薪水 | |
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137 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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138 fiddled | |
v.伪造( fiddle的过去式和过去分词 );篡改;骗取;修理或稍作改动 | |
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139 solacing | |
v.安慰,慰藉( solace的现在分词 ) | |
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140 invalid | |
n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
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141 avenging | |
adj.报仇的,复仇的v.为…复仇,报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 );为…报复 | |
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142 Pluto | |
n.冥王星 | |
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143 consigning | |
v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的现在分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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144 dominions | |
统治权( dominion的名词复数 ); 领土; 疆土; 版图 | |
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145 bonnets | |
n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 );(烟囱等的)覆盖物;(苏格兰男子的)无边呢帽;(女子戴的)任何一种帽子 | |
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146 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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147 raves | |
n.狂欢晚会( rave的名词复数 )v.胡言乱语( rave的第三人称单数 );愤怒地说;咆哮;痴心地说 | |
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148 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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149 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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150 profuse | |
adj.很多的,大量的,极其丰富的 | |
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151 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
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152 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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153 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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154 tinge | |
vt.(较淡)着色于,染色;使带有…气息;n.淡淡色彩,些微的气息 | |
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155 morose | |
adj.脾气坏的,不高兴的 | |
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156 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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157 blandness | |
n.温柔,爽快 | |
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158 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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159 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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160 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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161 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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162 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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163 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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164 attentive | |
adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
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165 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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166 asperity | |
n.粗鲁,艰苦 | |
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167 caustic | |
adj.刻薄的,腐蚀性的 | |
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168 venom | |
n.毒液,恶毒,痛恨 | |
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169 arenas | |
表演场地( arena的名词复数 ); 竞技场; 活动或斗争的场所或场面; 圆形运动场 | |
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170 contention | |
n.争论,争辩,论战;论点,主张 | |
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171 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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172 petulance | |
n.发脾气,生气,易怒,暴躁,性急 | |
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173 gushing | |
adj.迸出的;涌出的;喷出的;过分热情的v.喷,涌( gush的现在分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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174 systematic | |
adj.有系统的,有计划的,有方法的 | |
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175 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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176 outraged | |
a.震惊的,义愤填膺的 | |
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177 antagonist | |
n.敌人,对抗者,对手 | |
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178 writhed | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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179 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
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180 sophistry | |
n.诡辩 | |
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181 begrudging | |
嫉妒( begrudge的现在分词 ); 勉强做; 不乐意地付出; 吝惜 | |
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182 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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183 hypocrisy | |
n.伪善,虚伪 | |
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184 diurnal | |
adj.白天的,每日的 | |
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185 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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186 insinuate | |
vt.含沙射影地说,暗示 | |
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187 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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188 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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189 lauded | |
v.称赞,赞美( laud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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190 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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191 dexterously | |
adv.巧妙地,敏捷地 | |
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192 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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193 condemned | |
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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194 extolled | |
v.赞颂,赞扬,赞美( extol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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195 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
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196 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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197 sneering | |
嘲笑的,轻蔑的 | |
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198 compliant | |
adj.服从的,顺从的 | |
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199 snare | |
n.陷阱,诱惑,圈套;(去除息肉或者肿瘤的)勒除器;响弦,小军鼓;vt.以陷阱捕获,诱惑 | |
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200 forgery | |
n.伪造的文件等,赝品,伪造(行为) | |
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201 buffoon | |
n.演出时的丑角 | |
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202 pedant | |
n.迂儒;卖弄学问的人 | |
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203 sumptuously | |
奢侈地,豪华地 | |
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204 caressing | |
爱抚的,表现爱情的,亲切的 | |
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205 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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206 mouldered | |
v.腐朽( moulder的过去式和过去分词 );腐烂,崩塌 | |
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207 ballad | |
n.歌谣,民谣,流行爱情歌曲 | |
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208 slew | |
v.(使)旋转;n.大量,许多 | |
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209 adjourn | |
v.(使)休会,(使)休庭 | |
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210 harpsichord | |
n.键琴(钢琴前身) | |
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211 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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212 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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213 renown | |
n.声誉,名望 | |
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214 callous | |
adj.无情的,冷淡的,硬结的,起老茧的 | |
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215 astute | |
adj.机敏的,精明的 | |
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216 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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217 acquiescence | |
n.默许;顺从 | |
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218 wilfulness | |
任性;倔强 | |
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219 fatigued | |
adj. 疲乏的 | |
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220 lavished | |
v.过分给予,滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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221 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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222 amenity | |
n.pl.生活福利设施,文娱康乐场所;(不可数)愉快,适意 | |
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223 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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224 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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225 mangle | |
vt.乱砍,撕裂,破坏,毁损,损坏,轧布 | |
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226 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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227 vex | |
vt.使烦恼,使苦恼 | |
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