Humorous Lieutenant1.
Hempskirke. It was the fellow, sure.
Wolfort. What are you, sirrah?
Beggar’s Bush.
O thou divine spirit that burnest in every breast, inciting2 each with the sublime3 desire to be fine; that stirrest up the great to become little in order to seem greater, and that makest a duchess woo insult for a voucher4 — thou that delightest in so many shapes, multifarious yet the same; spirit that makest the high despicable, and the lord meaner than his valet; equally great whether thou cheatest a friend or cuttest a father; lacquering all thou touchest with a bright vulgarity that thy votaries5 imagine to be gold — thou that sendest the few to fashionable balls and the many to fashionable novels; that smitest even Genius as well as Folly6, making the favourites of the gods boast an acquaintance they have not with the graces of a mushroom peerage rather than the knowledge they have of the Muses7 of an eternal Helicon — thou that leavest in the great ocean of our manners no dry spot for the foot of independence; that pallest on the jaded8 eye with a moving and girdling panorama9 of daubed vilenesses, and fritterest away the souls of free-born Britons into a powder smaller than the angels which dance in myriads10 on a pin’s point — whether, O spirit! thou callest thyself Fashion or Ton, or Ambition or Vanity or Cringing11 or Cant12 or any title equally lofty and sublime — would that from thy wings we could gain but a single plume13! Fain would we, in fitting strain, describe the festivities of that memorable14 day when the benevolent15 Lord Mauleverer received and blessed the admiring universe of Bath.
But to be less poetical16, as certain writers say, when they have been writing nonsense — but to be less poetical and more exact, the morning, though in the depth of winter, was bright and clear, and Lord Mauleverer found himself in particularly good health. Nothing could be better planned than the whole of his arrangements. Unlike those which are ordinarily chosen for the express reason of being as foreign as possible to the nature of our climate, all at Lord Mauleverer’s were made suitable to a Greenland atmosphere. The temples and summer-houses, interspersed17 through the grounds, were fitted up, some as Esquimaux huts, others as Russian pavilions; fires were carefully kept up; the musicians Mauleverer took care should have as much wine as they pleased; they were set skilfully19 in places where they were unseen, but where they could be heard. One or two temporary buildings were erected20 for those who loved dancing; and as Mauleverer, miscalculating on the principles of human nature, thought gentlemen might be averse21 from ostentatious exhibition, he had hired persons to skate minuets and figures of eight upon his lakes, for the amusement of those who were fond of skating. All people who would be kind enough to dress in strange costumes and make odd noises, which they called singing, the earl had carefully engaged, and planted in the best places for making them look still stranger than they were.
There was also plenty to eat, and more than plenty to drink. Mauleverer knew well that our countrymen and countrywomen, whatever be their rank, like to have their spirits exalted22. In short, the whole dejeuner was so admirably contrived23 that it was probable the guests would not look much more melancholy24 during the amusements than they would have done had they been otherwise engaged at a funeral.
Lucy and the squire25 were among the first arrivals. Mauleverer, approaching the father and daughter with his most courtly manner, insisted on taking the latter under his own escort, and being her cicerone through the round of preparations.
As the crowd thickened, and it was observed how gallant26 were the attentions testified towards Lucy by the host, many and envious27 were the whispers of the guests! Those good people, naturally angry at the thought that two individuals should be married, divided themselves into two parties: one abused Lucy, and the other Lord Mauleverer; the former vituperated her art, the latter his folly. “I thought she would play her cards well, deceitful creature!” said the one. “January and May,” muttered the other; “the man’s sixty!” It was noticeable that the party against Lucy was chiefly composed of ladies, that against Mauleverer of men; that conduct must indeed be heinous28 which draws down the indignation of one’s own sex!
Unconscious of her crimes, Lucy moved along, leaning on the arm of the gallant earl, and languidly smiling, with her heart far away, at his endeavours to amuse her. There was something interesting in the mere29 contrast of the pair; so touching30 seemed the beauty of the young girl, with her delicate cheek, maiden31 form, drooping32 eyelid33, and quiet simplicity34 of air, in comparison to the worldly countenance35 and artificial grace of her companion.
After some time, when they were in a sequestered36 part of the grounds, Mauleverer, observing that none were near, entered a rude hut; and so fascinated was he at that moment by the beauty of his guest, and so meet to him seemed the opportunity of his confession37, that he with difficulty suppressed the avowal38 rising to his lips, and took the more prudent39 plan of first sounding and preparing as it were the way.
“I cannot tell you, my dear Miss Brandon,” said he, slightly pressing the beautiful hand leaning on his arm, “how happy I am to see you the guest — the queen, rather — of my house! Ah! could the bloom of youth return with its feelings! Time is never so cruel as when, while stealing from us the power to please, he leaves us in full vigour40 the unhappy privilege to be charmed!”
Mauleverer expected at least a blushing contradiction to the implied application of a sentiment so affectingly expressed: he was disappointed. Lucy, less alive than usual to the sentimental42, or its reverse, scarcely perceived his meaning, and answered simply that it was very true. “This comes of being, like my friend Burke, too refined for one’s audience,” thought Mauleverer, wincing43 a little from the unexpected reply. “And yet!” he resumed, “I would not forego my power to admire, futile44, nay45, painful as it is. Even now, while I gaze on you, my heart tells me that the pleasure I enjoy, it is at your command at once and forever to blight46 into misery47; but while it tells me, I gaze on!”
Lucy raised her eyes, and something of her natural archness played in their expression.
“I believe, my lord,” said she, moving from the hut, “that it would be better to join your guests: walls have ears; and what would be the gay Lord Mauleverer’s self-reproach if he heard again of his fine compliments to —”
“The most charming person in Europe!” cried Mauleverer, vehemently48; and the hand which he before touched he now clasped. At that instant Lucy saw opposite to her, half hid by a copse of evergreens49, the figure of Clifford. His face, which seemed pale and wan50, was not directed towards the place where she stood, and he evidently did not perceive Mauleverer or herself; yet so great was the effect that this glimpse of him produced on Lucy, that she trembled violently, and, unconsciously uttering a faint cry, snatched her hand from Mauleverer.
The earl started, and catching51 the expression of her eyes, turned instantly towards the spot to which her gaze seemed riveted52. He had not heard the rustling53 of the boughs54, but he saw, with his habitual55 quickness of remark, that they still trembled, as if lately displaced; and he caught through their interstices the glimpse of a receding56 figure. He sprang forward with an agility57 very uncommon58 to his usual movements; but before he gained the copse, every vestige59 of the intruder had vanished.
What slaves we are to the moment! As Mauleverer turned back to rejoin Lucy, who, agitated61 almost to fainting, leaned against the rude wall of the but, he would as soon have thought of flying as of making that generous offer of self, etc., which the instant before he had been burning to render Lucy. The vain are always sensitively jealous; and Mauleverer, remembering Clifford, and Lucy’s blushes in dancing with him, instantly accounted for her agitation62 and its cause. With a very grave air he approached the object of his late adoration63, and requested to know if it were not some abrupt64 intruder that had occasioned her alarm. Lucy, scarcely knowing what she said, answered in a low voice that it was, indeed, and begged instantly to rejoin her father. Mauleverer offered his arm with great dignity; and the pair passed into the frequented part of the grounds, where Mauleverer once more brightened into smiles and courtesy to all around him.
“He is certainly accepted!” said Mr. Shrewd to Lady Simper.
“What an immense match for the girl!” was Lady Simper’s reply.
Amidst the music, the dancing, the throng65, the noise, Lucy found it easy to recover herself; and disengaging her arm from Lord Mauleverer, as she perceived her father, she rejoined the squire, and remained a patient listener to his remarks till late in the noon it became an understood matter that people were expected to go into a long room in order to eat and drink. Mauleverer, now alive to the duties of his situation, and feeling exceedingly angry with Lucy, was more reconciled than he otherwise might have been to the etiquette66 which obliged him to select for the object of his hospitable67 cares an old dowager duchess instead of the beauty of the fete; but he took care to point out to the squire the places appointed for himself and daughter, which were, though at some distance from the earl, under the providence68 of his vigilant69 survey.
While Mauleverer was deifying the dowager duchess, and refreshing70 his spirits with a chicken and a medicinal glass of madeira, the conversation near Lucy turned, to her infinite dismay, upon Clifford. Some one had seen him in the grounds, booted and in a riding undress (in that day people seldom rode and danced in the same conformation of coat); and as Mauleverer was a precise person about those little matters of etiquette, this negligence71 of Clifford’s made quite a subject of discussion. By degrees the conversation changed into the old inquiry72 as to who this Captain Clifford was; and just as it had reached that point, it reached also the gently deafened73 ears of Lord Mauleverer.
“Pray, my lord,” said the old duchess, “since he is one of your guests, you, who know who and what every one is, can possibly inform us of the real family of this beautiful Mr. Clifford?”
“One of my guests, did you say?” answered Mauleverer, irritated greatly beyond his usual quietness of manner. “Really, your grace does me wrong. He may be a guest of my valet, but he assuredly is not mine; and should I encounter him, I shall leave it to my valet to give him his conge as well as his invitation!”
Mauleverer, heightening his voice as he observed athwart the table an alternate paleness and flush upon Lucy’s face, which stung all the angrier passions, generally torpid74 in him, into venom75, looked round, on concluding, with a haughty76 and sarcastic77 air. So loud had been his tone, so pointed41 the insult, and so dead the silence at the table while he spoke78, that every one felt the affront79 must be carried at once to Clifford’s hearing, should he be in the room. And after Mauleverer had ceased, there was a universal nervous and indistinct expectation of an answer and a scene; all was still, and it soon became certain that Clifford was not in the apartment. When Mr. Shrewd had fully18 convinced himself of this fact — for there was a daring spirit about Clifford which few wished to draw upon themselves — that personage broke the pause by observing that no man who pretended to be a gentleman would intrude60 himself, unasked and unwelcome, into any society; and Mauleverer, catching up the observation, said (drinking wine at the same time with Mr. Shrewd) that undoubtedly80 such conduct fully justified81 the rumours82 respecting Mr. Clifford, and utterly83 excluded him from that rank to which it was before more than suspected he had no claim.
So luminous84 and satisfactory an opinion from such an authority, once broached85, was immediately and universally echoed; and long before the repast was over, it seemed to be tacitly agreed that Captain Clifford should be sent to Coventry, and if he murmured at the exile, he would have no right to insist upon being sent thence to the devil.
The good old squire, mindful of his former friendship for Clifford, and not apt to veer88, was about to begin a speech on the occasion, when Lucy, touching his arm, implored90 him to be silent; and so ghastly was the paleness of her cheek while she spoke, that the squire’s eyes, obtuse91 as he generally was, opened at once to the real secret of her heart. As soon as the truth flashed upon him, he wondered, recalling Clifford’s great personal beauty and marked attentions, that it had not flashed upon him sooner; and leaning back on his chair, he sank into one of the most unpleasant reveries he had ever conceived.
At a given signal the music for the dancers recommenced, and at a hint to that effect from the host, persons rose without ceremony to repair to other amusements, and suffer such guests as had hitherto been excluded from eating to occupy the place of the relinquishers. Lucy, glad to escape, was one of the first to resign her situation, and with the squire she returned to the grounds. During the banquet, evening had closed in, and the scene now really became fairy-like and picturesque92; lamps hung from many a tree, reflecting the light through the richest and softest hues93; the music itself sounded more musically than during the day; gipsy-tents were pitched at wild corners and copses, and the bright wood-fires burning in them blazed merrily upon the cold yet cheerful air of the increasing night. The view was really novel and inviting94; and as it had been an understood matter that ladies were to bring furs, cloaks, and boots, all those who thought they looked well in such array made little groups, and scattered95 themselves about the grounds and in the tents. They, on the contrary, in whom “the purple light of love” was apt by the frost to be propelled from the cheeks to the central ornament96 of the face, or who thought a fire in a room quite as agreeable as a fire in a tent, remained within, and contemplated97 the scene through the open windows.
Lucy longed to return home, nor was the squire reluctant; but, unhappily, it wanted an hour to the time at which the carriage had been ordered, and she mechanically joined a group of guests who had persuaded the good-natured squire to forget his gout and venture forth98 to look at the illuminations. Her party was soon joined by others, and the group gradually thickened into a crowd; the throng was stationary99 for a few minutes before a little temple in which fireworks had just commenced an additional attraction to the scene. Opposite to this temple, as well as in its rear, the walks and trees had been purposely left in comparative darkness, in order to heighten the effect of the fireworks.
“I declare,” said Lady Simper, glancing down one of the alleys100 which seemed to stretch away into blackness — “I declare it seems quite a lovers’ walk. How kind in Lord Mauleverer! — such a delicate attention —”
“To your ladyship!” added Mr. Shrewd, with a bow. While, one of this crowd, Lucy was vacantly eying the long trains of light which ever and anon shot against the sky, she felt her hand suddenly seized, and at the same time a voice whispered, “For God’s sake, read this now and grant my request!”
The voice, which seemed to rise from the very heart of the speaker, Lucy knew at once; she trembled violently, and remained for some minutes with eyes which did not dare to look from the ground. A note she felt had been left in her hand; and the agonized101 and earnest tone of that voice, which was dearer to her than the fulness of all music, made her impatient yet afraid to read it. As she recovered courage, she looked around, and seeing that the attention of all was bent102 upon the fireworks, and that her father in particular, leaning on his cane103, seemed to enjoy the spectacle with a child’s engrossed104 delight, she glided106 softly away, and entering unperceived one of the alleys, she read, by a solitary107 lamp that burned at its entrance, the following lines, written in pencil and in a hurried hand, apparently108 upon a leaf torn from a pocket-book:—
I implore89, I entreat109 you, Miss Brandon, to see me, if but for a moment. I purpose to tear myself away from the place in which you reside, to go abroad, to leave even the spot hallowed by your footstep. After this night my presence, my presumption110, will degrade you no more. But this night, for mercy’s sake, see me, or I shall go mad! I will but speak to you one instant: this is all I ask. If you grant me this prayer, the walk to the left where you stand, at the entrance to which there is one purple lamp, will afford an opportunity to your mercy. A few yards down that walk I will meet you — none can see or hear us. Will you grant this? I know not, I dare not think; but under any case, your name shall be the last upon my lips. P. C.
As Lucy read this hurried scrawl111, she glanced towards the lamp above her, and saw that she had accidentally entered the very walk indicated in the note. She paused, she hesitated; the impropriety, the singularity of the request, darted112 upon her at once; on the other hand, the anxious voice still ringing in her ear, the incoherent vehemence113 of the note, the risk, the opprobrium114 Clifford had incurred115 solely116 — her heart whispered — to see her, all aided her simple temper, her kind feelings, and her love for the petitioner117, in inducing her to consent. She cast one glance behind — all seemed occupied with far other thoughts than that of notice towards her; she looked anxiously before — all looked gloomy and indistinct; but suddenly, at some little distance, she descried118 a dark figure in motion. She felt her knees shake under her, her heart beat violently; she moved onward119 a few paces, again paused, and looked back. The figure before her moved as in approach; she resumed courage, and advanced — the figure was by her side.
“How generous, how condescending120, is this goodness in Miss Brandon!” said the voice, which so struggled with secret and strong emotion that Lucy scarcely recognized it as Clifford’s. “I did not dare to expect it; and now — now that I meet you —” Clifford paused, as if seeking words; and Lucy, even through the dark, perceived that her strange companion was powerfully excited; she waited for him to continue, but observing that he walked on in silence, she said, though with a trembling voice, “Indeed, Mr. Clifford, I fear that it is very, very improper122 in me to meet you thus; nothing but the strong expressions in your letter — and — and — in short, my fear that you meditated123 some desperate design, at which I could not guess, caused me to yield to your wish for an interview.” She paused, and Clifford still preserving silence, she added, with some little coldness in her tone: “If you have really aught to say to me, you must allow me to request that you speak it quickly. This interview, you must be sensible, ought to end almost as soon as it begins.”
“Hear me, then!” said Clifford, mastering his embarrassment124 and speaking in a firm and clear voice; “is that true which I have but just heard — is it true that I have been spoken of in your presence in terms of insult and affront?”
It was now for Lucy to feel embarrassed; fearful to give pain, and yet anxious that Clifford should know, in order that he might disprove, the slight and the suspicion which the mystery around him drew upon his name, she faltered125 between the two feelings, and without satisfying the latter, succeeded in realizing the fear of the former.
“Enough!” said Clifford, in a tone of deep mortification126, as his quick ear caught and interpreted, yet more humiliatingly127 than the truth, the meaning of her stammered128 and confused reply — “enough! I see that it is true, and that the only human being in the world to whose good opinion I am not indifferent has been a witness of the insulting manner in which others have dared to speak of me!”
“But,” said Lucy, eagerly, “why give the envious or the idle any excuse? Why not suffer your parentage and family to be publicly known? Why are you here”— and her voice sank into a lower key —“this very day, unasked, and therefore subject to the cavils129 of all who think the poor distinction of an invitation an honour? Forgive me, Mr. Clifford; perhaps I offend. I hurt you by speaking thus frankly130; but your good name rests with yourself, and your friends cannot but feel angry that you should trifle with it.”
“Madam,” said Clifford; and Lucy’s eyes, now growing accustomed to the darkness, perceived a bitter smile upon his lips, “my name, good or ill, is an object of little care to me. I have read of philosophers who pride themselves in placing no value in the opinions of the world. Rank me among that sect131. But I am — I own I am — anxious that you alone, of all the world, should not despise me; and now that I feel you do, that you must, everything worth living or hoping for is past!”
“Despise you!” said Lucy, and her eyes filled with tears; “indeed you wrong me and yourself. But listen to me, Mr. Clifford. I have seen, it is true, but little of the world, yet I have seen enough to make me wish I could have lived in retirement132 forever. The rarest quality among either sex, though it is the simplest, seems to me good-nature; and the only occupation of what are termed ‘fashionable people’ appears to be speaking ill of one another. Nothing gives such a scope to scandal as mystery; nothing disarms133 it like openness. I know, your friends know, Mr. Clifford, that your character can bear inspection134; and I believe, for my own part, the same of your family. Why not, then, declare who and what you are?”
“That candour would indeed be my best defender,” said Clifford, in a tone which ran displeasingly135 through Lucy’s ear; “but in truth, madam, I repeat, I care not one drop of this worthless blood what men say of me: that time has passed, and forever; perhaps it never keenly existed for me — no matter. I came hither, Miss Brandon, not wasting a thought on these sickening fooleries, or on the hoary136 idler by whom they are given. I came hither only once more to see you, to hear you speak, to watch you move, to tell you”— and the speaker’s voice trembled, so as to be scarcely audible —“to tell you, if any reason for the disclosure offered itself, that I have had the boldness, the crime, to love — to love — O God! to adore you; and then to leave you forever!”
Pale, trembling, scarcely preserved from falling by the tree against which she leaned, Lucy listened to this abrupt avowal. “Dare I touch this hand?” continued Clifford, as he knelt and took it timidly and reverently137. “You know not, you cannot dream, how unworthy is he who thus presumes; yet not all unworthy, while he is sensible of so deep, so holy a feeling as that which he bears to you. God bless you, Miss Brandon! — Lucy, God bless you! And if hereafter you hear me subjected to still blacker suspicion or severer scrutiny138 than that which I now sustain; if even your charity and goodness can find no defence for me; if the suspicion become certainty, and the scrutiny end in condemnation139 — believe at least that circumstances have carried me beyond my nature, and that under fairer auspices140 I might have been other than I am!”
Lucy’s tear dropped upon Clifford’s hand as he spoke; and while his heart melted within him as he felt it and knew his own desperate and unredeemed condition, he added —
“Every one courts you — the proud, the rich, the young, the high-born — all are at your feet! You will select one of that number for your husband; may he watch over you as I would have done! — love you as I do he cannot! Yes, I repeat it,” continued Clifford, vehemently — “he cannot! None amidst the gay, happy, silken crowd of your equals and followers141 can feel for you that single and overruling passion which makes you to me what all combined — country, power, wealth, reputation, an honest name, peace, common safety, the quiet of the common air, alike the least blessing142 and the greatest-are to all others! Once more, may God in heaven watch over you and preserve you! I tear myself, on leaving you, from all that cheers or blesses or raises or might have saved me! Farewell!”
The hand which Lucy had relinquished143 to her strange suitor was pressed ardently144 to his lips, dropped in the same instant, and she knew that she was once more alone.
But Clifford, hurrying rapidly through the trees, made his way towards the nearest gate which led from Lord Mauleverer’s domain145; when he reached it, a crowd of the more elderly guests occupied the entrance, and one of these was a lady of such distinction that Mauleverer, in spite of his aversion to any superfluous146 exposure to the night air, had obliged himself to conduct her to her carriage. He was in a very ill humour with this constrained147 politeness, especially as the carriage was very slow in relieving him of his charge, when he saw, by the lamplight, Clifford passing near him, and winning his way to the gate. Quite forgetting his worldly prudence148, which should have made him averse to scenes with any one, especially with a flying enemy, and a man with whom, if he believed aright, little glory was to be gained in conquest, much less in contest; and only remembering Clifford’s rivalship, and his own hatred149 towards him for the presumption, Mauleverer, uttering a hurried apology to the lady on his arm, stepped forward, and opposing Clifford’s progress, said, with a bow of tranquil150 insult, “Pardon me, sir, but is it at my invitation or that of one of my servants that you have honoured me with your company this day?”
Clifford’s thoughts at the time of this interruption were of that nature before which all petty misfortunes shrink into nothing; if, therefore, he started for a moment at the earl’s address, he betrayed no embarrassment in reply, but bowing with an air of respect, and taking no notice of the affront implied in Mauleverer’s speech, he answered —
“Your lordship has only to deign151 a glance at my dress to see that I have not intruded152 myself on your grounds with the intention of claiming your hospitality. The fact is, and I trust to your lordship’s courtesy to admit the excuse, that I leave this neighbourhood tomorrow, and for some length of time. A person whom I was very anxious to see before I left was one of your lordship’s guests; I heard this, and knew that I should have no other opportunity of meeting the person in question before my departure; and I must now throw myself on the well-known politeness of Lord Mauleverer to pardon a freedom originating in a business very much approaching to a necessity.”
Lord Mauleverer’s address to Clifford had congregated153 an immediate86 crowd of eager and expectant listeners; but so quietly respectful and really gentlemanlike were Clifford’s air and tone in excusing himself, that the whole throng were smitten154 with a sudden disappointment.
Lord Mauleverer himself, surprised by the temper and deportment of the unbidden guest, was at a loss for one moment; and Clifford was about to take advantage of that moment and glide105 away, when Mauleverer, with a second bow, more civil than the former one, said —
“I cannot but be happy, sir, that my poor place has afforded you any convenience; but if I am not very impertinent, will you allow me to inquire the name of my guest with whom you required a meeting?”
“My lord,” said Clifford, drawing himself up and speaking gravely and sternly, though still with a certain deference155, “I need not surely point out to your lordship’s good sense and good feeling that your very question implies a doubt, and consequently an affront, and that the tone of it is not such as to justify156 that concession157 on my part which the further explanation you require would imply!”
Few spoken sarcasms158 could be so bitter as that silent one which Mauleverer could command by a smile, and with this complimentary159 expression on his thin lips and raised brow, the earl answered: “Sir, I honour the skill testified by your reply; it must be the result of a profound experience in these affairs. I wish you, sir, a very good night; and the next time you favour me with a visit, I am quite sure that your motives160 for so indulging me will be no less creditable to you than at present.”
With these words Mauleverer turned to rejoin his fair charge. But Clifford was a man who had seen in a short time a great deal of the world, and knew tolerably well the theories of society, if not the practice of its minutiae161; moreover, he was of an acute and resolute162 temper, and these properties of mind, natural and acquired, told him that he was now in a situation in which it had become more necessary to defy than to conciliate. Instead therefore of retiring he walked deliberately163 up to Mauleverer, and said —
“My lord, I shall leave it to the judgment164 of your guests to decide whether you have acted the part of a nobleman and a gentleman in thus, in your domains165, insulting one who has given you such explanation of his trespass166 as would fully excuse him in the eyes of all considerate or courteous167 persons. I shall also leave it to them to decide whether the tone of your inquiry allowed me to give you any further apology. But I shall take it upon myself, my lord, to demand from you an immediate explanation of your last speech.”
“Insolent!” cried Mauleverer, colouring with indignation, and almost for the first time in his life losing absolute command over his temper; “do you bandy words with me? Begone, or I shall order my servants to thrust you forth!”
“Begone, sir! begone!” cried several voices in echo to Mauleverer, from those persons who deemed it now high time to take part with the powerful.
Clifford stood his ground, gazing around with a look of angry and defying contempt, which, joined to his athletic168 frame, his dark and fierce eye, and a heavy riding-whip, which, as if mechanically, he half raised, effectually kept the murmurers from proceeding169 to violence.
“Poor pretender to breeding and to sense!” said he, disdainfully turning to Mauleverer; “with one touch of this whip I could shame you forever, or compel you to descend121 from the level of your rank to that of mine, and the action would be but a mild return to your language. But I love rather to teach you than to correct. According to my creed170, my lord, he conquers most in good breeding who forbears the most — scorn enables me to forbear! Adieu!”
With this, Clifford turned on his heel and strode away. A murmur87, approaching to a groan171, from the younger or sillier part of the parasites172 (the mature and the sensible have no extra emotion to throw away), followed him as he disappeared.
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1 lieutenant | |
n.陆军中尉,海军上尉;代理官员,副职官员 | |
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2 inciting | |
刺激的,煽动的 | |
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3 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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4 voucher | |
n.收据;传票;凭单,凭证 | |
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5 votaries | |
n.信徒( votary的名词复数 );追随者;(天主教)修士;修女 | |
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6 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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7 muses | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的第三人称单数 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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8 jaded | |
adj.精疲力竭的;厌倦的;(因过饱或过多而)腻烦的;迟钝的 | |
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9 panorama | |
n.全景,全景画,全景摄影,全景照片[装置] | |
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10 myriads | |
n.无数,极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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11 cringing | |
adj.谄媚,奉承 | |
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12 cant | |
n.斜穿,黑话,猛扔 | |
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13 plume | |
n.羽毛;v.整理羽毛,骚首弄姿,用羽毛装饰 | |
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14 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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15 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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16 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
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17 interspersed | |
adj.[医]散开的;点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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18 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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19 skilfully | |
adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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20 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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21 averse | |
adj.厌恶的;反对的,不乐意的 | |
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22 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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23 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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24 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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25 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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26 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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27 envious | |
adj.嫉妒的,羡慕的 | |
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28 heinous | |
adj.可憎的,十恶不赦的 | |
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29 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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30 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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31 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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32 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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33 eyelid | |
n.眼睑,眼皮 | |
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34 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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35 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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36 sequestered | |
adj.扣押的;隐退的;幽静的;偏僻的v.使隔绝,使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 );扣押 | |
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37 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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38 avowal | |
n.公开宣称,坦白承认 | |
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39 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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40 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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41 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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42 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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43 wincing | |
赶紧避开,畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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44 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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45 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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46 blight | |
n.枯萎病;造成破坏的因素;vt.破坏,摧残 | |
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47 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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48 vehemently | |
adv. 热烈地 | |
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49 evergreens | |
n.常青树,常绿植物,万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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50 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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51 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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52 riveted | |
铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 ); 把…固定住; 吸引; 引起某人的注意 | |
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53 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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54 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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55 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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56 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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57 agility | |
n.敏捷,活泼 | |
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58 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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59 vestige | |
n.痕迹,遗迹,残余 | |
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60 intrude | |
vi.闯入;侵入;打扰,侵扰 | |
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61 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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62 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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63 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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64 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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65 throng | |
n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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66 etiquette | |
n.礼仪,礼节;规矩 | |
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67 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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68 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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69 vigilant | |
adj.警觉的,警戒的,警惕的 | |
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70 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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71 negligence | |
n.疏忽,玩忽,粗心大意 | |
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72 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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73 deafened | |
使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 ); 使隔音 | |
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74 torpid | |
adj.麻痹的,麻木的,迟钝的 | |
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75 venom | |
n.毒液,恶毒,痛恨 | |
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76 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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77 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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78 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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79 affront | |
n./v.侮辱,触怒 | |
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80 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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81 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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82 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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83 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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84 luminous | |
adj.发光的,发亮的;光明的;明白易懂的;有启发的 | |
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85 broached | |
v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 );打开并开始用;用凿子扩大(或修光);(在桶上)钻孔取液体 | |
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86 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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87 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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88 veer | |
vt.转向,顺时针转,改变;n.转向 | |
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89 implore | |
vt.乞求,恳求,哀求 | |
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90 implored | |
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91 obtuse | |
adj.钝的;愚钝的 | |
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92 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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93 hues | |
色彩( hue的名词复数 ); 色调; 信仰; 观点 | |
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94 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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95 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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96 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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97 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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98 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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99 stationary | |
adj.固定的,静止不动的 | |
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100 alleys | |
胡同,小巷( alley的名词复数 ); 小径 | |
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101 agonized | |
v.使(极度)痛苦,折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 );苦斗;苦苦思索;感到极度痛苦 | |
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102 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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103 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
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104 engrossed | |
adj.全神贯注的 | |
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105 glide | |
n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
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106 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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107 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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108 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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109 entreat | |
v.恳求,恳请 | |
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110 presumption | |
n.推测,可能性,冒昧,放肆,[法律]推定 | |
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111 scrawl | |
vt.潦草地书写;n.潦草的笔记,涂写 | |
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112 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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113 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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114 opprobrium | |
n.耻辱,责难 | |
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115 incurred | |
[医]招致的,遭受的; incur的过去式 | |
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116 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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117 petitioner | |
n.请愿人 | |
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118 descried | |
adj.被注意到的,被发现的,被看到的 | |
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119 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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120 condescending | |
adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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121 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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122 improper | |
adj.不适当的,不合适的,不正确的,不合礼仪的 | |
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123 meditated | |
深思,沉思,冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 ); 内心策划,考虑 | |
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124 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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125 faltered | |
(嗓音)颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
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126 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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127 humiliatingly | |
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128 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129 cavils | |
v.挑剔,吹毛求疵( cavil的第三人称单数 ) | |
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130 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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131 sect | |
n.派别,宗教,学派,派系 | |
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132 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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133 disarms | |
v.裁军( disarm的第三人称单数 );使息怒 | |
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134 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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135 displeasingly | |
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136 hoary | |
adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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137 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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138 scrutiny | |
n.详细检查,仔细观察 | |
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139 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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140 auspices | |
n.资助,赞助 | |
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141 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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142 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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143 relinquished | |
交出,让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 ); 放弃 | |
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144 ardently | |
adv.热心地,热烈地 | |
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145 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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146 superfluous | |
adj.过多的,过剩的,多余的 | |
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147 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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148 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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149 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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150 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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151 deign | |
v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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152 intruded | |
n.侵入的,推进的v.侵入,侵扰,打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 );把…强加于 | |
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153 congregated | |
(使)集合,聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154 smitten | |
猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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155 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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156 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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157 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
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158 sarcasms | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,挖苦( sarcasm的名词复数 ) | |
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159 complimentary | |
adj.赠送的,免费的,赞美的,恭维的 | |
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160 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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161 minutiae | |
n.微小的细节,细枝末节;(常复数)细节,小事( minutia的名词复数 ) | |
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162 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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163 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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164 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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165 domains | |
n.范围( domain的名词复数 );领域;版图;地产 | |
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166 trespass | |
n./v.侵犯,闯入私人领地 | |
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167 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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168 athletic | |
adj.擅长运动的,强健的;活跃的,体格健壮的 | |
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169 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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170 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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171 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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172 parasites | |
寄生物( parasite的名词复数 ); 靠他人为生的人; 诸虫 | |
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