BYRON.
Lady Peveril remained in no small anxiety for several hours after her husband and the Countess had departed from Martindale Castle; more especially when she learned that Major Bridgenorth, concerning whose motions she made private inquiry1, had taken horse with a party, and was gone to the westward2 in the same direction with Sir Geoffrey.
At length her immediate3 uneasiness in regard to the safety of her husband and the Countess was removed, by the arrival of Whitaker, with her husband’s commendations, and an account of the scuffle betwixt himself and Major Bridgenorth.
Lady Peveril shuddered4 to see how nearly they had approached to renewal5 of the scenes of civil discord6; and while she was thankful to Heaven for her husband’s immediate preservation7, she could not help feeling both regret and apprehension8 for the consequences of his quarrel with Major Bridgenorth. They had now lost an old friend, who had showed himself such under those circumstances of adversity by which friendship is most severely9 tried; and she could not disguise from herself that Bridgenorth, thus irritated, might be a troublesome, if not a dangerous enemy. His rights as a creditor10, he had hitherto used with gentleness; but if he should employ rigour, Lady Peveril, whose attention to domestic economy had made her much better acquainted with her husband’s affairs than he was himself, foresaw considerable inconvenience from the measures which the law put in his power. She comforted herself with the recollection, however, that she had still a strong hold on Bridgenorth, through his paternal11 affection, and from the fixed12 opinion which he had hitherto manifested, that his daughter’s health could only flourish while under her charge. But any expectations of reconciliation13 which Lady Peveril might probably have founded on this circumstance, were frustrated14 by an incident which took place in the course of the following morning.
The governante, Mistress Deborah, who has been already mentioned, went forth15, as usual, with the children, to take their morning exercise in the Park, attended by Rachael, a girl who acted occasionally as her assistant in attending upon them. But not as usual did she return. It was near the hour of breakfast, when Ellesmere, with an unwonted degree of primness17 in her mouth and manner, came to acquaint her lady that Mistress Deborah had not thought proper to come back from the Park, though the breakfast hour approached so near.
“She will come, then, presently,” said Lady Peveril with indifference18.
Ellesmere gave a short and doubtful cough, and then proceeded to say, that Rachael had been sent home with little Master Julian, and that Mistress Deborah had been pleased to say, she would walk on with Miss Bridgenorth as far as Moultrassie Holt; which was a point at which the property of the Major, as matters now stood, bounded that of Sir Geoffrey Peveril.
“Is the wench turned silly,” exclaimed the lady, something angrily, “that she does not obey my orders, and return at regular hours?”
“She may be turning silly,” said Ellesmere mysteriously; “or she may be turning too sly; and I think it were as well your ladyship looked to it.”
“Looked to what, Ellesmere?” said the lady impatiently. “You are strangely oracular this morning. If you know anything to the prejudice of this young woman, I pray you speak it out.”
“I prejudice!” said Ellesmere; “I scorn to prejudice man, woman, or child, in the way of a fellow-servant; only I wish your ladyship to look about you, and use your own eyes — that is all.”
“You bid me use my own eyes, Ellesmere; but I suspect,” answered the lady, “you would be better pleased were I contented19 to see through your spectacles. I charge you — and you know I will be obeyed — I charge you to tell me what you know or suspect about this girl, Deborah Debbitch.”
“I see through spectacles!” exclaimed the indignant Abigail; “your ladyship will pardon me in that, for I never use them, unless a pair that belonged to my poor mother, which I put on when your ladyship wants your pinners curiously20 wrought21. No woman above sixteen ever did white-seam without barnacles. And then as to suspecting, I suspect nothing; for as your ladyship hath taken Mistress Deborah Debbitch from under my hand, to be sure it is neither bread nor butter of mine. Only” (here she began to speak with her lips shut, so as scarce to permit a sound to issue, and mincing22 her words as if she pinched off the ends of them before she suffered them to escape) — “only, madam, if Mistress Deborah goes so often of a morning to Moultrassie Holt, why, I should not be surprised if she should never find the way back again.”
“Once more, what do you mean, Ellesmere? You were wont16 to have some sense — let me know distinctly what the matter is.”
“Only, madam,” pursued the Abigail, “that since Bridgenorth came back from Chesterfield, and saw you at the Castle Hall, Mistress Deborah has been pleased to carry the children every morning to that place; and it has so happened that she has often met the Major, as they call him, there in his walks; for he can walk about now like other folks; and I warrant you she hath not been the worse of the meeting — one way at least, for she hath bought a new hood23 might serve yourself, madam; but whether she hath had anything in hand besides a piece of money, no doubt your ladyship is best judge.”
Lady Peveril, who readily adopted the more good-natured construction of the governante’s motives24, could not help laughing at the idea of a man of Bridgenorth’s precise appearance, strict principles, and reserved habits, being suspected of a design of gallantry; and readily concluded, that Mistress Deborah had found her advantage in gratifying his parental25 affection by a frequent sight of his daughter during the few days which intervened betwixt his first seeing little Alice at the Castle, and the events which had followed. But she was somewhat surprised, when, an hour after the usual breakfast hour, during which neither the child nor Mistress Deborah appeared, Major Bridgenorth’s only man-servant arrived at the Castle on horseback, dressed as for a journey; and having delivered a letter addressed to herself, and another to Mistress Ellesmere, rode away without waiting any answer.
There would have been nothing remarkable26 in this, had any other person been concerned; but Major Bridgenorth was so very quiet and orderly in all his proceedings27 — so little liable to act hastily or by impulse, that the least appearance of bustle29 where he was concerned, excited surprise and curiosity.
Lady Peveril broke her letter hastily open, and found that it contained the following lines:—
“For the Hands of the Honourable30 and Honoured Lady Peveril —
These:
“Madam — Please it your Ladyship — I write more to excuse myself to your ladyship, than to accuse either you or others, in respect that I am sensible it becomes our frail31 nature better to confess our own imperfections, than to complain of those of others. Neither do I mean to speak of past times, particularly in respect of your worthy32 ladyship, being sensible that if I have served you in that period when our Israel might be called triumphant33, you have more than requited34 me, in giving to my arms a child, redeemed35, as it were, from the vale of the shadow of death. And therefore, as I heartily36 forgive to your ladyship the unkind and violent measure which you dealt to me at our last meeting (seeing that the woman who was the cause of strife37 is accounted one of your kindred people), I do entreat38 you, in like manner, to pardon my enticing39 away from your service the young woman called Deborah Debbitch, whose direction, is, it may be, indispensable to the health of my dearest child. I had purposed, madam, with your gracious permission, that Alice should have remained at Martindale Castle, under your kind charge, until she could so far discern betwixt good and evil, that it should be matter of conscience to teach her the way in which she should go. For it is not unknown to your ladyship, and in no way do I speak it reproachfully, but rather sorrowfully, that a person so excellently gifted as yourself — I mean touching40 natural qualities — has not yet received that true light, which is a lamp to the paths, but are contented to stumble in darkness, and among the graves of dead men. It has been my prayer in the watches of the night, that your ladyship should cease from the doctrine41 which causeth to err42; but I grieve to say, that our candlestick being about to be removed, the land will most likely be involved in deeper darkness than ever; and the return of the King, to which I and many looked forward as a manifestation43 of divine favour, seems to prove little else than a permitted triumph of the Prince of the Air, who setteth about to restore his Vanity-fair of bishops44, deans, and such like, extruding45 the peaceful ministers of the word, whose labours have proved faithful to many hungry souls. So, hearing from a sure hand, that commission has gone forth to restore these dumb dogs, the followers46 of Laud47 and of Williams, who were cast forth by the late Parliament, and that an Act of Conformity48, or rather of deformity, of worship, was to be expected, it is my purpose to flee from the wrath49 to come, and to seek some corner where I may dwell in peace, and enjoy liberty of conscience. For who would abide50 in the Sanctuary51, after the carved work thereof is broken down, and when it hath been made a place for owls52, and satyrs of the wilderness53? — And herein I blame myself, madam, that I went in the singleness of my heart too readily into that carousing55 in the house of feasting, wherein my love of union, and my desire to show respect to your ladyship, were made a snare56 to me. But I trust it will be an atonement, that I am now about to absent myself from the place of my birth, and the house of my fathers, as well as from the place which holdeth the dust of those pledges of my affection. I have also to remember, that in this land my honour (after the worldly estimation) hath been abated57, and my utility circumscribed58, by your husband, Sir Geoffrey Peveril; and that without any chance of my obtaining reparation at his hand, whereby I may say the hand of a kinsman59 was lifted up against my credit and my life. These things are bitter to the taste of the old Adam; wherefore to prevent farther bickerings, and, it may be, bloodshed, it is better that I leave this land for a time. The affairs which remain to be settled between Sir Geoffrey and myself, I shall place in the hand of the righteous Master Joachim Win-the-Fight, an attorney in Chester, who will arrange them with such attention to Sir Geoffrey’s convenience, as justice, and the due exercise of the law, will permit; for, as I trust I shall have grace to resist the temptation to make the weapons of carnal warfare60 the instruments of my revenge, so I scorn to effect it through the means of Mammon. Wishing, madam, that the Lord may grant you every blessing61, and, in especial, that which is over all others, namely, the true knowledge of His way, I remain, your devoted62 servant to command, RALPH BRIDGENORTH.
“Written at Moultrassie Hall, this tenth day of July, 1660.”
So soon as Lady Peveril had perused64 this long and singular homily, in which it seemed to her that her neighbour showed more spirit of religious fanaticism65 than she could have supposed him possessed67 of, she looked up and beheld68 Ellesmere — with a countenance69 in which mortification70, and an affected71 air of contempt, seemed to struggle together — who, tired with watching the expression of her mistress’s countenance, applied72 for confirmation73 of her suspicions in plain terms.
“I suppose, madam,” said the waiting-woman, “the fanatic66 fool intends to marry the wench? They say he goes to shift the country. Truly it’s time, indeed; for, besides that the whole neighbourhood would laugh him to scorn, I should not be surprised if Lance Outram, the keeper, gave him a buck’s head to bear; for that is all in the way of his office.”
“There is no great occasion for your spite at present, Ellesmere,” replied her lady. “My letter says nothing of marriage; but it would appear that Master Bridgenorth, being to leave this country, has engaged Deborah to take care of his child; and I am sure I am heartily glad of it, for the infant’s sake.”
“And I am glad of it for my own,” said Ellesmere; “and, indeed, for the sake of the whole house. — And your ladyship thinks she is not like to be married to him? Troth, I could never see how he should be such an idiot; but perhaps she is going to do worse; for she speaks here of coming to high preferment, and that scarce comes by honest servitude nowadays; then she writes me about sending her things, as if I were mistress of the wardrobe to her ladyship — ay, and recommends Master Julian to the care of my age and experience, forsooth, as if she needed to recommend the dear little jewel to me; and then, to speak of my age — But I will bundle away her rags to the Hall, with a witness!”
“Do it with all civility,” said the lady, “and let Whitaker send her the wages for which she has served, and a broad-piece over and above; for though a light-headed young woman, she was kind to the children.”
“I know who is kind to their servants, madam, and would spoil the best ever pinned a gown.”
“I spoiled a good one, Ellesmere, when I spoiled thee,” said the lady; “but tell Mistress Deborah to kiss the little Alice for me, and to offer my good wishes to Major Bridgenorth, for his temporal and future happiness.”
She permitted no observation or reply, but dismissed her attendant, without entering into farther particulars.
When Ellesmere had withdrawn74, Lady Peveril began to reflect, with much feeling of compassion75, on the letter of Major Bridgenorth; a person in whom there were certainly many excellent qualities, but whom a series of domestic misfortunes, and the increasing gloom of a sincere, yet stern feeling of devotion, rendered lonely and unhappy; and she had more than one anxious thought for the happiness of the little Alice, brought up, as she was likely to be, under such a father. Still the removal of Bridgenorth was, on the whole, a desirable event; for while he remained at the Hall, it was but too likely that some accidental collision with Sir Geoffrey might give rise to a rencontre betwixt them, more fatal than the last had been.
In the meanwhile, she could not help expressing to Doctor Dummerar her surprise and sorrow, that all which she had done and attempted, to establish peace and unanimity76 betwixt the contending factions77, had been perversely78 fated to turn out the very reverse of what she had aimed at.
“But for my unhappy invitation,” she said, “Bridgenorth would not have been at the Castle on the morning which succeeded the feast, would not have seen the Countess, and would not have incurred79 the resentment80 and opposition81 of my husband. And but for the King’s return, an event which was so anxiously expected as the termination of all our calamities82, neither the noble lady nor ourselves had been engaged in this new path of difficulty and danger.”
“Honoured madam,” said Doctor Dummerar, “were the affairs of this world to be guided implicitly83 by human wisdom, or were they uniformly to fall out according to the conjectures84 of human foresight85, events would no longer be under the domination of that time and chance, which happen unto all men, since we should, in the one case, work out our own purposes to a certainty, by our own skill, and in the other, regulate our conduct according to the views of unerring prescience. But man is, while in this vale of tears, like an uninstructed bowler86, so to speak, who thinks to attain87 the jack88, by delivering his bowl straight forward upon it, being ignorant that there is a concealed89 bias90 within the spheroid, which will make it, in all probability, swerve91 away, and lose the cast.”
Having spoken this with a sententious air, the Doctor took his shovel-shaped hat, and went down to the Castle green, to conclude a match of bowls with Whitaker, which had probably suggested this notable illustration of the uncertain course of human events.
Two days afterwards, Sir Geoffrey arrived. He had waited at Vale Royal till he heard of the Countess’s being safely embarked93 for Man, and then had posted homeward to his Castle and Dame94 Margaret. On his way, he learned from some of his attendants, the mode in which his lady had conducted the entertainment which she had given to the neighbourhood at his order; and notwithstanding the great deference95 he usually showed in cases where Lady Peveril was concerned, he heard of her liberality towards the Presbyterian party with great indignation.
“I could have admitted Bridgenorth,” he said, “for he always bore him in neighbourly and kindly96 fashion till this last career — I could have endured him, so he would have drunk the King’s health, like a true man — but to bring that snuffling scoundrel Solsgrace, with all his beggarly, long-eared congregation, to hold a conventicle in my father’s house — to let them domineer it as they listed — why, I would not have permitted them such liberty, when they held their head the highest! They never, in the worst of times, found any way into Martindale Castle but what Noll’s cannon97 made for them; and that they should come and cant98 there, when good King Charles is returned — By my hand, Dame Margaret shall hear of it!”
But, notwithstanding these ireful resolutions, resentment altogether subsided99 in the honest Knight100’s breast, when he saw the fair features of his lady lightened with affectionate joy at his return in safety. As he took her in his arms and kissed her, he forgave her ere he mentioned her offence.
“Thou hast played the knave101 with me, Meg,” he said, shaking his head, and smiling at the same time, “and thou knowest in what manner; but I think thou art true church-woman, and didst only act from silly womanish fancy of keeping fair with these roguish Roundheads. But let me have no more of this. I had rather Martindale Castle were again rent by their bullets, than receive any of the knaves102 in the way of friendship — I always except Ralph Bridgenorth of the Hall, if he should come to his senses again.”
Lady Peveril was here under the necessity of explaining what she had heard of Master Bridgenorth — the disappearance103 of the governante with his daughter, and placed Bridgenorth’s letter in his hand. Sir Geoffrey shook his head at first, and then laughed extremely at the idea that there was some little love-intrigue between Bridgenorth and Mistress Deborah.
“It is the true end of a dissenter,” he said, “to marry his own maid-servant, or some other person’s. Deborah is a good likely wench, and on the merrier side of thirty, as I should think.”
“Nay104, nay,” said the Lady Peveril, “you are as uncharitable as Ellesmere — I believe it but to be affection to his child.”
“Pshaw! pshaw!” answered the Knight, “women are eternally thinking of children; but among men, dame, many one carresses the infant that he may kiss the child’s maid; and where’s the wonder or the harm either, if Bridgenorth should marry the wench? Her father is a substantial yeoman; his family has had the same farm since Bosworthfield — as good a pedigree as that of the great-grandson of a Chesterfield brewer105, I trow. But let us hear what he says for himself — I shall spell it out if there is any roguery in the letter about love and liking106, though it might escape your innocence107, Dame Margaret.”
The Knight of the Peak began to peruse63 the letter accordingly, but was much embarrassed by the peculiar108 language in which it was couched. “What he means by moving of candlesticks, and breaking down of carved work in the church, I cannot guess; unless he means to bring back the large silver candlesticks which my grandsire gave to be placed on the altar at Martindale Moultrassie; and which his crop-eared friends, like sacrilegious villains109 as they are, stole and melted down. And in like manner, the only breaking I know of, was when they pulled down the rails of the communion table (for which some of their fingers are hot enough by this time), and when the brass110 ornaments111 were torn down from Peveril monuments; and that was breaking and removing with a vengeance112. However, dame, the upshot is, that poor Bridgenorth is going to leave the neighbourhood. I am truly sorry for it, though I never saw him oftener than once a day, and never spoke92 to him above two words. But I see how it is — that little shake by the shoulder sticks in his stomach; and yet, Meg, I did but lift him out of the saddle as I might have lifted thee into it, Margaret — I was careful not to hurt him; and I did not think him so tender in point of honour as to mind such a thing much; but I see plainly where his sore lies; and I warrant you I will manage that he stays at the Hall, and that you get back Julian’s little companion. Faith, I am sorry myself at the thought of losing the baby, and of having to choose another ride when it is not hunting weather, than round by the Hall, with a word at the window.”
“I should be very glad, Sir Geoffrey,” said the Lady Peveril, “that you could come to a reconciliation with this worthy man, for such I must hold Master Bridgenorth to be.”
“But for his dissenting113 principles, as good a neighbour as ever lived,” said Sir Geoffrey.
“But I scarce see,” continued the lady, “any possibility of bringing about a conclusion so desirable.”
“Tush, dame,” answered the Knight, “thou knowest little of such matters. I know the foot he halts upon, and you shall see him go as sound as ever.”
Lady Peveril had, from her sincere affection and sound sense, as good a right to claim the full confidence of her husband, as any woman in Derbyshire; and, upon this occasion, to confess the truth, she had more anxiety to know his purpose than her sense of their mutual114 and separate duties permitted her in general to entertain. She could not imagine what mode of reconciliation with his neighbour, Sir Geoffrey (no very acute judge of mankind or their peculiarities) could have devised, which might not be disclosed to her; and she felt some secret anxiety lest the means resorted to might be so ill chosen as to render the breach115 rather wider. But Sir Geoffrey would give no opening for farther inquiry. He had been long enough colonel of a regiment116 abroad, to value himself on the right of absolute command at home; and to all the hints which his lady’s ingenuity117 could devise and throw out, he only answered, “Patience, Dame Margaret, patience. This is no case for thy handling. Thou shalt know enough on’t by-and-by, dame. — Go, look to Julian. Will the boy never have done crying for lack of that little sprout118 of a Roundhead? But we will have little Alice back with us in two or three days, and all will be well again.”
As the good Knight spoke these words, a post winded his horn in the court, and a large packet was brought in, addressed to the worshipful Sir Geoffrey Peveril, Justice of the Peace, and so forth; for he had been placed in authority as soon as the King’s Restoration was put upon a settled basis. Upon opening the packet, which he did with no small feeling of importance, he found that it contained the warrant which he had solicited119 for replacing Doctor Dummerar in the parish, from which he had been forcibly ejected during the usurpation120.
Few incidents could have given more delight to Sir Geoffrey. He could forgive a stout121 able-bodied sectary or nonconformist, who enforced his doctrines122 in the field by downright blows on the casques and cuirasses of himself and other Cavaliers. But he remembered with most vindictive123 accuracy, the triumphant entrance of Hugh Peters through the breach of his Castle; and for his sake, without nicely distinguishing betwixt sects124 or their teachers, he held all who mounted a pulpit without warrant from the Church of England — perhaps he might also in private except that of Rome — to be disturbers of the public tranquillity125 — seducers of the congregation from their lawful126 preachers — instigators of the late Civil War — and men well disposed to risk the fate of a new one.
Then, on the other hand, besides gratifying his dislike to Solsgrace, he saw much satisfaction in the task of replacing his old friend and associate in sport and in danger, the worthy Doctor Dummerar, in his legitimate127 rights and in the ease and comforts of his vicarage. He communicated the contents of the packet, with great triumph, to the lady, who now perceived the sense of the mysterious paragraph in Major Bridgenorth’s letter, concerning the removal of the candlestick, and the extinction128 of light and doctrine in the land. She pointed129 this out to Sir Geoffrey, and endeavoured to persuade him that a door was now opened to reconciliation with his neighbour, by executing the commission which he had received in an easy and moderate manner, after due delay, and with all respect to the feelings both of Solsgrace and his congregation, which circumstances admitted of. This, the lady argued, would be doing no injury whatever to Doctor Dummerar; — nay, might be the means of reconciling many to his ministry130, who might otherwise be disgusted with it for ever, by the premature131 expulsion of a favourite preacher.
There was much wisdom, as well as moderation, in this advice; and, at another time, Sir Geoffrey would have sense enough to have adopted it. But who can act composedly or prudently132 in the hour of triumph? The ejection of Mr. Solsgrace was so hastily executed, as to give it some appearance of persecution133; though, more justly considered, it was the restoring of his predecessor134 to his legal rights. Solsgrace himself seemed to be desirous to make his sufferings as manifest as possible. He held out to the last; and on the Sabbath after he had received intimation of his ejection, attempted to make his way to the pulpit, as usual, supported by Master Bridgenorth’s attorney, Win-the-Fight, and a few zealous135 followers.
Just as their party came into the churchyard on the one side, Doctor Dummerar, dressed in full pontificals, in a sort of triumphal procession accompanied by Peveril of the Peak, Sir Jasper Cranbourne, and other Cavaliers of distinction, entered at the other.
To prevent an actual struggle in the church, the parish officers were sent to prevent the farther approach of the Presbyterian minister; which was effected without farther damage than a broken head, inflicted136 by Roger Raine, the drunken innkeeper of the Peveril Arms, upon the Presbyterian attorney of Chesterfield.
Unsubdued in spirit, though compelled to retreat by superior force, the undaunted Mr. Solsgrace retired137 to the vicarage; where under some legal pretext138 which had been started by Mr. Win-the-Fight (in that day unaptly named), he attempted to maintain himself — bolted gates — barred windows — and, as report said (though falsely), made provision of fire-arms to resist the officers. A scene of clamour and scandal accordingly took place, which being reported to Sir Geoffrey, he came in person, with some of his attendants carrying arms — forced the outer-gate and inner-doors of the house; and proceeding28 to the study, found no other garrison139 save the Presbyterian parson, with the attorney, who gave up possession of the premises140, after making protestation against the violence that had been used.
The rabble141 of the village being by this time all in motion, Sir Geoffrey, both in prudence142 and good-nature, saw the propriety143 of escorting his prisoners, for so they might be termed, safely through the tumult144; and accordingly conveyed them in person, through much noise and clamour, as far as the avenue of Moultrassie Hall, which they chose for the place of their retreat.
But the absence of Sir Geoffrey gave the rein54 to some disorders145, which, if present, he would assuredly have restrained. Some of the minister’s books were torn and flung about as treasonable and seditious trash, by the zealous parish-officers or their assistants. A quantity of his ale was drunk up in healths to the King and Peveril of the Peak. And, finally, the boys, who bore the ex-parson no good-will for his tyrannical interference with their games at skittles, foot-ball, and so forth, and, moreover, remembered the unmerciful length of his sermons, dressed up an effigy146 with his Geneva gown and band, and his steeple-crowned hat, which they paraded through the village, and burned on the spot whilom occupied by a stately Maypole, which Solsgrace had formerly147 hewed148 down with his own reverend hands.
Sir Geoffrey was vexed149 at all this and sent to Mr. Solsgrace, offering satisfaction for the goods which he had lost; but the Calvinistical divine replied, “From a thread to a shoe-latchet, I will not take anything that is thine. Let the shame of the work of thy hands abide with thee.”
Considerable scandal, indeed, arose against Sir Geoffrey Peveril as having proceeded with indecent severity and haste upon this occasion; and rumour150 took care to make the usual additions to the reality. It was currently reported, that the desperate Cavalier, Peveril of the Peak, had fallen on a Presbyterian congregation, while engaged in the peaceable exercise of religion, with a band of armed men — had slain151 some, desperately152 wounded many more, and finally pursued the preacher to his vicarage which he burned to the ground. Some alleged153 the clergyman had perished in the flames; and the most mitigated154 report bore, that he had only been able to escape by disposing his gown, cap, and band, near a window, in such a manner as to deceive them with the idea of his person being still surrounded by flames, while he himself fled by the back part of the house. And although few people believed in the extent of the atrocities155 thus imputed156 to our honest Cavalier, yet still enough of obloquy157 attached to him to infer very serious consequences, as the reader will learn at a future period of our history.
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1 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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3 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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4 shuddered | |
v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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5 renewal | |
adj.(契约)延期,续订,更新,复活,重来 | |
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6 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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7 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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8 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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9 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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10 creditor | |
n.债仅人,债主,贷方 | |
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11 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
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12 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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13 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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14 frustrated | |
adj.挫败的,失意的,泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 );挫败;使受挫折;令人沮丧 | |
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15 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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16 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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17 primness | |
n.循规蹈矩,整洁 | |
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18 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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19 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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20 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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21 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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22 mincing | |
adj.矫饰的;v.切碎;切碎 | |
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23 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
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24 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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25 parental | |
adj.父母的;父的;母的 | |
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26 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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27 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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28 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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29 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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30 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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31 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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32 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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33 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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34 requited | |
v.报答( requite的过去式和过去分词 );酬谢;回报;报复 | |
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35 redeemed | |
adj. 可赎回的,可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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36 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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37 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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38 entreat | |
v.恳求,恳请 | |
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39 enticing | |
adj.迷人的;诱人的 | |
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40 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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41 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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42 err | |
vi.犯错误,出差错 | |
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43 manifestation | |
n.表现形式;表明;现象 | |
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44 bishops | |
(基督教某些教派管辖大教区的)主教( bishop的名词复数 ); (国际象棋的)象 | |
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45 extruding | |
v.挤压出( extrude的现在分词 );挤压成;突出;伸出 | |
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46 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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47 laud | |
n.颂歌;v.赞美 | |
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48 conformity | |
n.一致,遵从,顺从 | |
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49 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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50 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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51 sanctuary | |
n.圣所,圣堂,寺庙;禁猎区,保护区 | |
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52 owls | |
n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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53 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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54 rein | |
n.疆绳,统治,支配;vt.以僵绳控制,统治 | |
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55 carousing | |
v.痛饮,闹饮欢宴( carouse的现在分词 ) | |
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56 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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57 abated | |
减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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58 circumscribed | |
adj.[医]局限的:受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 );划定…范围;限制;限定 | |
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59 kinsman | |
n.男亲属 | |
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60 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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61 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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62 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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63 peruse | |
v.细读,精读 | |
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64 perused | |
v.读(某篇文字)( peruse的过去式和过去分词 );(尤指)细阅;审阅;匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览(某篇文字) | |
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65 fanaticism | |
n.狂热,盲信 | |
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66 fanatic | |
n.狂热者,入迷者;adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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67 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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68 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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69 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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70 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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71 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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72 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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73 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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74 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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75 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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76 unanimity | |
n.全体一致,一致同意 | |
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77 factions | |
组织中的小派别,派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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78 perversely | |
adv. 倔强地 | |
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79 incurred | |
[医]招致的,遭受的; incur的过去式 | |
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80 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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81 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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82 calamities | |
n.灾祸,灾难( calamity的名词复数 );不幸之事 | |
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83 implicitly | |
adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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84 conjectures | |
推测,猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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85 foresight | |
n.先见之明,深谋远虑 | |
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86 bowler | |
n.打保龄球的人,(板球的)投(球)手 | |
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87 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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88 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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89 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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90 bias | |
n.偏见,偏心,偏袒;vt.使有偏见 | |
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91 swerve | |
v.突然转向,背离;n.转向,弯曲,背离 | |
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92 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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93 embarked | |
乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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94 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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95 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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96 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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97 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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98 cant | |
n.斜穿,黑话,猛扔 | |
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99 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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100 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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101 knave | |
n.流氓;(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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102 knaves | |
n.恶棍,无赖( knave的名词复数 );(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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103 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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104 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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105 brewer | |
n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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106 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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107 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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108 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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109 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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110 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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111 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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112 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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113 dissenting | |
adj.不同意的 | |
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114 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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115 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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116 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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117 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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118 sprout | |
n.芽,萌芽;vt.使发芽,摘去芽;vi.长芽,抽条 | |
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119 solicited | |
v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 );(指娼妇)拉客;索求;征求 | |
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120 usurpation | |
n.篡位;霸占 | |
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122 doctrines | |
n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 );教义;学说;(政府政策的)正式声明 | |
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123 vindictive | |
adj.有报仇心的,怀恨的,惩罚的 | |
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124 sects | |
n.宗派,教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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125 tranquillity | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
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126 lawful | |
adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
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127 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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128 extinction | |
n.熄灭,消亡,消灭,灭绝,绝种 | |
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129 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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130 ministry | |
n.(政府的)部;牧师 | |
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131 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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132 prudently | |
adv. 谨慎地,慎重地 | |
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133 persecution | |
n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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134 predecessor | |
n.前辈,前任 | |
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135 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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136 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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138 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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139 garrison | |
n.卫戍部队;驻地,卫戍区;vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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140 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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141 rabble | |
n.乌合之众,暴民;下等人 | |
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142 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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143 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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144 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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145 disorders | |
n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 );凌乱;骚乱;(身心、机能)失调 | |
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146 effigy | |
n.肖像 | |
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147 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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148 hewed | |
v.(用斧、刀等)砍、劈( hew的过去式和过去分词 );砍成;劈出;开辟 | |
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149 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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150 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
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151 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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152 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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153 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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154 mitigated | |
v.减轻,缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155 atrocities | |
n.邪恶,暴行( atrocity的名词复数 );滔天大罪 | |
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156 imputed | |
v.把(错误等)归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157 obloquy | |
n.斥责,大骂 | |
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