Mr Maule was now something about fifty-five years of age, and almost considered himself young. He lived in chambers20 on a flat in Westminster, and belonged to two excellent clubs. He had not been near his property for the last ten years, and as he was addicted21 to no country sport there were ten weeks in the year which were terrible to him. From the middle of August to the end of October for him there was no whist, no society — it may almost be said no dinner. He had tried going to the seaside; he had tried going to Paris; he had endeavoured to enjoy Switzerland and the Italian lakes — but all had failed, and he had acknowledged to himself that this sad period of the year must always be endured without relaxation22, and without comfort.
Of his children he now took but little notice. His daughter was married and in India. His younger son had disappeared, and the father was perhaps thankful that he was thus saved from trouble. With his elder son he did maintain some amicable23 intercourse24, but it was very slight in its nature. They never corresponded unless the one had something special to say to the other. They had no recognised ground for meeting. They did not belong to the same clubs. They did not live in the same circles. They did not follow the same pursuits. They were interested in the same property — but, as on that subject there had been something approaching to a quarrel, and as neither looked for assistance from the other, they were now silent on the matter. The father believed himself to be a poorer man than his son, and was very sore on the subject; but he had nothing beyond a life interest in his property, and there remained to him a certain amount of prudence25 which induced him to abstain26 from eating more of his pudding — lest absolute starvation and the poorhouse should befall him. There still remained to him the power of spending some five or six hundred a year, and upon this practice had taught him to live with a very considerable amount of self-indulgence. He dined out a great deal, and was known everywhere as Mr Maule of Maule Abbey.
He was a slight, bright-eyed, grey-haired, good-looking man, who had once been very handsome. He had married, let us say for love — probably very much by chance. He had ill-used his wife, and had continued a long-continued liaison27 with a complaisant28 friend. This had lasted some twenty years of his life, and had been to him an intolerable burden. He had come to see the necessity of employing his good looks, his conversational29 powers, and his excellent manners on a second marriage which might be lucrative30; but the complaisant lady had stood in his way. Perhaps there had been a little cowardice31 on his part; but at any rate he had hitherto failed. The season for such a mode of relief was not, however, as yet clean gone with him, and he was still on the look out. There are women always in the market ready to buy for themselves the right to hang on the arm of a real gentleman. That Mr Maurice Maule was a real gentleman no judge in such matters had ever doubted.
On a certain morning just at the end of February Mr Maule was sitting in his library — so-called — eating his breakfast, at about twelve o’clock; and at his side there lay a note from his son Gerard. Gerard had written to say that he would call on that morning, and the promised visit somewhat disturbed the father’s comfort. He was in his dressing-gown and slippers32, and had his newspaper in his hand. When his newspaper and breakfast should be finished — as they would be certainly at the same moment — there were in store for him two cigarettes, and perhaps some new French novel which had just reached him. They would last him till two o’clock. Then he would dress and saunter out in his great coat, made luxurious with furs. He would see a picture, or perhaps some china-vase, of which news had reached him, and would talk of them as though he might be a possible buyer. Everybody knew that he never bought anything — but he was a man whose opinion on such matters was worth having. Then he would call on some lady whose acquaintance at the moment might be of service to him — for that idea of blazing once more out into the world on a wife’s fortune was always present to him. At about five he would saunter into his club, and play a rubber in a gentle unexcited manner till seven. He never played for high points, and would never be enticed33 into any bet beyond the limits of his club stakes. Were he to lose oe10 or oe20 at a sitting his arrangements would be greatly disturbed, and his comfort seriously affected34. But he played well, taking pains with his game, and some who knew him well declared that his whist was worth a hundred a year to him. Then he would dress and generally dine in society. He was known as a good diner out, though in what his excellence35 consisted they who entertained him might find it difficult to say. He was not witty36, nor did he deal in anecdotes37. He spoke38 with a low voice, never addressing himself to any but his neighbour, and even to his neighbour saying but little. But he looked like a gentleman, was well dressed, and never awkward. After dinner he would occasionally play another rubber; but twelve o’clock always saw him back into his own rooms. No one knew better than Mr Maule that the continual bloom of lasting39 summer which he affected requires great accuracy in living. Late hours, nocturnal cigars, and midnight drinkings, pleasurable though they may be, consume too quickly the free-flowing lamps of youth, and are fatal at once to the husbanded candle-ends of age.
But such as his days were, every minute of them was precious to him. He possessed40 the rare merit of making a property of his time and not a burden. He had so shuffled41 off his duties that he had now rarely anything to do that was positively42 disagreeable. He had been a spendthrift; but his creditors43, though perhaps never satisfied, had been quieted. He did not now deal with reluctant and hard-tasked tenants45, but with punctual, though inimical, trustees, who paid to him with charming regularity46 that portion of his income which he was allowed to spend. But that he was still tormented47 with the ambition of a splendid marriage it might be said of him that he was completely at his ease. Now, as he lit his cigarette, he would have been thoroughly48 comfortable, were it not that he was threatened with disturbance49 by his son. Why should his son wish to see him, and thus break in upon him at the most charming hour of the day? Of course his son would not come to him without having some business in hand which must be disagreeable. He had not the least desire to see his son — and yet, as they were on amicable terms, he could not deny himself after the receipt of his son’s note. Just at one, as he finished his first cigarette, Gerard was announced.
“Well, Gerard!”
“Well, father — how are you? You are looking as fresh as paint, sir.”
“Thanks for the compliment, if you mean one. I am pretty well. I thought you were hunting somewhere.”
“So I am; but I have just come up to town to see you. I find you have been smoking — may I light a cigar?”
“I never do smoke cigars here, Gerard. I’ll offer you a cigarette.” The cigarette was reluctantly offered, and accepted with a shrug50. “But you didn’t come here merely to smoke, I daresay.”
“Certainly not, sir. We do not often trouble each other, father; but there are things about which I suppose we had better speak. I’m going to be married!”
“To be married!” The tone in which Mr Maule, senior, repeated the words was much the same as might be used by any ordinary father if his son expressed an intention of going into the shoe-black business.
“Yes, sir. It’s a kind of thing men do sometimes.”
“No doubt — and it’s a kind of thing that they sometimes repent51 of having done.”
“Let us hope for the best. It is too late at any rate to think about that, and as it is to be done, I have come to tell you.”
“Very well. I suppose you are right to tell me. Of course you know that I can do nothing for you; and I don’t suppose that you can do anything for me. As far as your own welfare goes, if she has a large fortune — ”
“She has no fortune.”
“No fortune!”
“Two or three thousand pounds perhaps.”
“Then I look upon it as an act of simple madness, and can only say that as such I shall treat it. I have nothing in my power, and therefore I can neither do you good or harm; but I will not hear any particulars, and I can only advise you to break it off, let the trouble be what it may.”
“I certainly shall not do that, sir.”
“Then I have nothing more to say. Don’t ask me to be present, and don’t ask me to see her.”
“You haven52’t heard her name yet.”
“I do not care one straw what her name is.”
“It is Adelaide Palliser.”
“Adelaide Muggins would be exactly the same thing to me. My dear Gerard, I have lived too long in the world to believe that men can coin into money the noble blood of well-born wives. Twenty thousand pounds is worth more than all the blood of all the Howards, and a wife even with twenty thousand pounds would make you a poor, embarrassed, and half-famished53 man.”
“Then I suppose I shall be whole famished, as she certainly has not got a quarter of that sum.”
“No doubt you will.”
“Yet, sir, married men with families have lived on my income.”
“And on less than a quarter of it. The very respectable man who brushes my clothes no doubt does so. But then you see he has been brought up in that way. I suppose that you as a bachelor put by every year at least half your income?”
“I never put by a shilling, sir. Indeed, I owe a few hundred pounds.”
“And yet you expect to keep a house over your head, and an expensive wife and family, with lady’s maid, nurses, cook, footman, and grooms54, on a sum which has been hitherto insufficient55 for your own wants! I didn’t think you were such an idiot, my boy.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“What will her dress cost?”
“I have not the slightest idea.”
“I daresay not. Probably she is a horsewoman. As far as I know anything of your life that is the sphere in which you will have made the lady’s acquaintance.”
“She does ride.”
“No doubt, and so do you; and it will be very easy to say whither you will ride together if you are fools enough to get married. I can only advise you to do nothing of the kind. Is there anything else?”
There was much more to be said if Gerard could succeed in forcing his father to hear him. Mr Maule, who had hitherto been standing56, seated himself as he asked that last question, and took up the book which had been prepared for his morning’s delectation. It was evidently his intention that his son should leave him. The news had been communicated to him, and he had said all that he could say on the subject. He had at once determined57 to confine himself to a general view of the matter, and to avoid details — which might be personal to himself. But Gerard had been specially58 required to force his father into details. Had he been left to himself he would certainly have thought that the conversation had gone far enough. He was inclined, almost as well as his father, to avoid present discomfort59. But when Miss Palliser had suddenly — almost suddenly — accepted him; and when he had found himself describing the prospects of his life in her presence and in that of Lady Chiltern, the question of the Maule Abbey inheritance had of necessity been discussed. At Maule Abbey there might be found a home for the married couple, and — so thought Lady Chiltern — the only fitting home. Mr Maule, the father, certainly did not desire to live there. Probably arrangements might be made for repairing the house and furnishing it with Adelaide’s money. Then, if Gerard Maule would be prudent60, and give up hunting, and farm a little himself — and if Adelaide would do her own housekeeping and dress upon forty pounds a year, and if they would both live an exemplary, model, energetic, and strictly61 economical life, both ends might be made to meet. Adelaide had been quite enthusiastic as to the forty pounds, and had suggested that she would do it for thirty. The housekeeping was a matter of course, and the more so as a leg of mutton roast or boiled would be the beginning and the end of it. To Adelaide the discussion had been exciting and pleasurable, and she had been quite in earnest when looking forward to a new life at Maule Abbey. After all there could be no such great difficulty for a young married couple to live on oe800 a year, with a house and garden of their own. There would be no carriage and no man servant till — till old Mr Maule was dead. The suggestion as to the ultimate and desirable haven was wrapped up in ambiguous words. “The property must be yours some day,” suggested Lady Chiltern. “If I outlive my father.” “We take that for granted; and then, you know — “ So Lady Chiltern went on, dilating62 upon a future state of squirearchal bliss63 and rural independence. Adelaide was enthusiastic; but Gerard Maule — after he had assented64 to the abandonment of his hunting, much as a man assents65 to being hung when the antecedents of his life have put any option in the matter out of his power — had sat silent and almost moody66 while the joys of his coming life were described to him. Lady Chiltern, however, had been urgent in pointing out to him that the scheme of living at Maule Abbey could not be carried on without his father’s assistance. They all knew that Mr Maule himself could not be affected by the matter, and they also knew that he had but very little power in reference to the property. But the plan could not be matured without some sanction from him. Therefore there was still much more to be said when the father had completed the exposition of his views on marriage in general. “I wanted to speak to you about the property,” said Gerard. He had been specially enjoined67 to be staunch in bringing his father to the point.
“And what about the property?”
“Of course my marriage will not affect your interests.”
“I should say not. It would be very odd if it did. As it is, your income is much larger than mine.”
“I don’t know how that is, sir; but I suppose you will not refuse to give me a helping68 hand if you can do so without disturbance to your own comfort.”
“In what sort of way? Don’t you think anything of that kind can be managed better by the lawyer? If there is a thing I hate, it is business.”
Gerard remembering his promise to Lady Chiltern did persevere69, though the perseverance70 went much against the grain with him. “We thought, sir, that if you would consent we might live at Maule Abbey.”
“Oh — you did; did you?”
“Is there any objection?”
“Simply the fact that it is my house, and not yours.”
“It belongs, I suppose, to the property; and as — ”
“As what?” asked the father, turning upon the son with sharp angry eyes, and with something of real animation71 in his face.
Gerard was very awkward in conveying his meaning to his father. “And as,” he continued — “as it must come to me, I suppose, some day, and it will be the proper sort of thing that we should live there then, I thought that you would agree that if we went and lived there now it would be a good sort of thing to do.”
“That was your idea?”
“We talked it over with our friend, Lady Chiltern.”
“Indeed! I am so much obliged to your friend, Lady Chiltern, for the interest she takes in my affairs. Pray make my compliments to Lady Chiltern, and tell her at the same time that, though no doubt I have one foot in the grave, I should like to keep my house for the other foot, though too probably I may never be able to drag it so far as Maule Abbey.”
“But you don’t think of living there.”
“My dear boy, if you will inquire among any friends you may happen to know who understand the world better than Lady Chiltern seems to do, they will tell you that a son should not suggest to his father the abandonment of the family property, because the father may — probably — soon — be conveniently got rid of under ground.”
“There was no thought of such a thing,” said Gerard.
“It isn’t decent. I say that with all due deference72 to Lady Chiltern’s better judgment73. It’s not the kind of thing that men do. I care less about it than most men, but even I object to such a proposition when it is made so openly. No doubt I am old.” This assertion Mr Maule made in a weak, quavering voice, which showed that had his intention been that way turned in his youth, he might probably have earned his bread on the stage.
“Nobody thought of your being old, sir.”
“I shan’t last long, of course. I am a poor feeble creature. But while I do live, I should prefer not to be turned out of my own house — if Lady Chiltern could be induced to consent to such an arrangement. My doctor seems to think that I might linger on for a year or two — with great care.”
“Father, you know I was thinking of nothing of the kind.”
“We won’t act the king and the prince any further, if you please. The prince protested very well, and, if I remember right, the father pretended to believe him. In my weak state you have rather upset me. If you have no objection I would choose to be left to recover myself a little.”
“And is that all that you will say to me?”
“Good heavens — what more can you want? I will not — consent — to give up — my house at Maule Abbey for your use — as long as I live. Will that do? And if you choose to marry a wife and starve, I won’t think that any reason why I should starve too. Will that do? And your friend, Lady Chiltern, may — go — and be d — d. Will that do?”
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Gerard.” So the interview was over, and Gerard Maule left the room. The father, as soon as he was alone, immediately lit another cigarette, took up his French novel, and went to work as though he was determined to be happy and comfortable again without losing a moment. But he found this to be beyond his power. He had been really disturbed, and could not easily compose himself. The cigarette was almost at once chucked into the fire, and the little volume was laid on one side. Mr Maule rose almost impetuously from his chair, and stood with his back to the fire, contemplating74 the proposition that had been made to him.
It was actually true that he had been offended by the very faint idea of death which had been suggested to him by his son. Though he was a man bearing no palpable signs of decay, in excellent health, with good digestion75 — who might live to be ninety — he did not like to be warned that his heir would come after him. The claim which had been put forward to Maule Abbey by his son had rested on the fact that when he should die the place must belong to his son — and the fact was unpleasant to him. Lady Chiltern had spoken of him behind his back as being mortal, and in doing so had been guilty of an impertinence. Maule Abbey, no doubt, was a ruined old house, in which he never thought of living — which was not let to a tenant44 by the creditors of his estate, only because its condition was unfit for tenancy. But now Mr Maule began to think whether he might not possibly give the lie to these people who were compassing his death, by returning to the halls of his ancestors, if not in the bloom of youth, still in the pride of age. Why should he not live at Maule Abbey if this successful marriage could be effected? He almost knew himself well enough to be aware that a month at Maule Abbey would destroy him; but it is the proper thing for a man of fashion to have a place of his own, and he had always been alive to the glory of being Mr Maule of Maule Abbey. In preparing the way for the marriage that was to come he must be so known. To be spoken of as the father of Maule of Maule Abbey would have been fatal to him. To be the father of a married son at all was disagreeable, and therefore when the communication was made to him he had managed to be very unpleasant. As for giving up Maule Abbey —! He fretted76 and fumed77 as he thought of the proposition through the hour which should have been to him an hour of enjoyment78; and his anger grew hot against his son as he remembered all that he was losing. At last, however, he composed himself sufficiently79 to put on with becoming care his luxurious furred great coat, and then he sallied forth80 in quest of the lady.
点击收听单词发音
1 spouting | |
n.水落管系统v.(指液体)喷出( spout的现在分词 );滔滔不绝地讲;喋喋不休地说;喷水 | |
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2 prophesied | |
v.预告,预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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4 tracts | |
大片土地( tract的名词复数 ); 地带; (体内的)道; (尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的)短文 | |
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5 luxurious | |
adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
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6 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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7 magistrate | |
n.地方行政官,地方法官,治安官 | |
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8 yoke | |
n.轭;支配;v.给...上轭,连接,使成配偶 | |
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9 ostensible | |
adj.(指理由)表面的,假装的 | |
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10 misusing | |
v.使用…不当( misuse的现在分词 );把…派作不正当的用途;虐待;滥用 | |
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11 glutton | |
n.贪食者,好食者 | |
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12 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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13 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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14 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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15 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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16 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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17 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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18 desultory | |
adj.散漫的,无方法的 | |
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19 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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20 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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21 addicted | |
adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
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22 relaxation | |
n.松弛,放松;休息;消遣;娱乐 | |
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23 amicable | |
adj.和平的,友好的;友善的 | |
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24 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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25 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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26 abstain | |
v.自制,戒绝,弃权,避免 | |
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27 liaison | |
n.联系,(未婚男女间的)暖昧关系,私通 | |
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28 complaisant | |
adj.顺从的,讨好的 | |
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29 conversational | |
adj.对话的,会话的 | |
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30 lucrative | |
adj.赚钱的,可获利的 | |
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31 cowardice | |
n.胆小,怯懦 | |
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32 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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33 enticed | |
诱惑,怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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35 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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36 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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37 anecdotes | |
n.掌故,趣闻,轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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38 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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39 lasting | |
adj.永久的,永恒的;vbl.持续,维持 | |
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40 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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41 shuffled | |
v.洗(纸牌)( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 );拖着脚步走;粗心地做;摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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42 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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43 creditors | |
n.债权人,债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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44 tenant | |
n.承租人;房客;佃户;v.租借,租用 | |
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45 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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46 regularity | |
n.规律性,规则性;匀称,整齐 | |
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47 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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48 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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49 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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50 shrug | |
v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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51 repent | |
v.悔悟,悔改,忏悔,后悔 | |
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52 haven | |
n.安全的地方,避难所,庇护所 | |
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53 famished | |
adj.饥饿的 | |
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54 grooms | |
n.新郎( groom的名词复数 );马夫v.照料或梳洗(马等)( groom的第三人称单数 );使做好准备;训练;(给动物)擦洗 | |
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55 insufficient | |
adj.(for,of)不足的,不够的 | |
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56 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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57 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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58 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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59 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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60 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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61 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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62 dilating | |
v.(使某物)扩大,膨胀,张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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63 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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64 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65 assents | |
同意,赞同( assent的名词复数 ) | |
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66 moody | |
adj.心情不稳的,易怒的,喜怒无常的 | |
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67 enjoined | |
v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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69 persevere | |
v.坚持,坚忍,不屈不挠 | |
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70 perseverance | |
n.坚持不懈,不屈不挠 | |
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71 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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72 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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73 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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74 contemplating | |
深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
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75 digestion | |
n.消化,吸收 | |
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76 fretted | |
焦躁的,附有弦马的,腐蚀的 | |
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77 fumed | |
愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 ); 大怒; 发怒; 冒烟 | |
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78 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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79 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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80 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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