Here, in summer, all through the long glorious days, which seem so hard to believe in in winter time, come anglers, and live. Here they order their meals at impossible hours, and drive the landlady1 mad by not coming home to them. Here, too, they plan mad expeditions with the fishermen, who are now in all their glory, wearing bright-patterned shirts, scornful of half-crowns, and in a general state of obfuscation2, in consequence of being plied3 with strange liquors by their patrons, out of flasks4, when they are out fishing. Here, too, come artists, with beards as long as your arm, and pass the day under white umbrellas, in pleasant places by the waterside, painting.
The dark old porch of the inn stands ont in the street, but the back of the ouse goes down to the river. At this porch there is generally a group of idlers, or an old man sunning himself, or a man on horseback drinking. On this present occasion there were all three of these things, and also Lord Ascot’s head-keeper with a brace5 of setters.
As Charles rode very slowly towards the group, the keeper and the groom6 on horseback left off talking. Charles fancied they had been talking about him, and I, who know every thing, also know that they had. When Charles was nearly opposite him, the keeper came forward and said —
H I should like to show you the first trout7 of the season, sir. Jim, show Mr. Ravenshoe that trout.”
A beautiful ten-pounder was immediately laid on the stones.
“He would have looked handsomer in another month, Jackson,” said Charles.
“Perhaps he would, sir. My lady generally likes to get one as soon as she can.”
At this stage the groom, who had been standing8 apart, came up, and touching9 his hat, put into Charles’s hand a note.j
It was in Adelaide’s handwriting. The groom knew it, the keeper knew it, they all knew it, and Charles knew they knew it; but what cared he — all the world might know it. But they knew and had been talking of something else before he came up, which
Charles did not know. If anything is going wrong, all the country side knows it before the person principally concerned. And all the country side knew that there had been a great and scandalous quarrel between Adelaide and Lady Ascot — all, except Charles.
He put the note in his pocket without opening it; he gave the groom half-a-crown; he bade goodbye to the keeper; he touched his hat to the loiterers; and then he rode on his way toward Casterton, down the village street. He passed the church among the leaf-less walnut-trees, beneath the towering elms, now noisy with building rooks; and then, in the broad road under the lofty chalk downs, with the elms on his left, and glimpses of the flashing river between their stems, there he pulled up his horse, and read his love-letter.
“Dear Charles, —
“Ain’t you very cross at my having been away when you came? I don’t believe you are, for you are never cross. I couldn’t help it, Charles, dear. Aunt wanted me to go.
“Aunt is very cross and tiresome10. She don’t like me as well as she used. You mus’n’t believe all she says, you know. It ain’t one word of it true. It is only her fancy.
“Do come over and see me. Lord Hainault” (this, I must tell you, reader, is the son, not the husband, of Lady Ascot’s most cherished old enemy) “is going to be married, and there will be a great wedding. She is hat long Burton girl, whom you may remember. I have always had a great dislike for her; but she has asked me to be bridesmaid, and, of course, one can’t refuse. Lady Emily Montfort is ‘with me’ as the lawyers say, and, of course, she will have her mother’s pearls in her ugly red hair.” —
Charles couldn’t agree as to Lady Emily’s hair being red. He had thought it the most beautiful hair he had ever seen in his life. —
“Pour mot, I shall wear a camelia, if the gardener will give me one. How I wish I had jewels to beat hers! She can’t wear the Cleveland diamonds as a bridesmaid; that is a comfort. Come over and see me. I am in agony about what aunt may have said to you.
“Adelaide.”
The reader may see more in this letter than Charles did. The reader may see a certain amount of selfishness and vanity in it: Charles did not. He took up his reins11, and rode on; and, as he rode, said, “By Jove, Cuthbert shall lend me the emeralds!”
He hardly liked asking for them; but he could not bear the idea of Lady Emily shining superior to Adelaide in consequence of her pearls. Had he been a wise man (which I suppose you have, by this time, found out that he is decidedly not. Allow me to recommend this last sentence in a grammatical point of view), he would have seen that, with two such glorious creatures as Adelaide and Lady Emily, no one would have seen whether they ere clothed in purple and fine linen12, or in sackcloth and ashes. But Charles was a fool. He was in love, and he was riding out to see his love.
The Scotchman tells us about Spey leaping out a’ glorious giant from among the everlasting14 hills; the Irishman tells you of Shannon rambling15 on past castle, and mountain, gathering16 new beauty as he goes; the Canadian tells you of the great river which streams over the cliff between Erie and Ontario; and the Australian tells you of Snowy pouring eternally from his great curtain of dolomite, seen forty miles away by the lonely traveller on the dull grey plains; but the Englishman tells you of the Thames, whose valley is the cradle of Freedom, and the possessors of which are the arbiters17 of the world.
And along the Thames valley rode Charles. At first the road ran along beneath some pleasant sunny heights; but, as it gradually rose, the ground grew more abrupt18, and, on the right, a considerable down, with patches of gorse and juniper, hung over the road; while, on the left, the broad valley stretched away to where a distant cloud of grey smoke showed where lay the good old town of Casterton. Now the road entered a dark beech19 wood beneath lofty banks, where the squirrels, merry fellows, ran across the road and rattled20 up the trees, and the air was faint with the scent21 of last year’s leaves. Then came a break in the wood to the right, and a vista22 up a long-drawn valley, which ended in a chalk cliff. Then a break in the wood to the left, and a lance at the flat meadows, the gleaming river, and the dim grey distance. Then the wood again, denser23 and darker than ever. Then a sound, at first faint and indistinct, but growing gradually upon the ear until it could be plainly heard above the horse’s footfall. Then suddenly the end of the wood, and broad open sunlight. Below, the weirs24 of Casterton, spouting25 by a hundred channels, through the bucks26 and under the mills. Hard by, Casterton town, lying, a tumbled mass of red brick and grey flint, beneath a faint soft haze27 of smoke, against the vast roll in the land called Marldown. On the right, Casterton Park, a great wooded promontory28, so steep that one can barely walk along it, clothed with beech and oak from base to summit, save in one place, where a bold lawn of short grass, five hundred feet high, stoops suddenly down towards the meadows, fringed at the edges with broom and fern, and topped with three tall pines — the landmark29 for ten miles along the river.
A lodge30, the white gate of which is swung open by a pretty maiden31; a dark oak wood again, with a long vista, ended by the noble precipitous lull32 on which the house stands; a more open park, with groups of deer lying about and feeding; another dark wood, the road now rising rapidly; rabbits, and a pot-valiant cock-pheasant standing in the middle of the way, and "currucking,” under the impression that Charles is in possession of all his domestic arrangements, and has come to disturb them; then the smooth gravel33 road, getting teeper and steeper; then the summit; one glimpse of a glorious panorama34; then the front door and footmen.
Charles sent his card in, and would be glad to know if Lady Hainault could see him. While he waited for an answer, his horse rubbed its nose against its knee, and yawned, while the footmen on the steps looked at the rooks. They knew all about it too. (The footmen I mean, not the rooks); though I wouldn’t swear against a rook’s knowing anything, mind you.
Lady Hainault would see Mr. Ravenshoe — which was lucky, because, if she wouldn’t have done so, Charles would have been obliged to ask for Adelaide. So Charles’s horse was led to the stable, and Charles was led by the butler through the hall, and shown into a cool and empty library, to purge35 himself of earthly passions, before he was admitted to The Presence.
Charles sat himself down in the easiest chair he could find, and got hold of “Euskin’s Modern Painters.” That is a very nice book: it is printed on thick paper, with large print; the reading is very good, full of the most beautful sentiments ever you heard; and there are also capital plates in it. Charles looked through the pictures: he didn’t look at the letterpress, I know — for, if he had, he would have been so deeply enchained with it that he wouldn’t have done what he did — get up, and look out of the window. The window looked into the flower-garden. There he saw a young Scotch13 gardener, looking after his rose-trees. His child, a toddling36 bit of a thing, four years old (it must have been his first, for he was a very oung man), was holding the slips of matting for him; and glancing up between whiles at the great facade37 of the house, as though wondering what great people were inside, and whether they were looking at him. This was a pretty sight to a good whole-hearted fellow like Charles; but he got tired of looking at that even, after a time; for he was anxious, and not well at ease. And so, after his watch had told him that he had waited half an hour, he rang the bell.
The butler came, almost directly.
“Did you tell Lady Hainault that I was here?” said Charles.
“My lady was told, sir.”
“Tell her again, will you?” said Charles, and yawned.
Charles had time for another look at Euskin, and another look at the gardener and his boy, before the butler came back and said, “My lady is disengaged, sir.”
Charles was dying to see Adelaide, and was getting very impatient; but he was, as you have seen, a very contented38 sort of fellow: and, as he had fully39 made up his mind not to leave the house without a good half-hour with her, he could afford to wait. He crossed the hall behind the butler, and then went up the great staircase, and through the picture-gallery. Here he was struck by seeing the original of one of the prints he had seen downstairs, in the book, hanging on the wall among others. He stopped the butler, and asked, “What picture is that?”
“That, sir,” said the butler, hesitatingly, “that, sir — that is the great Turner, sir. Yes, sir,” he repeated, after a glance at a Francia on the one side, and a Rembrandt on the other, “yes, sir, that is the great Turner, sir.”
Charles was shown into a boudoir on the south side of the house, where sat Lady Hainault, an old and not singularly agreeable looking woman, who was doing crochet-work, and her companion, a strong-minded and vixenish-looking old maid, who was also doing crochet-work. They looked so very like two of the Fates, weaving woe40, that Charles looked round for the third sister, and found her not.
“How d’ye do, Mr. Ravenshoe?” said Lady Hainault. “I hope you haven’t been kept waiting?”
“Not at all,” said Charles; and if that was not a deliberate lie, I want to know what is.
If there was any one person in the world for whom Charles bore a cherished feeling of dislike, it was this virtuous41 old lady. Charles loved Lady Ascot dearly, and Lady Hainault was her bitterest enemy. That would have been enough; but she had a horrid42 trick of sharpening her wit upon young men, and saying things to them in public which gave them a justifiable43 desire to knock her down and jump on her, as the Irish reapers44 do to their wives; and she had exercised this talent on Charles once at Eanfurd, and he hated her as much as he could hate any one, and that was not much. Lord Saltire used to say, that he must give her the credit of being the most infernally disagreeable woman in Europe.
Charles thought, by the twitching45 of her long fingers over her work, that she was going to be disagreeable now, and he was prepared. But, to Charles’s great astonishment46, the old lady was singularly gracious.”
“And how,” she said, “is dear Lady Ascot? I have been coming, and coming, for a long time, but I never have gone so far this winter.”
“Lucky for aunt!” thought Charles. Then there was a pause, and a very awkward one.
Charles said, very quietly, “Lady Hainault, may I see Miss Summers?”
“Surely! I wonder where she is. Miss Hicks, ring the bell.”
Charles stepped forward and rang; and Miss Hicks, as Clotho, who had half-risen, sat down again, and wove her web grimly.
Atropos appeared, after an interval47, looking as beautiful as the dawn. So Charles was looking too intently at her to notice the quick, eager glances that the old women threw at her as she came into the room. His heart leapt up as he went forward to meet her; and he took her hand and pressed it, and would have done so if all the furies in Pandemonium48 were there to prevent him.
It did not please her ladyship to see this; and so Charles did it once more, and then they sat down together in a window.
“And how am I looking?” said Adelaide, gazing at him full in the face. “Not a single pretty compliment for me after so long? I require compliments; I am used to them. Lady Hainault paid me some this morning.”
Lady Hainault, as Lachcsis, laughed and woved, Charles thought, “I suppose she and Adelaide have been having a shindy. She and aunt fall out sometimes.”
Adelaide and Charles had a good deal of quiet conversation in the window; but what two lovers could talk with Clotho and Lachesis looking on, weaving? I, of course, know perfectly49 well what they talked of, but it is hardly worth setting down here. I find that lovers’ conversations are not always interesting to the general public. After a decent time, Charles rose to go, and Adelaide went out by a side door.
Charles made his adieux to Clotho and Lachesis, and departed at the other end of the room. The door had barely closed on him, when Lady Hainault, eagerly thrusting her face towards Miss Hicks, hissed50 out —
“Did I give her time enough? Were her eyes red? Does he suspect anything?”
“You gave her time enough, I should say,” said Miss Hicks, deliberately51. “I didn’t see that her eyes were reel But he must certainly suspect that you and she are not on the best of terms, from what she said.”
“Do you think he knows that Hainault is at home? Did he ask for Hainault?”
“I don’t know,” said Miss Hicks.
“She shall not stop in the house. She shall go back to Lady Ascot. I won’t have her in the house,” said the old lady, furiously.
“Why did you have her here, Lady Hainault?”
“You know perfectly well, Hicks. You know I only had her to spite old Ascot. But she shall stay here no longer.”
“She must stay for the wedding now,” said Miss Hicks.
“I suppose she must,” said Lady Hainault; “but, after that, she shall pack. If the Burton people only knew what was going on, the match would be broken off.”
“I don’t believe anything is going on,” said Miss Hicks; “at least, not on his side. You are putting yourself in a passion for nothing, and you will be ill after it .”
“I am not putting myself in a passion, and I won’t be ill, Hicks! And you are impudent52 to me, as you always are. I tell you that she must be got rid of, and she must marry that young booby, or we are all undone53. I say that Hainault is smitten54 with her.”
“I say he is not, Lady Hainault. I say that what there is is all on her side.”
“She shall go back to Ranford after the wedding. I was a fool to have such a beautiful vixen in the house at all.”
We shall not see much more of Lady Hainault. Her son is about to marry the beautiful Miss Burton, and make her Lady Hainault, We shall see something of her by-and-bye.
The wedding came off the next week. A few days previously55 Charles rode over to Casterton and saw Adelaide. He had with him a note and jewel-case. The note was from Cuthbert, in which he spoke56 of her as his future sister, and begged her to accept the loan of “these few poor jewels.” She was graciously pleased to do so; and Charles took his leave very soon, for the house was turned out of the windows, and the next day but one “the long Burton girl ” became Lady Hainault, and Lady Ascot’s friend became Dowager. Lady Emily did not wear pearls at the wedding. She wore her own splendid golden hair, which hung round her lovely face like a glory. None who saw the two could say which was the most beautiful of these two celebrated57 blondes — Adelaide, the imperial, or Lady Emily, the gentle and the winning.
But, when Lady Ascot heard that Adelaide had appeared at the wedding with the emeralds, she was furious. “She has gone,” said that deeply injured lady — “she, a penniless girl, has actually gone, and, without my consent or knowledge, borrowed the Ravenshoe emeralds, and flaunted58 in them at a wedding. That girl would dance over my grave, Brooks59.”
“Miss Adelaide,” said Brooks, “must have looked very well in them, my lady!” for Brooks was good-natured, and wished to turn away her ladyship’s wrath60.
Lady Ascot turned upon her and withered61 her. She only said, “Emeralds upon pink! Heugh!” But Brooks was withered nevertheless.
I cannot give you any idea as to how Lady Ascot said “Heugh!” as I have written it above. We don’t know how the Greeks pronounced the amazing interjections in the Greek plays. We can only write them down.
“Perhaps the jewels were not remarked, my lady said the maid, making a second and worse shot.
“Not remarked, you foolish woman!” said the angry old lady. “Not remark a thousand pounds’ worth of emeralds upon a girl who is very well known to he a pensioner62 of mine. And I daren’t speak to her, or we shall have a scene with Charles. I am glad of one thing, though; it shows that Charles is thoroughly63 in earnest. Now let me get to bed, that’s a good soul; and don’t be angry with me if I am short tempered, for heaven knows I have enough to try me! Send one of the footmen across to the stable to know if Mahratta has had her nitre. Say that I insist on a categorical answer. Has Lord Ascot come home?” “Yes, my lady.”
“He might have come and given me some news about the horse. But there, poor boy, I can forgive him.”
点击收听单词发音
1 landlady | |
n.女房东,女地主 | |
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2 obfuscation | |
n.昏迷,困惑;发暗 | |
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3 plied | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的过去式和过去分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
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4 flasks | |
n.瓶,长颈瓶, 烧瓶( flask的名词复数 ) | |
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5 brace | |
n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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6 groom | |
vt.给(马、狗等)梳毛,照料,使...整洁 | |
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7 trout | |
n.鳟鱼;鲑鱼(属) | |
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8 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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9 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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10 tiresome | |
adj.令人疲劳的,令人厌倦的 | |
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11 reins | |
感情,激情; 缰( rein的名词复数 ); 控制手段; 掌管; (成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的)保护带 | |
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12 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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13 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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14 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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15 rambling | |
adj.[建]凌乱的,杂乱的 | |
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16 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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17 arbiters | |
仲裁人,裁决者( arbiter的名词复数 ) | |
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18 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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19 beech | |
n.山毛榉;adj.山毛榉的 | |
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20 rattled | |
慌乱的,恼火的 | |
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21 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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22 vista | |
n.远景,深景,展望,回想 | |
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23 denser | |
adj. 不易看透的, 密集的, 浓厚的, 愚钝的 | |
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24 weirs | |
n.堰,鱼梁(指拦截游鱼的枝条篱)( weir的名词复数 ) | |
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25 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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26 bucks | |
n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 );钱;(英国十九世纪初的)花花公子;(用于某些表达方式)责任v.(马等)猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 );抵制;猛然震荡;马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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27 haze | |
n.霾,烟雾;懵懂,迷糊;vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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28 promontory | |
n.海角;岬 | |
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29 landmark | |
n.陆标,划时代的事,地界标 | |
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30 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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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 lull | |
v.使安静,使入睡,缓和,哄骗;n.暂停,间歇 | |
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33 gravel | |
n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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34 panorama | |
n.全景,全景画,全景摄影,全景照片[装置] | |
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35 purge | |
n.整肃,清除,泻药,净化;vt.净化,清除,摆脱;vi.清除,通便,腹泻,变得清洁 | |
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36 toddling | |
v.(幼儿等)东倒西歪地走( toddle的现在分词 );蹒跚行走;溜达;散步 | |
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37 facade | |
n.(建筑物的)正面,临街正面;外表 | |
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38 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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39 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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40 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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41 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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42 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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43 justifiable | |
adj.有理由的,无可非议的 | |
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44 reapers | |
n.收割者,收获者( reaper的名词复数 );收割机 | |
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45 twitching | |
n.颤搐 | |
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46 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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47 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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48 pandemonium | |
n.喧嚣,大混乱 | |
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49 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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50 hissed | |
发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 ); 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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51 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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52 impudent | |
adj.鲁莽的,卑鄙的,厚颜无耻的 | |
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53 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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54 smitten | |
猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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55 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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56 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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57 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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58 flaunted | |
v.炫耀,夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 );有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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59 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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60 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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61 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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62 pensioner | |
n.领养老金的人 | |
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63 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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