‘Twixt us thus the difference trims:—
Using head instead of limbs,
You have read what I have seen;
Using limbs instead of head,
I have seen what you have read —
Which way does the balance lean?
BUTLER.
Our traveller, rapid in all his resolutions and motions, strode stoutly2 down the street, and arrived at the Manse, which was, as we have already described it, all but absolutely ruinous. The total desolation and want of order about the door, would have argued the place uninhabited, had it not been for two or three miserable3 tubs with suds, or such like sluttish contents, which were left there, that those who broke their shins among them might receive a sensible proof, that “here the hand of woman had been.” The door being half off its hinges, the entrance was for the time protected by a broken harrow, which must necessarily be removed before entry could be obtained. The little garden, which might have given an air of comfort to the old house had it been kept in any order, was abandoned to a desolation, of which that of the sluggard6 was only a type; and the minister’s man, an attendant always proverbial for doing half work, and who seemed in the present instance to do none, was seen among docks and nettles7, solacing8 himself with the few gooseberries which remained on some moss-grown bushes. To him Mr. Touchwood called loudly, enquiring9 after his master; but the clown, conscious of being taken in flagrant delict, as the law says, fled from him like a guilty thing, instead of obeying his summons, and was soon heard hupping and geeing10 to the cart, which he had left on the other side of the broken wall.
Disappointed in his application to the man-servant, Mr. Touchwood knocked with his cane11, at first gently, then harder, holloaed, bellowed12, and shouted, in the hope of calling the attention of some one within doors, but received not a word in reply. At length, thinking that no trespass13 could be committed upon so forlorn and deserted14 an establishment, he removed the obstacles to entrance with such a noise as he thought must necessarily have alarmed some one, if there was any live person about the house at all. All was still silent; and, entering a passage where the damp walls and broken flags corresponded to the appearance of things out of doors, he opened a door to the left, which, wonderful to say, still had a latch16 remaining, and found himself in the parlour, and in the presence of the person whom he came to visit.
Amid a heap of books and other literary lumber17, which had accumulated around him, sat, in his well-worn leathern elbow chair, the learned minister of St. Ronan’s; a thin, spare man, beyond the middle age, of a dark complexion18, but with eyes which, though now obscured and vacant, had been once bright, soft, and expressive19, and whose features seemed interesting, the rather that, notwithstanding the carelessness of his dress, he was in the habit of performing his ablutions with Eastern precision; for he had forgot neatness, but not cleanliness. His hair might have appeared much more disorderly, had it not been thinned by time, and disposed chiefly around the sides of his countenance20 and the back part of his head; black stockings, ungartered, marked his professional dress, and his feet were thrust into the old slipshod shoes, which served him instead of slippers21. The rest of his garments, as far as visible, consisted in a plaid nightgown wrapt in long folds round his stooping and emaciated22 length of body, and reaching down to the slippers aforesaid. He was so intently engaged in studying the book before him, a folio of no ordinary bulk, that he totally disregarded the noise which Mr. Touchwood made in entering the room, as well as the coughs and hems23 with which he thought it proper to announce his presence.
No notice being taken of these inarticulate signals, Mr. Touchwood, however great an enemy he was to ceremony, saw the necessity of introducing his business, as an apology for his intrusion.
“Hem4! sir — Ha, hem! — You see before you a person in some distress24 for want of society, who has taken the liberty to call on you as a good pastor25, who may be, in Christian26 charity, willing to afford him a little of your company, since he is tired of his own.”
Of this speech Mr. Cargill only understood the words “distress” and “charity,” sounds with which he was well acquainted, and which never failed to produce some effect on him. He looked at his visitor with lack-lustre eye, and, without correcting the first opinion which he had formed, although the stranger’s plump and sturdy frame, as well as his nicely-brushed coat, glancing cane, and, above all, his upright and self-satisfied manner, resembled in no respect the dress, form, or bearing of a mendicant27, he quietly thrust a shilling into his hand, and relapsed into the studious contemplation which the entrance of Touchwood had interrupted.
“Upon my word, my good sir,” said his visitor, surprised at a degree of absence of mind which he could hardly have conceived possible, “you have entirely28 mistaken my object.”
“I am sorry my mite29 is insufficient30, my friend,” said the clergyman, without again raising his eyes, “it is all I have at present to bestow31.”
“If you will have the kindness to look up for a moment, my good sir,” said the traveller, “you may possibly perceive that you labour under a considerable mistake.”
Mr. Cargill raised his head, recalled his attention, and, seeing that he had a well-dressed, respectable-looking person before him, he exclaimed in much confusion, “Ha! — yes — on my word, I was so immersed in my book — I believe — I think I have the pleasure to see my worthy32 friend, Mr. Lavender?”
“No such thing, Mr. Cargill,” replied Mr Touchwood. “I will save you the trouble of trying to recollect33 me — you never saw me before. — But do not let me disturb your studies — I am in no hurry, and my business can wait your leisure.”
“I am much obliged,” said Mr. Cargill; “have the goodness to take a chair, if you can find one — I have a train of thought to recover — a slight calculation to finish — and then I am at your command.”
The visitor found among the broken furniture, not without difficulty, a seat strong enough to support his weight, and sat down, resting upon his cane, and looking attentively34 at his host, who very soon became totally insensible of his presence. A long pause of total silence ensued, only disturbed by the rustling35 leaves of the folio from which Mr. Cargill seemed to be making extracts, and now and then by a little exclamation36 of surprise and impatience37, when he dipped his pen, as happened once or twice, into his snuff-box, instead of the inkstandish which stood beside it. At length, just as Mr. Touchwood began to think the scene as tedious as it was singular, the abstracted student raised his head, and spoke38 as if in soliloquy, “From Acon, Accor, or St. John d’Acre, to Jerusalem, how far?”
“Twenty-three miles north north-west,” answered his visitor, without hesitation39.
Mr. Cargill expressed no more surprise at a question which he had put to himself being answered by the voice of another, than if he had found the distance on the map, and indeed, was not probably aware of the medium through which his question had been solved; and it was the tenor40 of the answer alone which he attended to in his reply. —“Twenty-three miles — Ingulphus,” laying his hand on the volume, “and Jeffrey Winesauf, do not agree in this.”
“They may both be d —— d, then, for lying block-heads,” answered the traveller.
“You might have contradicted their authority, sir, without using such an expression,” said the divine, gravely.
“I cry you mercy, Doctor,” said Mr. Touchwood; “but would you compare these parchment fellows with me, that have made my legs my compasses over great part of the inhabited world?”
“You have been in Palestine, then?” said Mr. Cargill, drawing himself upright in his chair, and speaking with eagerness and with interest.
“You may swear that, Doctor, and at Acre too. Why, I was there the month after Boney had found it too hard a nut to crack. — I dined with Sir Sydney’s chum, old Djezzar Pacha, and an excellent dinner we had, but for a dessert of noses and ears brought on after the last remove, which spoiled my digestion41. Old Djezzar thought it so good a joke, that you hardly saw a man in Acre whose face was not as flat as the palm of my hand — Gad42, I respect my olfactory43 organ, and set off the next morning as fast as the most cursed hard-trotting44 dromedary that ever fell to poor pilgrim’s lot could contrive45 to tramp.”
“If you have really been in the Holy Land, sir,” said Mr. Cargill, whom the reckless gaiety of Touchwood’s manner rendered somewhat suspicious of a trick, “you will be able materially to enlighten me on the subject of the Crusades.”
“They happened before my time, Doctor,” replied the traveller.
“You are to understand that my curiosity refers to the geography of the countries where these events took place,” answered Mr. Cargill.
“O! as to that matter, you are lighted on your feet,” said Mr. Touchwood; “for the time present I can fit you. Turk, Arab, Copt, and Druse, I know every one of them, and can make you as well acquainted with them as myself. Without stirring a step beyond your threshold, you shall know Syria as well as I do. — But one good turn deserves another — in that case, you must have the goodness to dine with me.”
“I go seldom abroad, sir,” said the minister, with a good deal of hesitation, for his habits of solitude46 and seclusion47 could not be entirely overcome, even by the expectation raised by the traveller’s discourse48; “yet I cannot deny myself the pleasure of waiting on a gentleman possessed49 of so much experience.”
“Well then,” said Mr. Touchwood, “three be the hour — I never dine later, and always to a minute — and the place, the Cleikum Inn, up the way; where Mrs. Dods is at this moment busy in making ready such a dinner as your learning has seldom seen, Doctor, for I brought the receipts from the four different quarters of the globe.”
Upon this treaty they parted; and Mr. Cargill, after musing50 for a short while upon the singular chance which had sent a living man to answer those doubts for which he was in vain consulting ancient authorities, at length resumed, by degrees, the train of reflection and investigation51 which Mr. Touchwood’s visit had interrupted, and in a short time lost all recollection of his episodical visitor, and of the engagement which he had formed.
Not so Mr. Touchwood, who, when not occupied with business of real importance, had the art, as the reader may have observed, to make a prodigious52 fuss about nothing at all. Upon the present occasion, he bustled53 in and out of the kitchen, till Mrs. Dods lost patience, and threatened to pin the dish-clout to his tail; a menace which he pardoned, in consideration, that in all the countries which he had visited, which are sufficiently54 civilized55 to boast of cooks, these artists, toiling56 in their fiery57 element, have a privilege to be testy58 and impatient. He therefore retreated from the torrid region of Mrs. Dods’s microcosm, and employed his time in the usual devices of loiterers, partly by walking for an appetite, partly by observing the progress of his watch towards three o’clock, when he had happily succeeded in getting an employment more serious. His table, in the blue parlour, was displayed with two covers, after the fairest fashion of the Cleikum Inn; yet the landlady59, with a look “civil but sly,” contrived60 to insinuate61 a doubt whether the clergyman would come, “when a’ was dune62.”
Mr. Touchwood scorned to listen to such an insinuation until the fated hour arrived, and brought with it no Mr. Cargill. The impatient entertainer allowed five minutes for difference of clocks, and variation of time, and other five for the procrastination63 of one who went little into society. But no sooner were the last five minutes expended64, than he darted65 off for the Manse, not, indeed, much like a greyhound or a deer, but with the momentum66 of a corpulent and well-appetized elderly gentleman, who is in haste to secure his dinner. He bounced without ceremony into the parlour, where he found the worthy divine clothed in the same plaid nightgown, and seated in the very elbow-chair, in which he had left him five hours before. His sudden entrance recalled to Mr. Cargill, not an accurate, but something of a general, recollection, of what had passed in the morning, and he hastened to apologize with “Ha! — indeed — already? — upon my word, Mr. A— a — I mean my dear friend — I am afraid I have used you ill — I forgot to order any dinner — but we will do our best. — Eppie — Eppie!”
Not at the first, second, nor third call, but ex intervallo, as the lawyers express it, Eppie, a bare-legged, shock-headed, thick-ankled, red-armed wench, entered, and announced her presence by an emphatic67 “What’s your wull?”
“Have you got any thing in the house for dinner, Eppie?”
“Naething but bread and milk, plenty o’t — what should I have?”
“You see, sir,” said Mr. Cargill, “you are like to have a Pythagorean entertainment; but you are a traveller, and have doubtless been in your time thankful for bread and milk.”
“But never when there was any thing better to be had,” said Mr. Touchwood. “Come, Doctor, I beg your pardon, but your wits are fairly gone a wool-gathering; it was I invited you to dinner, up at the inn yonder, and not you me.”
“On my word, and so it was,” said Mr. Cargill; “I knew I was quite right — I knew there was a dinner engagement betwixt us, I was sure of that, and that is the main point. — Come, sir, I wait upon you.”
“Will you not first change your dress?” said the visitor, seeing with astonishment68 that the divine proposed to attend him in his plaid nightgown; “why, we shall have all the boys in the village after us — you will look like an owl69 in sunshine, and they will flock round you like so many hedge-sparrows.”
“I will get my clothes instantly,” said the worthy clergyman; “I will get ready directly — I am really ashamed to keep you waiting, my dear Mr. — eh — eh — your name has this instant escaped me.”
“It is Touchwood, sir, at your service; I do not believe you ever heard it before,” answered the traveller.
“True — right — no more I have — well, my good Mr. Touchstone, will you sit down an instant until we see what we can do? — strange slaves we make ourselves to these bodies of ours, Mr. Touchstone — the clothing and the sustaining of them costs us much thought and leisure, which might be better employed in catering70 for the wants of our immortal71 spirits.”
Mr. Touchwood thought in his heart that never had Bramin or Gymnosophist less reason to reproach himself with excess in the indulgence of the table, or of the toilet, than the sage15 before him; but he assented72 to the doctrine73, as he would have done to any minor74 heresy75, rather than protract76 matters by farther discussing the point at present. In a short time the minister was dressed in his Sunday’s suit, without any farther mistake than turning one of his black stockings inside out; and Mr. Touchwood, happy as was Boswell when he carried off Dr. Johnson in triumph to dine with Strahan and John Wilkes, had the pleasure of escorting him to the Cleikum Inn.
In the course of the afternoon they became more familiar, and the familiarity led to their forming a considerable estimate of each other’s powers and acquirements. It is true, the traveller thought the student too pedantic77, too much attached to systems, which, formed in solitude, he was unwilling78 to renounce79, even when contradicted by the voice and testimony80 of experience; and, moreover, considered his utter inattention to the quality of what he eat and drank, as unworthy of a rational, that is, of a cooking creature, or of a being who, as defined by Johnson, holds his dinner as the most important business of the day. Cargill did not act up to this definition, and was, therefore, in the eyes of his new acquaintance, so far ignorant and uncivilized. What then? He was still a sensible, intelligent man, however abstemious81 and bookish.
On the other hand, the divine could not help regarding his new friend as something of an epicure82 or belly-god, nor could he observe in him either the perfect education, or the polished bearing, which mark the gentleman of rank, and of which, while he mingled83 with the world, he had become a competent judge. Neither did it escape him, that in the catalogue of Mr. Touchwood’s defects, occurred that of many travellers, a slight disposition84 to exaggerate his own personal adventures, and to prose concerning his own exploits. But then, his acquaintance with Eastern manners, existing now in the same state in which they were found during the time of the Crusades, formed a living commentary on the works of William of Tyre, Raymund of Saint Giles, the Moslem85 annals of Abulfaragi, and other historians of the dark period, with which his studies were at present occupied.
A friendship, a companionship at least, was therefore struck up hastily betwixt these two originals; and to the astonishment of the whole parish of St. Ronan’s, the minister thereof was seen once more leagued and united with an individual of his species, generally called among them the Cleikum Nabob. Their intercourse86 sometimes consisted in long walks, which they took in company, traversing, however, as limited a space of ground, as if it had been actually roped in for their pedestrian exercise. Their parade was, according to circumstances, a low haugh at the nether87 end of the ruinous hamlet, or the esplanade in the front of the old castle; and, in either case, the direct longitude88 of their promenade89 never exceeded a hundred yards. Sometimes, but rarely, the divine took share of Mr. Touchwood’s meal, though less splendidly set forth90 than when he was first invited to partake of it; for, like the owner of the gold cup in Parnell’s Hermit91, when cured of his ostentation92,
——“Still he welcomed, but with less of cost.”
On these occasions, the conversation was not of the regular and compacted nature, which passes betwixt men, as they are ordinarily termed, of this world. On the contrary, the one party was often thinking of Saladin and Coeur de Lion, when the other was haranguing93 on Hyder Ali and Sir Eyre Coote. Still, however, the one spoke, and the other seemed to listen; and, perhaps, the lighter94 intercourse of society, where amusement is the sole object, can scarcely rest on a safer and more secure basis.
It was on one of the evenings when the learned divine had taken his place at Mr. Touchwood’s social board, or rather at Mrs. Dods’s — for a cup of excellent tea, the only luxury which Mr. Cargill continued to partake of with some complacence, was the regale95 before them — that a card was delivered to the Nabob.
“Mr. and Miss Mowbray see company at Shaws-Castle on the twentieth current, at two o’clock — a déje?ner — dresses in character admitted — A dramatic picture.”
“See company? the more fools they,” he continued by way of comment. “See company? — choice phrases are ever commendable96 — and this piece of pasteboard is to intimate that one may go and meet all the fools of the parish, if they have a mind — in my time they asked the honour, or the pleasure, of a stranger’s company. I suppose, by and by, we shall have in this country the ceremonial of a Bedouin’s tent, where every ragged97 Hadgi, with his green turban, comes in slap without leave asked, and has his black paw among the rice, with no other apology than Salam Alicum. —‘Dresses in character — Dramatic picture’— what new tomfoolery can that be? — but it does not signify. — Doctor! I say Doctor! — but he is in the seventh heaven — I say, Mother Dods, you who know all the news — Is this the feast that was put off until Miss Mowbray should be better?”
“Troth is it, Maister Touchwood — they are no in the way of giving twa entertainments in one season — no very wise to gie ane maybe — but they ken5 best.”
“I say, Doctor, Doctor! — Bless his five wits, he is charging the Moslemah with stout1 King Richard — I say, Doctor, do you know any thing of these Mowbrays?”
“Nothing extremely particular,” answered Mr. Cargill, after a pause; “it is an ordinary tale of greatness, which blazes in one century, and is extinguished in the next. I think Camden says, that Thomas Mowbray, who was Grand-Marshal of England, succeeded to that high office, as well as to the Dukedom of Norfolk, as grandson of Roger Bigot, in 1301.”
“Pshaw, man, you are back into the 14th century — I mean these Mowbrays of St. Ronan’s — now, don’t fall asleep again until you have answered my question — and don’t look so like a startled hare — I am speaking no treason.”
The clergyman floundered a moment, as is usual with an absent man who is recovering the train of his ideas, or a somnambulist when he is suddenly awakened98, and then answered, still with hesitation —
“Mowbray of St. Ronan’s? — ha — eh — I know — that is — I did know the family.”
“Here they are going to give a masquerade, a bal paré, private theatricals99, I think, and what not,” handing him the card.
“I saw something of this a fortnight ago,” said Mr. Cargill; “indeed, I either had a ticket myself, or I saw such a one as that.”
“Are you sure you did not attend the party, Doctor?” said the Nabob.
“Who attend? I? you are jesting, Mr. Touchwood.”
“But are you quite positive?” demanded Mr. Touchwood, who had observed, to his infinite amusement, that the learned and abstracted scholar was so conscious of his own peculiarities100, as never to be very sure on any such subject.
“Positive!” he repeated with embarrassment101; “my memory is so wretched that I never like to be positive — but had I done any thing so far out of my usual way, I must have remembered it, one would think — and — I am positive I was not there.”
“Neither could you, Doctor,” said the Nabob, laughing at the process by which his friend reasoned himself into confidence, “for it did not take place — it was adjourned102, and this is the second invitation — there will be one for you, as you had a card to the former. — Come, Doctor, you must go — you and I will go together — I as an Imaum — I can say my Bismillah with any Hadgi of them all — You as a cardinal103, or what you like best.”
“Who, I? — it is unbecoming my station, Mr. Touchwood,” said the clergyman —“a folly104 altogether inconsistent with my habits.”
“All the better — you shall change your habits.”
“You had better gang up and see them, Mr. Cargill,” said Mrs. Dods; “for it’s maybe the last sight ye may see of Miss Mowbray — they say she is to be married and off to England ane of thae odd-come-shortlies, wi’ some of the gowks about the Waal down-by.”
“Married!” said the clergyman; “it is impossible!”
“But where’s the impossibility, Mr. Cargill, when ye see folk marry every day, and buckle105 them yoursell into the bargain? — Maybe ye think the puir lassie has a bee in her bannet; but ye ken yoursell if naebody but wise folk were to marry, the warld wad be ill peopled. I think it’s the wise folk that keep single, like yoursell and me, Mr. Cargill. — Gude guide us! — are ye weel? — will ye taste a drap o’ something?”
“Sniff at my ottar of roses,” said Mr. Touchwood; “the scent106 would revive the dead — why, what in the devil’s name is the meaning of this? — you were quite well just now.”
“A sudden qualm,” said Mr. Cargill, recovering himself.
“Oh! Mr. Cargill,” said Dame107 Dods, “this comes of your lang fasts.”
“Right, dame,” subjoined Mr. Touchwood; “and of breaking them with sour milk and pease bannock — the least morsel108 of Christian food is rejected by stomach, just as a small gentleman refuses the visit of a creditable neighbour, lest he see the nakedness of the land — ha! ha!”
“And there is really a talk of Miss Mowbray of St Ronan’s being married?” said the clergyman.
“Troth is there,” said the dame; “it’s Trotting Nelly’s news; and though she likes a drappie, I dinna think she would invent a lee or carry ane — at least to me, that am a gude customer.”
“This must be looked to,” said Mr. Cargill, as if speaking to himself.
“In troth, and so it should,” said Dame Dods; “it’s a sin and a shame if they should employ the tinkling109 cymbal110 they ca’ Chatterly, and sic a Presbyterian trumpet111 as yoursell in the land, Mr. Cargill; and if ye will take a fule’s advice, ye winna let the multure be ta’en by your ain mill, Mr. Cargill.”
“True, true, good Mother Dods,” said the Nabob; “gloves and hatbands are things to be looked after, and Mr. Cargill had better go down to this cursed festivity with me, in order to see after his own interest.”
“I must speak with the young lady,” said the clergyman, still in a brown study.
“Right, right, my boy of black-letter,” said the Nabob; “with me you shall go, and we’ll bring them to submission112 to mother-church, I warrant you — Why, the idea of being cheated in such a way, would scare a Santon out of his trance. — What dress will you wear?”
“My own, to be sure,” said the divine, starting from his reverie.
“True, thou art right again — they may want to knit the knot on the spot, and who would be married by a parson in masquerade? — We go to the entertainment though — it is a done thing.”
The clergyman assented, provided he should receive an invitation; and as that was found at the Manse, he had no excuse for retracting113, even if he had seemed to desire one.
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2
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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sluggard
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| n.懒人；adj.懒惰的 | |
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nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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solacing
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| v.安慰，慰藉( solace的现在分词 ) | |
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enquiring
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| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
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geeing
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| v.驭马快走或向右（gee的现在分词形式） | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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trespass
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| n./v.侵犯，闯入私人领地 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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slippers
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emaciated
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hems
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| 布的褶边，贴边( hem的名词复数 )； 短促的咳嗽 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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pastor
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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mendicant
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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29
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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30
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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31
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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32
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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33
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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34
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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35
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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36
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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37
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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38
spoke
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| 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
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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40
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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41
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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42
gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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43
olfactory
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| adj.嗅觉的 | |
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44
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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45
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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46
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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47
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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48
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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49
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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50
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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51
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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52
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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53
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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54
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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55
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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56
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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57
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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testy
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| adj.易怒的；暴躁的 | |
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59
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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61
insinuate
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| vt.含沙射影地说，暗示 | |
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62
dune
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| n.(由风吹积而成的)沙丘 | |
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procrastination
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| n.拖延，耽搁 | |
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expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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67
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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catering
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| n. 给养 | |
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71
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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75
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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76
protract
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| v.延长，拖长 | |
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77
pedantic
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| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
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78
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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79
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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80
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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81
abstemious
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| adj.有节制的，节俭的 | |
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82
epicure
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| n.行家，美食家 | |
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83
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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84
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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85
Moslem
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| n.回教徒，穆罕默德信徒；adj.回教徒的，回教的 | |
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86
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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87
nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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88
longitude
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| n.经线，经度 | |
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89
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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90
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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91
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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92
ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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93
haranguing
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| v.高谈阔论( harangue的现在分词 ) | |
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94
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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95
regale
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| v.取悦，款待 | |
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96
commendable
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| adj.值得称赞的 | |
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97
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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98
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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99
theatricals
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| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
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100
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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101
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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102
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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104
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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105
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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106
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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107
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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108
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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109
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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110
cymbal
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| n.铙钹 | |
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111
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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112
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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113
retracting
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| v.撤回或撤消( retract的现在分词 )；拒绝执行或遵守；缩回；拉回 | |
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