Andre–Louis had learnt his letters at the village school, lodged7 the while with old Rabouillet, the attorney, who in the capacity of fiscal8 intendant, looked after the affairs of M. de Kercadiou. Thereafter, at the age of fifteen, he had been packed off to Paris, to the Lycee of Louis Le Grand, to study the law which he was now returned to practise in conjunction with Rabouillet. All this at the charges of his godfather, M. de Kercadiou, who by placing him once more under the tutelage of Rabouillet would seem thereby9 quite clearly to be making provision for his future.
Andre–Louis, on his side, had made the most of his opportunities. You behold10 him at the age of four-and-twenty stuffed with learning enough to produce an intellectual indigestion in an ordinary mind. Out of his zestful11 study of Man, from Thucydides to the Encyclopaedists, from Seneca to Rousseau, he had confirmed into an unassailable conviction his earliest conscious impressions of the general insanity12 of his own species. Nor can I discover that anything in his eventful life ever afterwards caused him to waver in that opinion.
In body he was a slight wisp of a fellow, scarcely above middle height, with a lean, astute13 countenance14, prominent of nose and cheek-bones, and with lank15, black hair that reached almost to his shoulders. His mouth was long, thin-lipped, and humorous. He was only just redeemed16 from ugliness by the splendour of a pair of ever-questing, luminous17 eyes, so dark as to be almost black. Of the whimsical quality of his mind and his rare gift of graceful18 expression, his writings — unfortunately but too scanty19 — and particularly his Confessions20, afford us very ample evidence. Of his gift of oratory21 he was hardly conscious yet, although he had already achieved a certain fame for it in the Literary Chamber22 of Rennes — one of those clubs by now ubiquitous in the land, in which the intellectual youth of France foregathered to study and discuss the new philosophies that were permeating23 social life. But the fame he had acquired there was hardly enviable. He was too impish, too caustic24, too much disposed — so thought his colleagues — to ridicule25 their sublime26 theories for the regeneration of mankind. Himself he protested that he merely held them up to the mirror of truth, and that it was not his fault if when reflected there they looked ridiculous.
All that he achieved by this was to exasperate27; and his expulsion from a society grown mistrustful of him must already have followed but for his friend, Philippe de Vilmorin, a divinity student of Rennes, who, himself, was one of the most popular members of the Literary Chamber.
Coming to Gavrillac on a November morning, laden28 with news of the political storms which were then gathering29 over France, Philippe found in that sleepy Breton village matter to quicken his already lively indignation. A peasant of Gavrillac, named Mabey, had been shot dead that morning in the woods of Meupont, across the river, by a gamekeeper of the Marquis de La Tour d’Azyr. The unfortunate fellow had been caught in the act of taking a pheasant from a snare30, and the gamekeeper had acted under explicit31 orders from his master.
Infuriated by an act of tyranny so absolute and merciless, M. de Vilmorin proposed to lay the matter before M. de Kercadiou. Mabey was a vassal32 of Gavrillac, and Vilmorin hoped to move the Lord of Gavrillac to demand at least some measure of reparation for the widow and the three orphans33 which that brutal34 deed had made.
But because Andre–Louis was Philippe’s dearest friend — indeed, his almost brother — the young seminarist sought him out in the first instance. He found him at breakfast alone in the long, low-ceilinged, white-panelled dining-room at Rabouillet’s — the only home that Andre–Louis had ever known — and after embracing him, deafened35 him with his denunciation of M. de La Tour d’Azyr.
“I have heard of it already,” said Andre–Louis.
“You speak as if the thing had not surprised you,” his friend reproached him.
“Nothing beastly can surprise me when done by a beast. And La Tour d’Azyr is a beast, as all the world knows. The more fool Mabey for stealing his pheasants. He should have stolen somebody else’s.”
“Is that all you have to say about it?”
“What more is there to say? I’ve a practical mind, I hope.”
“What more there is to say I propose to say to your godfather, M. de Kercadiou. I shall appeal to him for justice.”
“Against M. de La Tour d’Azyr?” Andre–Louis raised his eyebrows36.
“Why not?”
“My dear ingenuous37 Philippe, dog doesn’t eat dog.”
“You are unjust to your godfather. He is a humane38 man.”
“Oh, as humane as you please. But this isn’t a question of humanity. It’s a question of game-laws.”
M. de Vilmorin tossed his long arms to Heaven in disgust. He was a tall, slender young gentleman, a year or two younger than Andre–Louis. He was very soberly dressed in black, as became a seminarist, with white bands at wrists and throat and silver buckles39 to his shoes. His neatly40 clubbed brown hair was innocent of powder.
“You talk like a lawyer,” he exploded.
“Naturally. But don’t waste anger on me on that account. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“I want you to come to M. de Kercadiou with me, and to use your influence to obtain justice. I suppose I am asking too much.”
“My dear Philippe, I exist to serve you. I warn you that it is a futile41 quest; but give me leave to finish my breakfast, and I am at your orders.”
M. de Vilmorin dropped into a winged armchair by the well-swept hearth42, on which a piled-up fire of pine logs was burning cheerily. And whilst he waited now he gave his friend the latest news of the events in Rennes. Young, ardent43, enthusiastic, and inspired by Utopian ideals, he passionately44 denounced the rebellious45 attitude of the privileged.
Andre–Louis, already fully47 aware of the trend of feeling in the ranks of an order in whose deliberations he took part as the representative of a nobleman, was not at all surprised by what he heard. M. de Vilmorin found it exasperating48 that his friend should apparently49 decline to share his own indignation.
“Don’t you see what it means?” he cried. “The nobles, by disobeying the King, are striking at the very foundations of the throne. Don’t they perceive that their very existence depends upon it; that if the throne falls over, it is they who stand nearest to it who will be crushed? Don’t they see that?”
“Evidently not. They are just governing classes, and I never heard of governing classes that had eyes for anything but their own profit.”
“That is our grievance50. That is what we are going to change.”
“You are going to abolish governing classes? An interesting experiment. I believe it was the original plan of creation, and it might have succeeded but for Cain.”
“What we are going to do,” said M. de Vilmorin, curbing51 his exasperation52, “is to transfer the government to other hands.”
“And you think that will make a difference?”
“I know it will.”
“Ah! I take it that being now in minor53 orders, you already possess the confidence of the Almighty54. He will have confided55 to you His intention of changing the pattern of mankind.”
M. de Vilmorin’s fine ascetic56 face grew overcast57. “You are profane58, Andre,” he reproved his friend.
“I assure you that I am quite serious. To do what you imply would require nothing short of divine intervention59. You must change man, not systems. Can you and our vapouring friends of the Literary Chamber of Rennes, or any other learned society of France, devise a system of government that has never yet been tried? Surely not. And can they say of any system tried that it proved other than a failure in the end? My dear Philippe, the future is to be read with certainty only in the past. Ab actu ad posse valet consecutio. Man never changes. He is always greedy, always acquisitive, always vile46. I am speaking of Man in the bulk.”
“Do you pretend that it is impossible to ameliorate the lot of the people?” M. de Vilmorin challenged him.
“When you say the people you mean, of course, the populace. Will you abolish it? That is the only way to ameliorate its lot, for as long as it remains60 populace its lot will be damnation.”
“You argue, of course, for the side that employs you. That is natural, I suppose.” M. de Vilmorin spoke61 between sorrow and indignation.
“On the contrary, I seek to argue with absolute detachment. Let us test these ideas of yours. To what form of government do you aspire62? A republic, it is to be inferred from what you have said. Well, you have it already. France in reality is a republic to-day.”
Philippe stared at him. “You are being paradoxical, I think. What of the King?”
“The King? All the world knows there has been no king in France since Louis XIV. There is an obese63 gentleman at Versailles who wears the crown, but the very news you bring shows for how little he really counts. It is the nobles and clergy64 who sit in the high places, with the people of France harnessed under their feet, who are the real rulers. That is why I say that France is a republic; she is a republic built on the best pattern — the Roman pattern. Then, as now, there were great patrician65 families in luxury, preserving for themselves power and wealth, and what else is accounted worth possessing; and there was the populace crushed and groaning66, sweating, bleeding, starving, and perishing in the Roman kennels67. That was a republic; the mightiest68 we have seen.”
Philippe strove with his impatience69. “At least you will admit — you have, in fact, admitted it — that we could not be worse governed than we are?”
“That is not the point. The point is should we be better governed if we replaced the present ruling class by another? Without some guarantee of that I should be the last to lift a finger to effect a change. And what guarantees can you give? What is the class that aims at government? I will tell you. The bourgeoisie.”
“What?”
“That startles you, eh? Truth is so often disconcerting. You hadn’t thought of it? Well, think of it now. Look well into this Nantes manifesto70. Who are the authors of it?”
“I can tell you who it was constrained71 the municipality of Nantes to send it to the King. Some ten thousand workmen — shipwrights72, weavers73, labourers, and artisans of every kind.”
“Stimulated to it, driven to it, by their employers, the wealthy traders and shipowners of that city,” Andre–Louis replied. “I have a habit of observing things at close quarters, which is why our colleagues of the Literary Chamber dislike me so cordially in debate. Where I delve74 they but skim. Behind those labourers and artisans of Nantes, counselling them, urging on these poor, stupid, ignorant toilers to shed their blood in pursuit of the will o’ the wisp of freedom, are the sail-makers, the spinners, the ship-owners and the slave-traders. The slave-traders! The men who live and grow rich by a traffic in human flesh and blood in the colonies, are conducting at home a campaign in the sacred name of liberty! Don’t you see that the whole movement is a movement of hucksters and traders and peddling75 vassals76 swollen77 by wealth into envy of the power that lies in birth alone? The money-changers in Paris who hold the bonds in the national debt, seeing the parlous78 financial condition of the State, tremble at the thought that it may lie in the power of a single man to cancel the debt by bankruptcy79. To secure themselves they are burrowing80 underground to overthrow81 a state and build upon its ruins a new one in which they shall be the masters. And to accomplish this they inflame82 the people. Already in Dauphiny we have seen blood run like water — the blood of the populace, always the blood of the populace. Now in Brittany we may see the like. And if in the end the new ideas prevail? if the seigneurial rule is overthrown83, what then? You will have exchanged an aristocracy for a plutocracy84. Is that worth while? Do you ‘think that under money-changers and slave-traders and men who have waxed rich in other ways by the ignoble85 arts of buying and selling, the lot of the people will be any better than under their priests and nobles? Has it ever occurred to you, Philippe, what it is that makes the rule of the nobles so intolerable? Acquisitiveness. Acquisitiveness is the curse of mankind. And shall you expect less acquisitiveness in men who have built themselves up by acquisitiveness? Oh, I am ready to admit that the present government is execrable, unjust, tyrannical — what you will; but I beg you to look ahead, and to see that the government for which it is aimed at exchanging it may be infinitely86 worse.”
Philippe sat thoughtful a moment. Then he returned to the attack.
“You do not speak of the abuses, the horrible, intolerable abuses of power under which we labour at present.”
“Where there is power there will always be the abuse of it.”
“Not if the tenure87 of power is dependent upon its equitable88 administration.”
“The tenure of power is power. We cannot dictate89 to those who hold it.”
“The people can — the people in its might.”
“Again I ask you, when you say the people do you mean the populace? You do. What power can the populace wield90? It can run wild. It can burn and slay91 for a time. But enduring power it cannot wield, because power demands qualities which the populace does not possess, or it would not be populace. The inevitable92, tragic93 corollary of civilization is populace. For the rest, abuses can be corrected by equity94; and equity, if it is not found in the enlightened, is not to be found at all. M. Necker is to set about correcting abuses, and limiting privileges. That is decided95. To that end the States General are to assemble.”
“And a promising96 beginning we have made in Brittany, as Heaven hears me!” cried Philippe.
“Pooh! That is nothing. Naturally the nobles will not yield without a struggle. It is a futile and ridiculous struggle — but then . . . it is human nature, I suppose, to be futile and ridiculous.”
M. de Vilmorin became witheringly sarcastic97. “Probably you will also qualify the shooting of Mabey as futile and ridiculous. I should even be prepared to hear you argue in defence of the Marquis de La Tour d’Azyr that his gamekeeper was merciful in shooting Mabey, since the alternative would have been a life-sentence to the galleys98.”
Andre–Louis drank the remainder of his chocolate; set down his cup, and pushed back his chair, his breakfast done.
“I confess that I have not your big charity, my dear Philippe. I am touched by Mabey’s fate. But, having conquered the shock of this news to my emotions, I do not forget that, after all, Mabey was thieving when he met his death.”
M. de Vilmorin heaved himself up in his indignation.
“That is the point of view to be expected in one who is the assistant fiscal intendant of a nobleman, and the delegate of a nobleman to the States of Brittany.”
“Philippe, is that just? You are angry with me!” he cried, in real solicitude99.
“I am hurt,” Vilmorin admitted. “I am deeply hurt by your attitude. And I am not alone in resenting your reactionary100 tendencies. Do you know that the Literary Chamber is seriously considering your expulsion?”
Andre–Louis shrugged101. “That neither surprises nor troubles me.”
M. de Vilmorin swept on, passionately: “Sometimes I think that you have no heart. With you it is always the law, never equity. It occurs to me, Andre, that I was mistaken in coming to you. You are not likely to be of assistance to me in my interview with M. de Kercadiou.” He took up his hat, clearly with the intention of departing.
Andre–Louis sprang up and caught him by the arm.
“I vow,” said he, “that this is the last time ever I shall consent to talk law or politics with you, Philippe. I love you too well to quarrel with you over other men’s affairs.”
“But I make them my own,” Philippe insisted vehemently102.
“Of course you do, and I love you for it. It is right that you should. You are to be a priest; and everybody’s business is a priest’s business. Whereas I am a lawyer — the fiscal intendant of a nobleman, as you say — and a lawyer’s business is the business of his client. That is the difference between us. Nevertheless, you are not going to shake me off.”
“But I tell you frankly103, now that I come to think of it, that I should prefer you did not see M. de Kercadiou with me. Your duty to your client cannot be a help to me.”
His wrath104 had passed; but his determination remained firm, based upon the reason he gave.
“Very well,” said Andre–Louis. “It shall be as you please. But nothing shall prevent me at least from walking with you as far as the chateau105, and waiting for you while you make your appeal to M. de Kercadiou.”
And so they left the house good friends, for the sweetness of M. de Vilmorin’s nature did not admit of rancour, and together they took their way up the steep main street of Gavrillac.
点击收听单词发音
1 patrimony | |
n.世袭财产,继承物 | |
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2 dispelled | |
v.驱散,赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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4 originality | |
n.创造力,独创性;新颖 | |
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5 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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6 eminence | |
n.卓越,显赫;高地,高处;名家 | |
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7 lodged | |
v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 );暂住;埋入;(权利、权威等)归属 | |
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8 fiscal | |
adj.财政的,会计的,国库的,国库岁入的 | |
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9 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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10 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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11 zestful | |
adj.有滋味 | |
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12 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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13 astute | |
adj.机敏的,精明的 | |
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14 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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15 lank | |
adj.瘦削的;稀疏的 | |
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16 redeemed | |
adj. 可赎回的,可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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17 luminous | |
adj.发光的,发亮的;光明的;明白易懂的;有启发的 | |
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18 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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19 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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20 confessions | |
n.承认( confession的名词复数 );自首;声明;(向神父的)忏悔 | |
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21 oratory | |
n.演讲术;词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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22 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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23 permeating | |
弥漫( permeate的现在分词 ); 遍布; 渗入; 渗透 | |
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24 caustic | |
adj.刻薄的,腐蚀性的 | |
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25 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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26 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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27 exasperate | |
v.激怒,使(疾病)加剧,使恶化 | |
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28 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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29 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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30 snare | |
n.陷阱,诱惑,圈套;(去除息肉或者肿瘤的)勒除器;响弦,小军鼓;vt.以陷阱捕获,诱惑 | |
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31 explicit | |
adj.详述的,明确的;坦率的;显然的 | |
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32 vassal | |
n.附庸的;属下;adj.奴仆的 | |
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33 orphans | |
孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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34 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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35 deafened | |
使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 ); 使隔音 | |
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36 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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37 ingenuous | |
adj.纯朴的,单纯的;天真的;坦率的 | |
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38 humane | |
adj.人道的,富有同情心的 | |
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39 buckles | |
搭扣,扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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40 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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41 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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42 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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43 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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44 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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45 rebellious | |
adj.造反的,反抗的,难控制的 | |
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46 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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47 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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48 exasperating | |
adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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49 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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50 grievance | |
n.怨愤,气恼,委屈 | |
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51 curbing | |
n.边石,边石的材料v.限制,克制,抑制( curb的现在分词 ) | |
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52 exasperation | |
n.愤慨 | |
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53 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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54 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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55 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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56 ascetic | |
adj.禁欲的;严肃的 | |
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57 overcast | |
adj.阴天的,阴暗的,愁闷的;v.遮盖,(使)变暗,包边缝;n.覆盖,阴天 | |
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58 profane | |
adj.亵神的,亵渎的;vt.亵渎,玷污 | |
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59 intervention | |
n.介入,干涉,干预 | |
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60 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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61 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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62 aspire | |
vi.(to,after)渴望,追求,有志于 | |
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63 obese | |
adj.过度肥胖的,肥大的 | |
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64 clergy | |
n.[总称]牧师,神职人员 | |
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65 patrician | |
adj.贵族的,显贵的;n.贵族;有教养的人;罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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66 groaning | |
adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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67 kennels | |
n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处,养狗场;狗窝( kennel的名词复数 );养狗场 | |
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68 mightiest | |
adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 );巨大的;强有力的;浩瀚的 | |
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69 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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70 manifesto | |
n.宣言,声明 | |
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71 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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72 shipwrights | |
n.造船者,修船者( shipwright的名词复数 ) | |
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73 weavers | |
织工,编织者( weaver的名词复数 ) | |
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74 delve | |
v.深入探究,钻研 | |
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75 peddling | |
忙于琐事的,无关紧要的 | |
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76 vassals | |
n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 );(封建时代)诸侯;从属者;下属 | |
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77 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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78 parlous | |
adj.危险的,不确定的,难对付的 | |
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79 bankruptcy | |
n.破产;无偿付能力 | |
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80 burrowing | |
v.挖掘(洞穴),挖洞( burrow的现在分词 );翻寻 | |
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81 overthrow | |
v.推翻,打倒,颠覆;n.推翻,瓦解,颠覆 | |
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82 inflame | |
v.使燃烧;使极度激动;使发炎 | |
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83 overthrown | |
adj. 打翻的,推倒的,倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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84 plutocracy | |
n.富豪统治 | |
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85 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
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86 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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87 tenure | |
n.终身职位;任期;(土地)保有权,保有期 | |
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88 equitable | |
adj.公平的;公正的 | |
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89 dictate | |
v.口授;(使)听写;指令,指示,命令 | |
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90 wield | |
vt.行使,运用,支配;挥,使用(武器等) | |
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91 slay | |
v.杀死,宰杀,杀戮 | |
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92 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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93 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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94 equity | |
n.公正,公平,(无固定利息的)股票 | |
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95 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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96 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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97 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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98 galleys | |
n.平底大船,战舰( galley的名词复数 );(船上或航空器上的)厨房 | |
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99 solicitude | |
n.焦虑 | |
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100 reactionary | |
n.反动者,反动主义者;adj.反动的,反动主义的,反对改革的 | |
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101 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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102 vehemently | |
adv. 热烈地 | |
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103 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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104 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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105 chateau | |
n.城堡,别墅 | |
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