First went the great travelling chaise, creaking and groaning5 on its way, drawn6 by two of the Flemish horses. It was Pantaloon who drove it, an obese7 and massive Pantaloon in a tight-fitting suit of scarlet8 under a long brown bed-gown, his countenance9 adorned10 by a colossal11 cardboard nose. Beside him on the box sat Pierrot in a white smock, with sleeves that completely covered his hands, loose white trousers, and a black skull-cap. He had whitened his face with flour, and he made hideous12 noises with a trumpet13.
On the roof of the coach were assembled Polichinelle, Scaramouche, Harlequin, and Pasquariel. Polichinelle in black and white, his doublet cut in the fashion of a century ago, with humps before and behind, a white frill round his neck and a black mask upon the upper half of his face, stood in the middle, his feet planted wide to steady him, solemnly and viciously banging a big drum. The other three were seated each at one of the corners of the roof, their legs dangling14 over. Scaramouche, all in black in the Spanish fashion of the seventeenth century, his face adorned with a pair of mostachios, jangled a guitar discordantly15. Harlequin, ragged16 and patched in every colour of the rainbow, with his leather girdle and sword of lath, the upper half of his face smeared17 in soot18, clashed a pair of cymbals19 intermittently20. Pasquariel, as an apothecary21 in skull-cap and white apron22, excited the hilarity23 of the onlookers24 by his enormous tin clyster, which emitted when pumped a dolorous25 squeak26.
Within the chaise itself, but showing themselves freely at the windows, and exchanging quips with the townsfolk, sat the three ladies of the company. Climene, the amoureuse, beautifully gowned in flowered satin, her own clustering ringlets concealed27 under a pumpkin-shaped wig28, looked so much the lady of fashion that you might have wondered what she was doing in that fantastic rabble29. Madame, as the mother, was also dressed with splendour, but exaggerated to achieve the ridiculous. Her headdress was a monstrous30 structure adorned with flowers, and superimposed by little ostrich31 plumes32. Columbine sat facing them, her back to the horses, falsely demure33, in milkmaid bonnet34 of white muslin, and a striped gown of green and blue.
The marvel35 was that the old chaise, which in its halcyon36 days may have served to carry some dignitary of the Church, did not founder37 instead of merely groaning under that excessive and ribald load.
Next came the house on wheels, led by the long, lean Rhodomont, who had daubed his face red, and increased the terror of it by a pair of formidable mostachios. He was in long thigh-boots and leather jerkin, trailing an enormous sword from a crimson38 baldrick. He wore a broad felt hat with a draggled feather, and as he advanced he raised his great voice and roared out defiance39, and threats of blood-curdling butchery to be performed upon all and sundry40. On the roof of this vehicle sat Leandre alone. He was in blue satin, with ruffles41, small sword, powdered hair, patches and spy-glass, and red-heeled shoes: the complete courtier, looking very handsome. The women of Guichen ogled42 him coquettishly. He took the ogling43 as a proper tribute to his personal endowments, and returned it with interest. Like Climene, he looked out of place amid the bandits who composed the remainder of the company.
Bringing up the rear came Andre–Louis leading the two donkeys that dragged the property-cart. He had insisted upon assuming a false nose, representing as for embellishment that which he intended for disguise. For the rest, he had retained his own garments. No one paid any attention to him as he trudged44 along beside his donkeys, an insignificant45 rear guard, which he was well content to be.
They made the tour of the town, in which the activity was already above the normal in preparation for next week’s fair. At intervals46 they halted, the cacophony47 would cease abruptly48, and Polichinelle would announce in a stentorian49 voice that at five o’clock that evening in the old market, M. Binet’s famous company of improvisers would perform a new comedy in four acts entitled, “The Heartless Father.”
Thus at last they came to the old market, which was the groundfloor of the town hall, and open to the four winds by two archways on each side of its length, and one archway on each side of its breadth. These archways, with two exceptions, had been boarded up. Through those two, which gave admission to what presently would be the theatre, the ragamuffins of the town, and the niggards who were reluctant to spend the necessary sous to obtain proper admission, might catch furtive50 glimpses of the performance.
That afternoon was the most strenuous51 of Andre–Louis’ life, unaccustomed as he was to any sort of manual labour. It was spent in erecting52 and preparing the stage at one end of the market-hall; and he began to realize how hard-earned were to be his monthly fifteen livres. At first there were four of them to the task — or really three, for Pantaloon did no more than bawl53 directions. Stripped of their finery, Rhodomont and Leandre assisted Andre–Louis in that carpentering. Meanwhile the other four were at dinner with the ladies. When a half-hour or so later they came to carry on the work, Andre–Louis and his companions went to dine in their turn, leaving Polichinelle to direct the operations as well as assist in them.
They crossed the square to the cheap little inn where they had taken up their quarters. In the narrow passage Andre–Louis came face to face with Climene, her fine feathers cast, and restored by now to her normal appearance.
“And how do you like it?” she asked him, pertly.
He looked her in the eyes. “It has its compensations,” quoth he, in that curious cold tone of his that left one wondering whether he meant or not what he seemed to mean.
She knit her brows. “You . . . you feel the need of compensations already?”
“Faith, I felt it from the beginning,” said he. “It was the perception of them allured54 me.”
They were quite alone, the others having gone on into the room set apart for them, where food was spread. Andre–Louis, who was as unlearned in Woman as he was learned in Man, was not to know, upon feeling himself suddenly extraordinarily55 aware of her femininity, that it was she who in some subtle, imperceptible manner so rendered him.
“What,” she asked him, with demurest innocence56, “are these compensations?”
He caught himself upon the brink57 of the abyss.
“Fifteen livres a month,” said he, abruptly.
A moment she stared at him bewildered. He was very disconcerting. Then she recovered.
“Oh, and bed and board,” said she. “Don’t be leaving that from the reckoning, as you seem to be doing; for your dinner will be going cold. Aren’t you coming?”
“Haven’t you dined?” he cried, and she wondered had she caught a note of eagerness.
“No,” she answered, over her shoulder. “I waited.”
“What for?” quoth his innocence, hopefully.
“I had to change, of course, zany,” she answered, rudely. Having dragged him, as she imagined, to the chopping-block, she could not refrain from chopping. But then he was of those who must be chopping back.
“And you left your manners upstairs with your grand-lady clothes, mademoiselle. I understand.”
A scarlet flame suffused58 her face. “You are very insolent,” she said, lamely59.
“I’ve often been told so. But I don’t believe it.” He thrust open the door for her, and bowing with an air which imposed upon her, although it was merely copied from Fleury of the Comedie Francaise, so often visited in the Louis le Grand days, he waved her in. “After you, ma demoiselle.” For greater emphasis he deliberately60 broke the word into its two component61 parts.
“I thank you, monsieur,” she answered, frostily, as near sneering62 as was possible to so charming a person, and went in, nor addressed him again throughout the meal. Instead, she devoted63 herself with an unusual and devastating64 assiduity to the suspiring Leandre, that poor devil who could not successfully play the lover with her on the stage because of his longing65 to play it in reality.
Andre–Louis ate his herrings and black bread with a good appetite nevertheless. It was poor fare, but then poor fare was the common lot of poor people in that winter of starvation, and since he had cast in his fortunes with a company whose affairs were not flourishing, he must accept the evils of the situation philosophically66.
“Have you a name?” Binet asked him once in the course of that repast and during a pause in the conversation.
“It happens that I have,” said he. “I think it is Parvissimus.”
“Parvissimus?” quoth Binet. “Is that a family name?”
“In such a company, where only the leader enjoys the privilege of a family name, the like would be unbecoming its least member. So I take the name that best becomes in me. And I think it is Parvissimus — the very least.”
Binet was amused. It was droll67; it showed a ready fancy. Oh, to be sure, they must get to work together on those scenarios68.
“I shall prefer it to carpentering,” said Andre–Louis. Nevertheless he had to go back to it that afternoon, and to labour strenuously70 until four o’clock, when at last the autocratic Binet announced himself satisfied with the preparations, and proceeded, again with the help of Andre–Louis, to prepare the lights, which were supplied partly by tallow candles and partly by lamps burning fish-oil.
At five o’clock that evening the three knocks were sounded, and the curtain rose on “The Heartless Father.”
Among the duties inherited by Andre–Louis from the departed Felicien whom he replaced, was that of doorkeeper. This duty he discharged dressed in a Polichinelle costume, and wearing a pasteboard nose. It was an arrangement mutually agreeable to M. Binet and himself. M. Binet — who had taken the further precaution of retaining Andre–Louis’ own garments — was thereby71 protected against the risk of his latest recruit absconding72 with the takings. Andre–Louis, without illusions on the score of Pantaloon’s real object, agreed to it willingly enough, since it protected him from the chance of recognition by any acquaintance who might possibly be in Guichen.
The performance was in every sense unexciting; the audience meagre and unenthusiastic. The benches provided in the front half of the market contained some twenty-seven persons: eleven at twenty sous a head and sixteen at twelve. Behind these stood a rabble of some thirty others at six sous apiece. Thus the gross takings were two louis, ten livres, and two sous. By the time M. Binet had paid for the use of the market, his lights, and the expenses of his company at the inn over Sunday, there was not likely to be very much left towards the wages of his players. It is not surprising, therefore, that M. Binet’s bonhomie should have been a trifle overcast73 that evening.
“And what do you think of it?” he asked Andre–Louis, as they were walking back to the inn after the performance.
“Possibly it could have been worse; probably it could not,” said he.
In sheer amazement74 M. Binet checked in his stride, and turned to look at his companion.
“Huh!” said he. “Dieu de Dien! But you are frank.”
“An unpopular form of service among fools, I know.”
“Well, I am not a fool,” said Binet.
“That is why I am frank. I pay you the compliment of assuming intelligence in you, M. Binet.”
“Oh, you do?” quoth M. Binet. “And who the devil are you to assume anything? Your assumptions are presumptuous75, sir.” And with that he lapsed76 into silence and the gloomy business of mentally casting up his accounts.
But at table over supper a half-hour later he revived the topic.
“Our latest recruit, this excellent M. Parvissimus,” he announced, “has the impudence77 to tell me that possibly our comedy could have been worse, but that probably it could not.” And he blew out his great round cheeks to invite a laugh at the expense of that foolish critic.
“That’s bad,” said the swarthy and sardonic78 Polichinelle. He was grave as Rhadamanthus pronouncing judgment79. “That’s bad. But what is infinitely80 worse is that the audience had the impudence to be of the same mind.”
“An ignorant pack of clods,” sneered81 Leandre, with a toss of his handsome head.
“You are wrong,” quoth Harlequin. “You were born for love, my dear, not criticism.”
Leandre — a dull dog, as you will have conceived — looked contemptuously down upon the little man. “And you, what were you born for?” he wondered.
“Nobody knows,” was the candid82 admission. “Nor yet why. It is the case of many of us, my dear, believe me.”
“But why”— M. Binet took him up, and thus spoilt the beginnings of a very pretty quarrel —“why do you say that Leandre is wrong?”
“To be general, because he is always wrong. To be particular, because I judge the audience of Guichen to be too sophisticated for ‘The Heartless Father.’”
“You would put it more happily,” interposed Andre–Louis — who was the cause of this discussion —“if you said that ‘The Heartless Father’ is too unsophisticated for the audience of Guichen.”
“Why, what’s the difference?” asked Leandre.
“I didn’t imply a difference. I merely suggested that it is a happier way to express the fact.”
“The gentleman is being subtle,” sneered Binet.
“Why happier?” Harlequin demanded.
“Because it is easier to bring ‘The Heartless Father’ to the sophistication of the Guichen audience, than the Guichen audience to the unsophistication of ‘The Heartless Father.’”
“Let me think it out,” groaned83 Polichinelle, and he took his head in his hands.
But from the tail of the table Andre–Louis was challenged by Climene who sat there between Columbine and Madame.
“You would alter the comedy, would you, M. Parvissimus?” she cried.
He turned to parry her malice84.
“I would suggest that it be altered,” he corrected, inclining his head.
“And how would you alter it, monsieur?”
“I? Oh, for the better.”
“But of course!” She was sleekest85 sarcasm86. “And how would you do it?”
“Aye, tell us that,” roared M. Binet, and added: “Silence, I pray you, gentlemen and ladies. Silence for M. Parvissimus.”
Andre–Louis looked from father to daughter, and smiled. “Pardi!” said he. “I am between bludgeon and dagger87. If I escape with my life, I shall be fortunate. Why, then, since you pin me to the very wall, I’ll tell you what I should do. I should go back to the original and help myself more freely from it.”
“The original?” questioned M. Binet — the author.
“It is called, I believe, ‘Monsieur de Pourceaugnac,’ and was written by Moliere.”
Somebody tittered, but that somebody was not M. Binet. He had been touched on the raw, and the look in his little eyes betrayed the fact that his bonhomme exterior88 covered anything but a bonhomme.
“You charge me with plagiarism,” he said at last; “with filching89 the ideas of Moliere.”
“There is always, of course,” said Andre–Louis, unruffled, “the alternative possibility of two great minds working upon parallel lines.”
M. Binet studied the young man attentively90 a moment. He found him bland91 and inscrutable, and decided92 to pin him down.
“Then you do not imply that I have been stealing from Moliere?”
“I advise you to do so, monsieur,” was the disconcerting reply.
M. Binet was shocked.
“You advise me to do so! You advise me, me, Antoine Binet, to turn thief at my age!”
“He is outrageous93,” said mademoiselle, indignantly.
“Outrageous is the word. I thank you for it, my dear. I take you on trust, sir. You sit at my table, you have the honour to be included in my company, and to my face you have the audacity94 to advise me to become a thief — the worst kind of thief that is conceivable, a thief of spiritual things, a thief of ideas! It is insufferable, intolerable! I have been, I fear, deeply mistaken in you, monsieur; just as you appear to have been mistaken in me. I am not the scoundrel you suppose me, sir, and I will not number in my company a man who dares to suggest that I should become one. Outrageous!”
He was very angry. His voice boomed through the little room, and the company sat hushed and something scared, their eyes upon Andre–Louis, who was the only one entirely95 unmoved by this outburst of virtuous96 indignation.
“You realize, monsieur,” he said, very quietly, “that you are insulting the memory of the illustrious dead?”
“Eh?” said Binet.
Andre–Louis developed his sophistries97.
“You insult the memory of Moliere, the greatest ornament98 of our stage, one of the greatest ornaments99 of our nation, when you suggest that there is vileness100 in doing that which he never hesitated to do, which no great author yet has hesitated to do. You cannot suppose that Moliere ever troubled himself to be original in the matter of ideas. You cannot suppose that the stories he tells in his plays have never been told before. They were culled101, as you very well know — though you seem momentarily to have forgotten it, and it is therefore necessary that I should remind you — they were culled, many of them, from the Italian authors, who themselves had culled them Heaven alone knows where. Moliere took those old stories and retold them in his own language. That is precisely102 what I am suggesting that you should do. Your company is a company of improvisers. You supply the dialogue as you proceed, which is rather more than Moliere ever attempted. You may, if you prefer it — though it would seem to me to be yielding to an excess of scruple103 — go straight to Boccaccio or Sacchetti. But even then you cannot be sure that you have reached the sources.”
Andre–Louis came off with flying colours after that. You see what a debater was lost in him; how nimble he was in the art of making white look black. The company was impressed, and no one more that M. Binet, who found himself supplied with a crushing argument against those who in future might tax him with the impudent104 plagiarisms105 which he undoubtedly106 perpetrated. He retired107 in the best order he could from the position he had taken up at the outset.
“So that you think,” he said, at the end of a long outburst of agreement, “you think that our story of ‘The Heartless Father’ could be enriched by dipping into ‘Monsieur de Pourceaugnac,’ to which I confess upon reflection that it may present certain superficial resemblances?”
“I do; most certainly I do — always provided that you do so judiciously108. Times have changed since Moliere.” It was as a consequence of this that Binet retired soon after, taking Andre–Louis with him. The pair sat together late that night, and were again in close communion throughout the whole of Sunday morning.
After dinner M. Binet read to the assembled company the amended109 and amplified110 canevas of “The Heartless Father,” which, acting111 upon the advice of M. Parvissimus, he had been at great pains to prepare. The company had few doubts as to the real authorship before he began to read; none at all when he had read. There was a verve, a grip about this story; and, what was more, those of them who knew their Moliere realized that far from approaching the original more closely, this canevas had drawn farther away from it. Moliere’s original part — the title role — had dwindled112 into insignificance113, to the great disgust of Polichinelle, to whom it fell. But the other parts had all been built up into importance, with the exception of Leandre, who remained as before. The two great roles were now Scaramouche, in the character of the intriguing114 Sbrigandini, and Pantaloon the father. There was, too, a comical part for Rhodomont, as the roaring bully115 hired by Polichinelle to cut Leandre into ribbons. And in view of the importance now of Scaramouche, the play had been rechristened “Figaro–Scaramouche.”
This last had not been without a deal of opposition116 from M. Binet. But his relentless117 collaborator118, who was in reality the real author — drawing shamelessly, but practically at last upon his great store of reading — had overborne him.
“You must move with the times, monsieur. In Paris Beaumarchais is the rage. ‘Figaro’ is known to-day throughout the world. Let us borrow a little of his glory. It will draw the people in. They will come to see half a ‘Figaro’ when they will not come to see a dozen ‘Heartless Fathers.’ Therefore let us cast the mantle119 of Figaro upon some one, and proclaim it in our title.”
“But as I am the head of the company . . . ” began M. Binet, weakly.
“If you will be blind to your interests, you will presently be a head without a body. And what use is that? Can the shoulders of Pantaloon carry the mantle of Figaro? You laugh. Of course you laugh. The notion is absurd. The proper person for the mantle of Figaro is Scaramouche, who is naturally Figaro’s twin-brother.”
Thus tyrannized, the tyrant120 Binet gave way, comforted by the reflection that if he understood anything at all about the theatre, he had for fifteen livres a month acquired something that would presently be earning him as many louis.
The company’s reception of the canevas now confirmed him, if we except Polichinelle, who, annoyed at having lost half his part in the alterations121, declared the new scenario69 fatuous122.
“Ah! You call my work fatuous, do you?” M. Binet hectored him.
“Your work?” said Polichinelle, to add with his tongue in his cheek: “Ah, pardon. I had not realized that you were the author.”
“Then realize it now.”
“You were very close with M. Parvissimus over this authorship,” said Polichinelle, with impudent suggestiveness.
“And what if I was? What do you imply?”
“That you took him to cut quills123 for you, of course.”
“I’ll cut your ears for you if you’re not civil,” stormed the infuriated Binet.
Polichinelle got up slowly, and stretched himself.
“Dieu de Dieu!” said he. “If Pantaloon is to play Rhodomont, I think I’ll leave you. He is not amusing in the part.” And he swaggered out before M. Binet had recovered from his speechlessness.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
cacophonous
|
|
| adj.发音不和谐的，粗腔横调的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
rustics
|
|
| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
gaping
|
|
| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
groaning
|
|
| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
obese
|
|
| adj.过度肥胖的，肥大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
adorned
|
|
| [计]被修饰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
colossal
|
|
| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
trumpet
|
|
| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
dangling
|
|
| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
discordantly
|
|
| adv.不一致地，不和谐地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
smeared
|
|
| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
soot
|
|
| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
cymbals
|
|
| pl.铙钹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
intermittently
|
|
| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
apothecary
|
|
| n.药剂师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
hilarity
|
|
| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
onlookers
|
|
| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
dolorous
|
|
| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
squeak
|
|
| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
wig
|
|
| n.假发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
rabble
|
|
| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
monstrous
|
|
| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
ostrich
|
|
| n.鸵鸟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
plumes
|
|
| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
demure
|
|
| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
bonnet
|
|
| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
marvel
|
|
| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
halcyon
|
|
| n.平静的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
Founder
|
|
| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
crimson
|
|
| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
defiance
|
|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
sundry
|
|
| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
ruffles
|
|
| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
ogled
|
|
| v.（向…）抛媚眼，送秋波( ogle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
ogling
|
|
| v.（向…）抛媚眼，送秋波( ogle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
trudged
|
|
| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
insignificant
|
|
| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
cacophony
|
|
| n.刺耳的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
stentorian
|
|
| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
furtive
|
|
| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
strenuous
|
|
| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
erecting
|
|
| v.使直立，竖起( erect的现在分词 )；建立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
bawl
|
|
| v.大喊大叫，大声地喊，咆哮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
allured
|
|
| 诱引，吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
extraordinarily
|
|
| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
innocence
|
|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
brink
|
|
| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
suffused
|
|
| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
lamely
|
|
| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
component
|
|
| n.组成部分，成分，元件；adj.组成的，合成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
sneering
|
|
| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
devastating
|
|
| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
philosophically
|
|
| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
droll
|
|
| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
scenarios
|
|
| n.[意]情节；剧本；事态；脚本 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
scenario
|
|
| n.剧本，脚本；概要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
strenuously
|
|
| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
thereby
|
|
| adv.因此，从而 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
absconding
|
|
| v.（尤指逃避逮捕）潜逃，逃跑( abscond的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
presumptuous
|
|
| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
lapsed
|
|
| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
impudence
|
|
| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
sardonic
|
|
| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
sneered
|
|
| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
candid
|
|
| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
sleekest
|
|
| 时髦的( sleek的最高级 )； 光滑而有光泽的； 保养得很好的； 线条流畅的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
86
sarcasm
|
|
| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
dagger
|
|
| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
exterior
|
|
| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
filching
|
|
| v.偷（尤指小的或不贵重的物品）( filch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
attentively
|
|
| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
bland
|
|
| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
outrageous
|
|
| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
audacity
|
|
| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
virtuous
|
|
| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
sophistries
|
|
| n.诡辩术( sophistry的名词复数 )；（一次）诡辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
ornament
|
|
| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
ornaments
|
|
| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
vileness
|
|
| n.讨厌，卑劣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
culled
|
|
| v.挑选，剔除( cull的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
scruple
|
|
| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
impudent
|
|
| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
plagiarisms
|
|
| n.剽窃( plagiarism的名词复数 )；抄袭；剽窃物；抄袭物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
judiciously
|
|
| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
Amended
|
|
| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
amplified
|
|
| 放大，扩大( amplify的过去式和过去分词 )； 增强； 详述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
dwindled
|
|
| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
insignificance
|
|
| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
intriguing
|
|
| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
bully
|
|
| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
relentless
|
|
| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
collaborator
|
|
| n.合作者，协作者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
mantle
|
|
| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
tyrant
|
|
| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
alterations
|
|
| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
fatuous
|
|
| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
quills
|
|
| n.（刺猬或豪猪的）刺( quill的名词复数 )；羽毛管；翮；纡管 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |