“Madam,” he announced abruptly3, “Sir John is like to die.”
The astounding4 answer she returned him — that is, astounding to him — did not tend to soothe5 his sorely ruffled6 spirit.
“I know,” she said. “And I believe him to deserve no less. Who deals in calumny7 should be prepared for the wages of it.”
He stared at her in a long, furious silence, then exploded into oaths, and finally inveighed8 against her unnaturalness10 and pronounced her bewitched by that foul11 dog Tressilian.
“It is fortunate for me,” she answered him composedly, “that he was here before you to give me the truth of this affair.” Then her assumed calm and the anger with which she had met his own all fell away from her. “Oh, Peter, Peter,” she cried in anguish12, “I hope that Sir John will recover. I am distraught by this event. But be just, I implore13 you. Sir Oliver has told me how hard-driven he had been.”
“He shall be driven harder yet, as God’s my life! If you think this deed shall go unpunished. . . . ”
She flung herself upon his breast and implored14 him to carry this quarrel no further. She spoke15 of her love for Sir Oliver and announced her firm resolve to marry him in despite of all opposition16 that could be made, all of which did not tend to soften17 her brother’s humour. Yet because of the love that ever had held these two in closest bonds he went so far in the end as to say that should Sir John recover he would not himself pursue the matter further. But if Sir John should die — as was very likely — honour compelled him to seek vengeance18 of a deed to which he had himself so very largely contributed.
“I read that man as if he were an open book,” the boy announced, with callow boastfulness. “He has the subtlety19 of Satan, yet he does not delude20 me. It was at me he struck through Killigrew. Because he desires you, Rosamund, he could not — as he bluntly told me — deal with me however I provoked him, not even though I went the length of striking him. He might have killed me for’t; but he knew that to do so would place a barrier ‘twixt him and you. Oh! he is calculating as all the fiends of Hell. So, to wipe out the dishonour21 which I did him, he shifts the blame of it upon Killigrew and goes out to kill him, which he further thinks may act as a warning to me. But if Killigrew dies. . . . ” And thus he rambled22 on, filling her gentle heart with anguish to see this feud23 increasing between the two men she loved best in all the world. If the outcome of it should be that either were to kill the other, she knew that she could never again look upon the survivor24.
She took heart at last in the memory of Sir Oliver’s sworn promise that her brother’s life should be inviolate25 to him, betide what might. She trusted him; she depended upon his word and that rare strength of his which rendered possible to him a course that no weaker man would dare pursue. And in this reflection her pride in him increased, and she thanked God for a lover who in all things was a giant among men.
But Sir John Killigrew did not die. He hovered26 between this world and a better one for some seven days, at the end of which he began to recover. By October he was abroad again, gaunt and pale, reduced to half the bulk that had been his before, a mere27 shadow of a man.
One of his first visits was to Godolphin Court. He went to remonstrate28 with Rosamund upon her betrothal29, and he did so at the request of her brother. But his remonstrances30 were strangely lacking in the force that she had looked for.
The odd fact is that in his near approach to death, and with his earthly interest dwindling31, Sir John had looked matters frankly32 in the face, and had been driven to the conclusion — a conclusion impossible to him in normal health — that he had got no more than he deserved. He realized that he had acted unworthily, if unconscious at the time of the unworthiness of what he did; that the weapons with which he had fought Sir Oliver were not the weapons that become a Gentleman or in which there is credit to be won. He perceived that he had permitted his old enmity for the house of Tressilian, swollen33 by a sense of injury lately suffered in the matter of the licence to build at Smithick, to warp34 his judgment35 and to persuade him that Sir Oliver was all he had dubbed36 him. He realized that jealousy37, too, had taken a hand in the matter. Sir Oliver’s exploits upon the seas had brought him wealth, and with this wealth he was building up once more the Tressilian sway in those parts, which Ralph Tressilian had so outrageously38 diminished, so that he threatened to eclipse the importance of the Killigrews of Arwenack.
Nevertheless, in the hour of reaction he did not go so far as to admit that Sir Oliver Tressilian was a fit mate for Rosamund Godolphin. She and her brother had been placed in his care by their late father, and he had nobly discharged his tutelage until such time as Peter had come to full age. His affection for Rosamund was tender as that of a lover, but tempered by a feeling entirely39 paternal40. He went very near to worshipping her, and when all was said, when he had cleared his mind of all dishonest bias41, he still found overmuch to dislike in Oliver Tressilian, and the notion of his becoming Rosamund’s husband was repellent.
First of all there was that bad Tressilian blood — notoriously bad, and never more flagrantly displayed than in the case of the late Ralph Tressilian. It was impossible that Oliver should have escaped the taint42 of it; nor could Sir John perceive any signs that he had done so. He displayed the traditional Tressilian turbulence43. He was passionate44 and brutal45, and the pirate’s trade to which he had now set his hand was of all trades the one for which he was by nature best equipped. He was harsh and overbearing, impatient of correction and prone46 to trample47 other men’s feelings underfoot. Was this, he asked himself in all honesty, a mate for Rosamund? Could he entrust48 her happiness to the care of such a man? Assuredly he could not.
Therefore, being whole again, he went to remonstrate with her as he accounted it his duty and as Master Peter had besought49 him. Yet knowing the bias that had been his he was careful to understate rather than to overstate his reasons.
“But, Sir John,” she protested, “if every man is to be condemned50 for the sins of his forbears, but few could escape condemnation51, and wherever shall you find me a husband deserving your approval?”
“His father. . . . ” began Sir John.
“Tell me not of his father, but of himself,” she interrupted.
He frowned impatiently — they were sitting in that bower52 of hers above the river.
“I was coming to ‘t,” he answered, a thought testily53, for these interruptions which made him keep to the point robbed him of his best arguments. “However, suffice it that many of his father’s vicious qualities he has inherited, as we see in his ways of life; that he has not inherited others only the future can assure us.”
“In other words,” she mocked him, yet very seriously, “I am to wait until he dies of old age to make quite sure that he has no such sins as must render him an unfitting husband?”
“No, no,” he cried. “Good lack! what a perverseness54 is thine!”
“The perverseness is your own, Sir John. I am but the mirror of it.”
He shifted in his chair and grunted55. “Be it so, then,” he snapped. “We will deal with the qualities that already he displays.” And Sir John enumerated56 them.
“But this is no more than your judgment of him — no more than what you think him.”
“’Tis what all the world thinks him.”
“But I shall not marry a man for what others think of him, but for what I think of him myself. And in my view you cruelly malign57 him. I discover no such qualities in Sir Oliver.”
“’Tis that you should be spared such a discovery that I am beseeching58 you not to wed59 him.”
“Yet unless I wed him I shall never make such a discovery; and until I make it I shall ever continue to love him and to desire to wed him. Is all my life to be spent so?” She laughed outright60, and came to stand beside him. She put an arm about his neck as she might have put it about the neck of her father, as she had been in the habit of doing any day in these past ten years — and thereby61 made him feel himself to have reached an unconscionable age. With her hand she rubbed his brow.
“Why, here are wicked wrinkles of ill-humour,” she cried to him. “You are all undone62, and by a woman’s wit, and you do not like it.”
“I am undone by a woman’s wilfulness63, by a woman’s headstrong resolve not to see.”
“You have naught64 to show me, Sir John.”
“Naught? Is all that I have said naught?”
“Words are not things; judgments65 are not facts. You say that he is so, and so and so. But when I ask you upon what facts you judge him, your only answer is that you think him to be what you say he is. Your thoughts may be honest, Sir John, but your logic66 is contemptible67.” And she laughed again at his gaping68 discomfiture. “Come, now, deal like an honest upright judge, and tell me one act of his — one thing that he has ever done and of which you have sure knowledge — that will bear him out to be what you say he is. Now, Sir John!”
He looked up at her impatiently. Then, at last he smiled.
“Rogue!” he cried — and upon a distant day he was to bethink him of those words. “If ever he be brought to judgment I can desire him no better advocate than thou.”
Thereupon following up her advantage swiftly, she kissed him. “Nor could I desire him a more honest judge than you.”
What was the poor man to do thereafter? What he did. Live up to her pronouncement, and go forthwith to visit Sir Oliver and compose their quarrel.
The acknowledgment of his fault was handsomely made, and Sir Oliver received it in a spirit no less handsome. But when Sir John came to the matter of Mistress Rosamund he was, out of his sense of duty to her, less generous. He announced that since he could not bring himself to look upon Sir Oliver as a suitable husband for her, nothing that he had now said must mislead Sir Oliver into supposing him a consenting party to any such union.
“But that,” he added, “is not to say that I oppose it. I disapprove70, but I stand aside. Until she is of full age her brother will refuse his sanction. After that, the matter will concern neither him nor myself.”
“I hope,” said Sir Oliver, “he will take as wise a view. But whatever view he takes will be no matter. For the rest, Sir John, I thank you for your frankness, and I rejoice to know that if I may not count you for my friend, at least I need not reckon you among my enemies.”
But if Sir John was thus won round to a neutral attitude, Master Peter’s rancour abated71 nothing; rather it increased each day, and presently there came another matter to feed it, a matter of which Sir Oliver had no suspicion.
He knew that his brother Lionel rode almost daily to Malpas, and he knew the object of those daily rides. He knew of the lady who kept a sort of court there for the rustic72 bucks73 of Truro, Penryn, and Helston, and he knew something of the ill-repute that had attached to her in town — a repute, in fact, which had been the cause of her withdrawal74 into the country. He told his brother some frank and ugly truths, concerning her, by way of warning him, and therein, for the first time, the twain went very near to quarrelling.
After that he mentioned her no more. He knew that in his indolent way Lionel could be headstrong, and he knew human nature well enough to be convinced that interference here would but set up a breach76 between himself and his brother without in the least achieving its real object. So Oliver shrugged77 re-signedly, and held his peace.
There he left the affair, nor ever spoke again of Malpas and the siren who presided there. And meanwhile the autumn faded into winter, and with the coming of stormy weather Sir Oliver and Rosamund had fewer opportunities of meeting. To Godolphin Court he would not go since she did not desire it; and himself he deemed it best to remain away since otherwise he must risk a quarrel with its master, who had forbidden him the place. In those days he saw Peter Godolphin but little, and on the rare occasions when they did meet they passed each other with a very meagre salute78.
Sir Oliver was entirely happy, and men noticed how gentler were his accents, how sunnier had become a countenance79 that they had known for haughty80 and forbidding. He waited for his coming happiness with the confidence of an immortal81 in the future. Patience was all the service Fate asked of him, and he gave that service blithely82, depending upon the reward that soon now would be his own. Indeed, the year drew near its close; and ere another winter should come round Penarrow House would own a mistress. That to him seemed as inevitable83 as the season itself. And yet for all his supreme84 confidence, for all his patience and the happiness he culled85 from it, there were moments when he seemed oppressed by some elusive86 sense of overhanging doom87, by some subconsciousness88 of an evil in the womb of Destiny. Did he challenge his oppression, did he seek to translate it into terms of reason, he found nothing upon which his wits could fasten — and he came ever to conclude that it was his very happiness by its excessiveness that was oppressing him, giving him at times that sense of premonitory weight about the heart as if to check its joyous89 soarings.
One day, a week from Christmas, he had occasion to ride to Helston on some trifling90 affair. For half a week a blizzard91 had whirled about the coast, and he had been kept chafing92 indoors what time layer upon layer of snow was spread upon the countryside. On the fourth day, the storm being spent, the sun came forth69, the skies were swept clear of clouds and all the countryside lay robed in a sun-drenched, dazzling whiteness. Sir Oliver called for his horse and rode forth alone through the crisp snow. He turned homeward very early in the afternoon, but when a couple of miles from Helston he found that his horse had cast a shoe. He dismounted, and bridle93 over arm tramped on through the sunlit vale between the heights of Pendennis and Arwenack, singing as he went. He came thus to Smithick and the door of the forge. About it stood a group of fishermen and rustics94, for, in the absence of any inn just there, this forge was ever a point of congregation. In addition to the rustics and an itinerant95 merchant with his pack-horses, there were present Sir Andrew Flack, the parson from Penryn, and Master Gregory Baine, one of the Justices from the neighbourhood of Truro. Both were well known to Sir Oliver, and he stood in friendly gossip with them what time he waited for his horse.
It was all very unfortunate, from the casting of that shoe to the meeting with those gentlemen; for as Sir Oliver stood there, down the gentle slope from Arwenack rode Master Peter Godolphin.
It was said afterwards by Sir Andrew and Master Baine that Master Peter appeared to have been carousing96, so flushed was his face, so unnatural9 the brightness of his eye, so thick his speech and so extravagant97 and foolish what he said. There can be little doubt that it was so. He was addicted98 to Canary, and so indeed was Sir John Killigrew, and he had been dining with Sir John. He was of those who turn quarrelsome in wine — which is but another way of saying that when the wine was in and the restraint out, his natural humour came uppermost untrammelled. The sight of Sir Oliver standing99 there gave the lad precisely100 what he needed to indulge that evil humour of his, and he may have been quickened in his purpose by the presence of those other gentlemen. In his half-fuddled state of mind he may have recalled that once he had struck Sir Oliver and Sir Oliver had laughed and told him that none would believe it.
He drew rein75 suddenly as he came abreast101 of the group, so suddenly that he pulled his horse until it almost sat down like a cat; yet he retained his saddle. Then he came through the snow that was all squelched102 and mudded just about the forge, and leered at Sir Oliver.
“I am from Arwenack,” he announced unnecessarily. “We have been talking of you.”
“You could have had no better subject of discourse,” said Sir Oliver, smiling, for all that his eyes were hard and something scared — though his fears did not concern himself.
“Marry, you are right; you make an engrossing103 topic — you and your debauched father.”
“Sir,” replied Sir Oliver, “once already have I deplored104 your mother’s utter want of discretion105.”
The words were out of him in a flash under the spur of the gross insult flung at him, uttered in the momentary107 blind rage aroused by that inflamed108 and taunting109 face above him. No sooner were they sped than he repented110 them, the more bitterly because they were greeted by a guffaw111 from the rustics. He would have given half his fortune in that moment to have recalled them.
Master Godolphin’s face had changed as utterly112 as if he had removed a mask. From flushed that it had been it was livid now and the eyes were blazing, the mouth twitching113. Thus a moment he glowered114 upon his enemy. Then standing in his stirrups he swung aloft his whip.
“You dog!” he cried, in a snarling115 sob116. “You dog!” And his lash106 came down and cut a long red wheal across Sir Oliver’s dark face.
With cries of dismay and anger the others, the parson, the Justice and the rustics got between the pair, for Sir Oliver was looking very wicked, and all the world knew him for a man to be feared.
“Master Godolphin, I cry shame upon you,” ex-claimed the parson. “If evil comes of this I shall testify to the grossness of your aggression117. Get you gone from here!”
“Go to the devil, sir,” said Master Godolphin thickly. “Is my mother’s name to be upon the lips of that bastard118? By God, man, the matter rests not here. He shall send his friends to me, or I will horse-whip him every time we meet. You hear, Sir Oliver?”
Sir Oliver made him no reply.
“You hear?” he roared. “There is no Sir John Killigrew this time upon whom you can shift the quarrel. Come you to me and get the punishment of which that whiplash is but an earnest.” Then with a thick laugh he drove spurs into his horse’s flanks, so furiously that he all but sent the parson and another sprawling119.
“Stay but a little while for me,” roared Sir Oliver after him. “You’ll ride no more, my drunken fool!”
And in a rage he bellowed120 for his horse, flinging off the parson and Master Baine, who endeavoured to detain and calm him. He vaulted121 to the saddle when the nag122 was brought him, and whirled away in furious pursuit.
The parson looked at the Justice and the Justice shrugged, his lips tight-pressed.
“The young fool is drunk,” said Sir Andrew, shaking his white head. “He’s in no case to meet his Maker123.”
“Yet he seems very eager,” quoth Master Justice Baine. “I doubt I shall hear more of the matter.” He turned and looked into the forge where the bellows124 now stood idle, the smith himself grimy and aproned in leather in the doorway125, listening to the rustics account of the happening. Master Baine it seems had a taste for analogies. “Faith,” he said, “the place was excellently well chosen. They have forged here to-day a sword which it will need blood to temper.”
点击收听单词发音
1 discomfiture | |
n.崩溃;大败;挫败;困惑 | |
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2 begotten | |
v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 );产生,引起 | |
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3 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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4 astounding | |
adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊,使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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5 soothe | |
v.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承 | |
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6 ruffled | |
adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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7 calumny | |
n.诽谤,污蔑,中伤 | |
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8 inveighed | |
v.猛烈抨击,痛骂,谩骂( inveigh的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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10 unnaturalness | |
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11 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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12 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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13 implore | |
vt.乞求,恳求,哀求 | |
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14 implored | |
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15 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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16 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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17 soften | |
v.(使)变柔软;(使)变柔和 | |
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18 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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19 subtlety | |
n.微妙,敏锐,精巧;微妙之处,细微的区别 | |
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20 delude | |
vt.欺骗;哄骗 | |
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21 dishonour | |
n./vt.拒付(支票、汇票、票据等);vt.凌辱,使丢脸;n.不名誉,耻辱,不光彩 | |
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22 rambled | |
(无目的地)漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 ); (喻)漫谈; 扯淡; 长篇大论 | |
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23 feud | |
n.长期不和;世仇;v.长期争斗;世代结仇 | |
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24 survivor | |
n.生存者,残存者,幸存者 | |
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25 inviolate | |
adj.未亵渎的,未受侵犯的 | |
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26 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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27 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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28 remonstrate | |
v.抗议,规劝 | |
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29 betrothal | |
n. 婚约, 订婚 | |
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30 remonstrances | |
n.抱怨,抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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31 dwindling | |
adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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32 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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33 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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34 warp | |
vt.弄歪,使翘曲,使不正常,歪曲,使有偏见 | |
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35 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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36 dubbed | |
v.给…起绰号( dub的过去式和过去分词 );把…称为;配音;复制 | |
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37 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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38 outrageously | |
凶残地; 肆无忌惮地; 令人不能容忍地; 不寻常地 | |
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39 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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40 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
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41 bias | |
n.偏见,偏心,偏袒;vt.使有偏见 | |
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42 taint | |
n.污点;感染;腐坏;v.使感染;污染 | |
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43 turbulence | |
n.喧嚣,狂暴,骚乱,湍流 | |
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44 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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45 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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46 prone | |
adj.(to)易于…的,很可能…的;俯卧的 | |
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47 trample | |
vt.踩,践踏;无视,伤害,侵犯 | |
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48 entrust | |
v.信赖,信托,交托 | |
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49 besought | |
v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的过去式和过去分词 );(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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50 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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51 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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52 bower | |
n.凉亭,树荫下凉快之处;闺房;v.荫蔽 | |
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53 testily | |
adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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54 perverseness | |
n. 乖张, 倔强, 顽固 | |
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55 grunted | |
(猪等)作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 ); (指人)发出类似的哼声; 咕哝着说 | |
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56 enumerated | |
v.列举,枚举,数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57 malign | |
adj.有害的;恶性的;恶意的;v.诽谤,诬蔑 | |
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58 beseeching | |
adj.恳求似的v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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59 wed | |
v.娶,嫁,与…结婚 | |
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60 outright | |
adv.坦率地;彻底地;立即;adj.无疑的;彻底的 | |
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61 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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62 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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63 wilfulness | |
任性;倔强 | |
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64 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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65 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
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66 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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67 contemptible | |
adj.可鄙的,可轻视的,卑劣的 | |
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68 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 | |
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69 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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70 disapprove | |
v.不赞成,不同意,不批准 | |
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71 abated | |
减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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72 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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73 bucks | |
n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 );钱;(英国十九世纪初的)花花公子;(用于某些表达方式)责任v.(马等)猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 );抵制;猛然震荡;马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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74 withdrawal | |
n.取回,提款;撤退,撤军;收回,撤销 | |
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75 rein | |
n.疆绳,统治,支配;vt.以僵绳控制,统治 | |
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76 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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77 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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78 salute | |
vi.行礼,致意,问候,放礼炮;vt.向…致意,迎接,赞扬;n.招呼,敬礼,礼炮 | |
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79 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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80 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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81 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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82 blithely | |
adv.欢乐地,快活地,无挂虑地 | |
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83 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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84 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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85 culled | |
v.挑选,剔除( cull的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86 elusive | |
adj.难以表达(捉摸)的;令人困惑的;逃避的 | |
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87 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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88 subconsciousness | |
潜意识;下意识 | |
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89 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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90 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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91 blizzard | |
n.暴风雪 | |
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92 chafing | |
n.皮肤发炎v.擦热(尤指皮肤)( chafe的现在分词 );擦痛;发怒;惹怒 | |
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93 bridle | |
n.笼头,束缚;vt.抑制,约束;动怒 | |
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94 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 | |
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95 itinerant | |
adj.巡回的;流动的 | |
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96 carousing | |
v.痛饮,闹饮欢宴( carouse的现在分词 ) | |
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97 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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98 addicted | |
adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
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99 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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100 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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101 abreast | |
adv.并排地;跟上(时代)的步伐,与…并进地 | |
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102 squelched | |
v.发吧唧声,发扑哧声( squelch的过去式和过去分词 );制止;压制;遏制 | |
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103 engrossing | |
adj.使人全神贯注的,引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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104 deplored | |
v.悲叹,痛惜,强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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106 lash | |
v.系牢;鞭打;猛烈抨击;n.鞭打;眼睫毛 | |
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107 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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108 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109 taunting | |
嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 ); 嘲弄; 辱骂; 奚落 | |
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110 repented | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111 guffaw | |
n.哄笑;突然的大笑 | |
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112 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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113 twitching | |
n.颤搐 | |
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114 glowered | |
v.怒视( glower的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115 snarling | |
v.(指狗)吠,嗥叫, (人)咆哮( snarl的现在分词 );咆哮着说,厉声地说 | |
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116 sob | |
n.空间轨道的轰炸机;呜咽,哭泣 | |
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117 aggression | |
n.进攻,侵略,侵犯,侵害 | |
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118 bastard | |
n.坏蛋,混蛋;私生子 | |
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119 sprawling | |
adj.蔓生的,不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 );蔓延;杂乱无序地拓展;四肢伸展坐着(或躺着) | |
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120 bellowed | |
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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121 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
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122 nag | |
v.(对…)不停地唠叨;n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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123 maker | |
n.制造者,制造商 | |
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124 bellows | |
n.风箱;发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的名词复数 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的第三人称单数 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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125 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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