It was in the air when she woke in her low-ceilinged, dusky room; it accompanied her down-stairs to the breakfast-table, flashed out at her from the fire, and re-duplicated itself brightly from the flanks of the urn2 and the sturdy flutings of the Georgian teapot. It was as if, in some roundabout way, all her diffused3 apprehensions5 of the previous day, with their moment of sharp concentration about the newspaper article, — as if this dim questioning of the future, and startled return upon the past, — had between them liquidated6 the arrears7 of some haunting moral obligation. If she had indeed been careless of her husband’s affairs, it was, her new state seemed to prove, because her faith in him instinctively8 justified9 such carelessness; and his right to her faith had overwhelmingly affirmed itself in the very face of menace and suspicion. She had never seen him more untroubled, more naturally and unconsciously in possession of himself, than after the cross-examination to which she had subjected him: it was almost as if he had been aware of her lurking10 doubts, and had wanted the air cleared as much as she did.
It was as clear, thank Heaven! as the bright outer light that surprised her almost with a touch of summer when she issued from the house for her daily round of the gardens. She had left Boyne at his desk, indulging herself, as she passed the library door, by a last peep at his quiet face, where he bent11, pipe in his mouth, above his papers, and now she had her own morning’s task to perform. The task involved on such charmed winter days almost as much delighted loitering about the different quarters of her demesne12 as if spring were already at work on shrubs13 and borders. There were such inexhaustible possibilities still before her, such opportunities to bring out the latent graces of the old place, without a single irreverent touch of alteration14, that the winter months were all too short to plan what spring and autumn executed. And her recovered sense of safety gave, on this particular morning, a peculiar15 zest16 to her progress through the sweet, still place. She went first to the kitchen-garden, where the espaliered pear-trees drew complicated patterns on the walls, and pigeons were fluttering and preening17 about the silvery-slated roof of their cot. There was something wrong about the piping of the hothouse, and she was expecting an authority from Dorchester, who was to drive out between trains and make a diagnosis18 of the boiler19. But when she dipped into the damp heat of the greenhouses, among the spiced scents20 and waxy21 pinks and reds of old-fashioned exotics, — even the flora22 of Lyng was in the note! — she learned that the great man had not arrived, and the day being too rare to waste in an artificial atmosphere, she came out again and paced slowly along the springy turf of the bowling-green to the gardens behind the house. At their farther end rose a grass terrace, commanding, over the fish-pond and the yew23 hedges, a view of the long house-front, with its twisted chimney-stacks and the blue shadows of its roof angles, all drenched24 in the pale gold moisture of the air.
Seen thus, across the level tracery of the yews25, under the suffused26, mild light, it sent her, from its open windows and hospitably27 smoking chimneys, the look of some warm human presence, of a mind slowly ripened28 on a sunny wall of experience. She had never before had so deep a sense of her intimacy29 with it, such a conviction that its secrets were all beneficent, kept, as they said to children, “for one’s good,” so complete a trust in its power to gather up her life and Ned’s into the harmonious30 pattern of the long, long story it sat there weaving in the sun.
She heard steps behind her, and turned, expecting to see the gardener, accompanied by the engineer from Dorchester. But only one figure was in sight, that of a youngish, slightly built man, who, for reasons she could not on the spot have specified31, did not remotely resemble her preconceived notion of an authority on hot-house boilers32. The new-comer, on seeing her, lifted his hat, and paused with the air of a gentleman — perhaps a traveler — desirous of having it immediately known that his intrusion is involuntary. The local fame of Lyng occasionally attracted the more intelligent sight-seer, and Mary half-expected to see the stranger dissemble a camera, or justify33 his presence by producing it. But he made no gesture of any sort, and after a moment she asked, in a tone responding to the courteous34 deprecation of his attitude: “Is there any one you wish to see?”
“I came to see Mr. Boyne,” he replied. His intonation35, rather than his accent, was faintly American, and Mary, at the familiar note, looked at him more closely. The brim of his soft felt hat cast a shade on his face, which, thus obscured, wore to her short-sighted gaze a look of seriousness, as of a person arriving “on business,” and civilly but firmly aware of his rights.
Past experience had made Mary equally sensible to such claims; but she was jealous of her husband’s morning hours, and doubtful of his having given any one the right to intrude36 on them.
“Have you an appointment with Mr. Boyne?” she asked.
He hesitated, as if unprepared for the question.
“Not exactly an appointment,” he replied.
“Then I’m afraid, this being his working-time, that he can’t receive you now. Will you give me a message, or come back later?”
The visitor, again lifting his hat, briefly37 replied that he would come back later, and walked away, as if to regain38 the front of the house. As his figure receded39 down the walk between the yew hedges, Mary saw him pause and look up an instant at the peaceful house-front bathed in faint winter sunshine; and it struck her, with a tardy40 touch of compunction, that it would have been more humane41 to ask if he had come from a distance, and to offer, in that case, to inquire if her husband could receive him. But as the thought occurred to her he passed out of sight behind a pyramidal yew, and at the same moment her attention was distracted by the approach of the gardener, attended by the bearded pepper-and-salt figure of the boiler-maker from Dorchester.
The encounter with this authority led to such far-reaching issues that they resulted in his finding it expedient42 to ignore his train, and beguiled43 Mary into spending the remainder of the morning in absorbed confabulation among the greenhouses. She was startled to find, when the colloquy44 ended, that it was nearly luncheon45-time, and she half expected, as she hurried back to the house, to see her husband coming out to meet her. But she found no one in the court but an under-gardener raking the gravel46, and the hall, when she entered it, was so silent that she guessed Boyne to be still at work behind the closed door of the library.
Not wishing to disturb him, she turned into the drawing-room, and there, at her writing-table, lost herself in renewed calculations of the outlay47 to which the morning’s conference had committed her. The knowledge that she could permit herself such follies48 had not yet lost its novelty; and somehow, in contrast to the vague apprehensions of the previous days, it now seemed an element of her recovered security, of the sense that, as Ned had said, things in general had never been “righter.”
She was still luxuriating in a lavish49 play of figures when the parlor-maid, from the threshold, roused her with a dubiously50 worded inquiry51 as to the expediency52 of serving luncheon. It was one of their jokes that Trimmle announced luncheon as if she were divulging53 a state secret, and Mary, intent upon her papers, merely murmured an absent-minded assent54.
She felt Trimmle wavering expressively55 on the threshold as if in rebuke56 of such offhand57 acquiescence58; then her retreating steps sounded down the passage, and Mary, pushing away her papers, crossed the hall, and went to the library door. It was still closed, and she wavered in her turn, disliking to disturb her husband, yet anxious that he should not exceed his normal measure of work. As she stood there, balancing her impulses, the esoteric Trimmle returned with the announcement of luncheon, and Mary, thus impelled59, opened the door and went into the library.
Boyne was not at his desk, and she peered about her, expecting to discover him at the book-shelves, somewhere down the length of the room; but her call brought no response, and gradually it became clear to her that he was not in the library.
She turned back to the parlor-maid.
“Mr. Boyne must be up-stairs. Please tell him that luncheon is ready.”
The parlor-maid appeared to hesitate between the obvious duty of obeying orders and an equally obvious conviction of the foolishness of the injunction laid upon her. The struggle resulted in her saying doubtfully, “If you please, Madam, Mr. Boyne’s not up-stairs.”
“Not in his room? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Madam.”
Mary consulted the clock. “Where is he, then?”
“He’s gone out,” Trimmle announced, with the superior air of one who has respectfully waited for the question that a well-ordered mind would have first propounded60.
Mary’s previous conjecture61 had been right, then. Boyne must have gone to the gardens to meet her, and since she had missed him, it was clear that he had taken the shorter way by the south door, instead of going round to the court. She crossed the hall to the glass portal opening directly on the yew garden, but the parlor-maid, after another moment of inner conflict, decided62 to bring out recklessly, “Please, Madam, Mr. Boyne didn’t go that way.”
Mary turned back. “Where did he go? And when?”
“He went out of the front door, up the drive, Madam.” It was a matter of principle with Trimmle never to answer more than one question at a time.
“Up the drive? At this hour?” Mary went to the door herself, and glanced across the court through the long tunnel of bare limes. But its perspective was as empty as when she had scanned it on entering the house.
“Did Mr. Boyne leave no message?” she asked.
Trimmle seemed to surrender herself to a last struggle with the forces of chaos63.
“No, Madam. He just went out with the gentleman.”
“The gentleman? What gentleman?” Mary wheeled about, as if to front this new factor.
“The gentleman who called, Madam,” said Trimmle, resignedly.
“When did a gentleman call? Do explain yourself, Trimmle!”
Only the fact that Mary was very hungry, and that she wanted to consult her husband about the greenhouses, would have caused her to lay so unusual an injunction on her attendant; and even now she was detached enough to note in Trimmle’s eye the dawning defiance64 of the respectful subordinate who has been pressed too hard.
“I couldn’t exactly say the hour, Madam, because I didn’t let the gentleman in,” she replied, with the air of magnanimously ignoring the irregularity of her mistress’s course.
“You didn’t let him in?”
“No, Madam. When the bell rang I was dressing66, and Agnes — ”
“Go and ask Agnes, then,” Mary interjected. Trimmle still wore her look of patient magnanimity. “Agnes would not know, Madam, for she had unfortunately burnt her hand in trying the wick of the new lamp from town — ” Trimmle, as Mary was aware, had always been opposed to the new lamp — “and so Mrs. Dockett sent the kitchen-maid instead.”
Mary looked again at the clock. “It’s after two! Go and ask the kitchen-maid if Mr. Boyne left any word.”
She went into luncheon without waiting, and Trimmle presently brought her there the kitchen-maid’s statement that the gentleman had called about one o’clock, that Mr. Boyne had gone out with him without leaving any message. The kitchen-maid did not even know the caller’s name, for he had written it on a slip of paper, which he had folded and handed to her, with the injunction to deliver it at once to Mr. Boyne.
Mary finished her luncheon, still wondering, and when it was over, and Trimmle had brought the coffee to the drawing-room, her wonder had deepened to a first faint tinge67 of disquietude. It was unlike Boyne to absent himself without explanation at so unwonted an hour, and the difficulty of identifying the visitor whose summons he had apparently68 obeyed made his disappearance69 the more unaccountable. Mary Boyne’s experience as the wife of a busy engineer, subject to sudden calls and compelled to keep irregular hours, had trained her to the philosophic70 acceptance of surprises; but since Boyne’s withdrawal71 from business he had adopted a Benedictine regularity65 of life. As if to make up for the dispersed72 and agitated73 years, with their “stand-up” lunches and dinners rattled74 down to the joltings of the dining-car, he cultivated the last refinements75 of punctuality and monotony, discouraging his wife’s fancy for the unexpected; and declaring that to a delicate taste there were infinite gradations of pleasure in the fixed76 recurrences77 of habit.
Still, since no life can completely defend itself from the unforeseen, it was evident that all Boyne’s precautions would sooner or later prove unavailable, and Mary concluded that he had cut short a tiresome78 visit by walking with his caller to the station, or at least accompanying him for part of the way.
This conclusion relieved her from farther preoccupation, and she went out herself to take up her conference with the gardener. Thence she walked to the village post-office, a mile or so away; and when she turned toward home, the early twilight79 was setting in.
She had taken a foot-path across the downs, and as Boyne, meanwhile, had probably returned from the station by the highroad, there was little likelihood of their meeting on the way. She felt sure, however, of his having reached the house before her; so sure that, when she entered it herself, without even pausing to inquire of Trimmle, she made directly for the library. But the library was still empty, and with an unwonted precision of visual memory she immediately observed that the papers on her husband’s desk lay precisely80 as they had lain when she had gone in to call him to luncheon.
Then of a sudden she was seized by a vague dread81 of the unknown. She had closed the door behind her on entering, and as she stood alone in the long, silent, shadowy room, her dread seemed to take shape and sound, to be there audibly breathing and lurking among the shadows. Her short-sighted eyes strained through them, half-discerning an actual presence, something aloof82, that watched and knew; and in the recoil83 from that intangible propinquity she threw herself suddenly on the bell-rope and gave it a desperate pull.
The long, quavering summons brought Trimmle in precipitately84 with a lamp, and Mary breathed again at this sobering reappearance of the usual.
“You may bring tea if Mr. Boyne is in,” she said, to justify her ring.
“Very well, Madam. But Mr. Boyne is not in,” said Trimmle, putting down the lamp.
“Not in? You mean he’s come back and gone out again?”
“No, Madam. He’s never been back.”
The dread stirred again, and Mary knew that now it had her fast.
“Not since he went out with — the gentleman?”
“Not since he went out with the gentleman.”
“But who was the gentleman?” Mary gasped85 out, with the sharp note of some one trying to be heard through a confusion of meaningless noises.
“That I couldn’t say, Madam.” Trimmle, standing86 there by the lamp, seemed suddenly to grow less round and rosy87, as though eclipsed by the same creeping shade of apprehension4.
“But the kitchen-maid knows — wasn’t it the kitchen-maid who let him in?”
“She doesn’t know either, Madam, for he wrote his name on a folded paper.”
Mary, through her agitation88, was aware that they were both designating the unknown visitor by a vague pronoun, instead of the conventional formula which, till then, had kept their allusions89 within the bounds of custom. And at the same moment her mind caught at the suggestion of the folded paper.
“But he must have a name! Where is the paper?”
She moved to the desk, and began to turn over the scattered90 documents that littered it. The first that caught her eye was an unfinished letter in her husband’s hand, with his pen lying across it, as though dropped there at a sudden summons.
“My dear Parvis,” — who was Parvis? — “I have just received your letter announcing Elwell’s death, and while I suppose there is now no farther risk of trouble, it might be safer — ”
She tossed the sheet aside, and continued her search; but no folded paper was discoverable among the letters and pages of manuscript which had been swept together in a promiscuous91 heap, as if by a hurried or a startled gesture.
“But the kitchen-maid saw him. Send her here,” she commanded, wondering at her dullness in not thinking sooner of so simple a solution.
Trimmle, at the behest, vanished in a flash, as if thankful to be out of the room, and when she reappeared, conducting the agitated underling, Mary had regained92 her self-possession, and had her questions pat.
The gentleman was a stranger, yes — that she understood. But what had he said? And, above all, what had he looked like? The first question was easily enough answered, for the disconcerting reason that he had said so little — had merely asked for Mr. Boyne, and, scribbling93 something on a bit of paper, had requested that it should at once be carried in to him.
“Then you don’t know what he wrote? You’re not sure it was his name?”
The kitchen-maid was not sure, but supposed it was, since he had written it in answer to her inquiry as to whom she should announce.
“And when you carried the paper in to Mr. Boyne, what did he say?”
The kitchen-maid did not think that Mr. Boyne had said anything, but she could not be sure, for just as she had handed him the paper and he was opening it, she had become aware that the visitor had followed her into the library, and she had slipped out, leaving the two gentlemen together.
“But then, if you left them in the library, how do you know that they went out of the house?”
This question plunged94 the witness into momentary95 inarticulateness, from which she was rescued by Trimmle, who, by means of ingenious circumlocutions, elicited96 the statement that before she could cross the hall to the back passage she had heard the gentlemen behind her, and had seen them go out of the front door together.
“Then, if you saw the gentleman twice, you must be able to tell me what he looked like.”
But with this final challenge to her powers of expression it became clear that the limit of the kitchen-maid’s endurance had been reached. The obligation of going to the front door to “show in” a visitor was in itself so subversive97 of the fundamental order of things that it had thrown her faculties98 into hopeless disarray99, and she could only stammer100 out, after various panting efforts at evocation101, “His hat, mum, was different-like, as you might say — ”
“Different? How different?” Mary flashed out at her, her own mind, in the same instant, leaping back to an image left on it that morning, but temporarily lost under layers of subsequent impressions.
“His hat had a wide brim, you mean? and his face was pale — a youngish face?” Mary pressed her, with a white-lipped intensity102 of interrogation. But if the kitchen-maid found any adequate answer to this challenge, it was swept away for her listener down the rushing current of her own convictions. The stranger — the stranger in the garden! Why had Mary not thought of him before? She needed no one now to tell her that it was he who had called for her husband and gone away with him. But who was he, and why had Boyne obeyed his call?
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
urn
|
|
| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
diffused
|
|
| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
apprehensions
|
|
| 疑惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
liquidated
|
|
| v.清算( liquidate的过去式和过去分词 )；清除（某人）；清偿；变卖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
arrears
|
|
| n.到期未付之债，拖欠的款项；待做的工作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
instinctively
|
|
| adv.本能地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
justified
|
|
| a.正当的，有理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
lurking
|
|
| 潜在 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
demesne
|
|
| n.领域，私有土地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
shrubs
|
|
| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
alteration
|
|
| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
zest
|
|
| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
preening
|
|
| v.（鸟）用嘴整理（羽毛）( preen的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
diagnosis
|
|
| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
boiler
|
|
| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
scents
|
|
| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
waxy
|
|
| adj.苍白的；光滑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
flora
|
|
| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
yew
|
|
| n.紫杉属树木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
drenched
|
|
| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
yews
|
|
| n.紫杉( yew的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
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： |
|
|
|
|
27
hospitably
|
|
| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
ripened
|
|
| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
harmonious
|
|
| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
specified
|
|
| adj.特定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
boilers
|
|
| 锅炉，烧水器，水壶( boiler的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
intonation
|
|
| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
intrude
|
|
| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
regain
|
|
| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
receded
|
|
| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
tardy
|
|
| adj.缓慢的，迟缓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
humane
|
|
| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
expedient
|
|
| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
beguiled
|
|
| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
colloquy
|
|
| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
luncheon
|
|
| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
gravel
|
|
| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
outlay
|
|
| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
follies
|
|
| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
lavish
|
|
| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
dubiously
|
|
| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
expediency
|
|
| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
divulging
|
|
| v.吐露，泄露( divulge的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
assent
|
|
| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
expressively
|
|
| ad.表示(某事物)地；表达地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
rebuke
|
|
| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
offhand
|
|
| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
acquiescence
|
|
| n.默许；顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
impelled
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
propounded
|
|
| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
conjecture
|
|
| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
chaos
|
|
| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
defiance
|
|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
regularity
|
|
| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
tinge
|
|
| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
disappearance
|
|
| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
philosophic
|
|
| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
withdrawal
|
|
| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
dispersed
|
|
| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
rattled
|
|
| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
refinements
|
|
| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
recurrences
|
|
| n.复发，反复，重现( recurrence的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
tiresome
|
|
| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
aloof
|
|
| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
recoil
|
|
| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
precipitately
|
|
| adv.猛进地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
allusions
|
|
| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
promiscuous
|
|
| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
regained
|
|
| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
scribbling
|
|
| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
elicited
|
|
| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
subversive
|
|
| adj.颠覆性的，破坏性的；n.破坏份子，危险份子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
faculties
|
|
| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
disarray
|
|
| n.混乱，紊乱，凌乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
stammer
|
|
| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
evocation
|
|
| n. 引起，唤起 n. <古> 召唤，招魂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
intensity
|
|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |