Away shadows of the future — smoke and vapours of the pit! Let us have the sun and air of heaven while we may. What a charming day! how light and pleasant the breeze! The sails rattle5, quiver and fill, and stooping to the breeze, away goes the Wave— and, with a great sigh, away go Cleve’s troubles, for the present; and his eye travels along the sea-board, from Cardyllian on to Malory, and so to the dimmer outline of Penruthyn Priory.
As usual, they ran for Pendillion — the wind favouring — and at two o’clock Cleve stood on the sea-rocked stones of the rude pier6 of Penruthyn, and ordered his men to bring the yacht, seaward, round the point of Cardrwydd, and there to await him. There was some generalship in this. His interview of the morning had whetted7 his instincts of caution. Round Cardrwydd the men could not see, and beside he wanted no one — especially not that young lady, whom the sight might move to he knew not what capricious resolve, to see the Wave in the waters of Penruthyn.
Away went the yacht, and Cleve strolled up to the ancient Priory, from the little hillock beyond which is a view of the sea half way to Malory.
Three o’clock came, and no sail in sight.
“They’re not coming. I shan’t see her. They must have seen our sail. Hang it, I knew we tacked8 too soon. And she’s such an odd girl, I think, if she fancied I were here she’d rather stay at home, or go anywhere else. Three o’clock!” He held his watch to his ear for a moment. “By Jove! I thought it had stopped. That hour seems so long. I won’t give it up yet, though. That”— he was going to call him brute10, but even under the irritation11 of the hypothesis he could not —“that oddity. Sir Booth, may have upset their plans or delayed them.”
So, with another long look over the lonely sea toward Malory, he descended12 from his post of observation, and sauntered, rather despondingly, by the old Priory, and down the steep and pretty old road, that sinuously13 leads to the shore and the ruinous little quay14, for which boats of tourists still make. He listened and lingered on the way. His mind misgave15 him. He would have deferred16 the moment when his last hope was to go out, and the chance of the meeting, which had been his last thought at night, and his first in the morning, should lose itself in the coming shades of night. Yes, he would allow them a little time — it could not be much — and if a sail were not in sight by the time he reached the strand17 he would give all up, and set out upon his dejected walk to Cardrwydd.
He halted and lingered for awhile in that embowered part of the little by-road which opens on the shore, half afraid to terminate a suspense18 in which was still a hope. With an effort, then, he walked on, over the little ridge19 of sand and stones, and, lo! there was the boat with furled sails by the broken pier, and within scarce fifty steps the Malory ladies were approaching.
He raised his hat — he advanced quickly — not knowing quite how he felt, and hardly recollecting20 the minute after it was spoken, what he had said. He only saw that the young lady seemed surprised and grave. He thought she was even vexed22.
“I’m so glad we’ve met you here, Mr. Verney,” said artful Miss Sheckleton. “I was just thinking, compared with our last visit, how little profit we should derive23 from our present. I’m such a dunce in ancient art and architecture, and in all the subjects, in fact, that help one to understand such a building as this, that I despaired of enjoying our excursion at all as I did our last; but, perhaps you are leaving, and once more is too much to impose such a task as you undertook on our former visit.”
“Going away! You could not really think such a thing possible, while I had a chance of your permitting me to do the honours of our poor Priory.”
He glanced at Miss Fanshawe, who was at the other side of the chatty old lady, as they walked up the dim monastic road; but the Guido was looking over the low wall into the Warren, and his glance passed by unheeded.
“I’m so fond of this old place,” said Cleve, to fill in a pause. “I should be ashamed to say — you’d think me a fool almost — how often I take a run over here in my boat, and wander about its grounds and walls, quite alone. If there’s a transmigration of souls, I dare say mine once inhabited a friar of Penruthyn — I feel, especially since I last came to Ware24, such an affection for the old place.”
“It’s a very nice taste, Mr. Verney. You have no reason to be ashamed of it,” said the old lady, decisively. “Young men, now-a-days, are so given up to horses and field games, and so little addicted25 to anything refined, that I’m quite glad when I discover any nice taste or accomplishment26 among them. You must have read a great deal, Mr. Verney, to be able to tell us all the curious things you did about this old place and others.”
“Perhaps I’m only making a great effort — a show of learning on an extraordinary occasion. You must see how my stock lasts today. You are looking into that old park, Miss Fanshawe,” said Cleve, slily crossing to her side. “We call it the Warren; but it was once the Priory Park. There is a very curious old grant from the Prior of Penruthyn, which my uncle has at Ware, of a right to pasture a certain number of cows in the park, on condition of aiding the verderer in keeping up the green underwood. There is a good deal of holly27 still there, and some relics28 of the old timber, but not much. There is not shelter for deer now. But you never saw anything like the quantity of rabbits; and there are really, here and there, some very picturesque29 fragments of old forest — capital studies of huge oak trees in the last stage of venerable decay and decrepitude30, and very well worthy31 of a place in your sketch-book.”
“I dare say; I should only fear my book is hardly worthy of them,” said Miss Fanshawe.
“I forgot to show you this when you were here before.” He stopped short, brushing aside the weeds with his walking-cane. “Here are the bases of the piers32 of the old park gate.”
The little party stopped, and looked as people do on such old-world relics. But there was more than the conventional interest; or rather something quite different — something at once sullen33 and pensive34 in the beautiful face of the girl. She stood a little apart, looking down on that old masonry35. “What is she thinking of?” he speculated; “is she sad, or is she offended? is it pride, or melancholy36, or anger? or is it only the poetry of these dreamy old places that inspires her reverie? I don’t think she has listened to one word I said about it. She seemed as much a stranger as the first day I met her here;” and his heart swelled37 with a bitter yearning38, as he glanced at her without seeming to do so. And just then, with the same sad face, she stooped and plucked two pretty wild flowers that grew by the stones, under the old wall. It seemed to him like the action of a person walking in a dream — half unconscious of what she was doing, quite unconscious of everyone near her.
“What shall we do?” said Cleve, as soon as they had reached the enclosure of the buildings. “Shall we begin at the refectory and library, or return to the chapel39, which we had not quite looked over when you were obliged to go, on your last visit?”
This question his eyes directed to Miss Fanshawe; but as she did not so receive it. Miss Sheckleton took on herself to answer for the party. So into the chapel they went — into shadow and seclusion40. Once more among the short rude columns, the epitaphs, and round arches, in dim light, and he shut the heavy door with a clap that boomed through its lonely aisles41, and rejoiced in his soul at having secured if it were only ten minutes’ quiet and seclusion again with the ladies of Malory. It seemed like a dream.
“I quite forgot, Miss Fanshawe,” said he, artfully compelling her attention, “to show you a really curious, and even mysterious tablet, which is very old, and about which are ever so many stories and conjectures42.”
He conveyed them to a recess43 between two windows, where in the shade is a very old mural tablet.
“It is elaborately carved, and is dated, you see, 1411. If you look near you will see that the original epitaph has been chipped off near the middle, and the word ‘Eheu,’ which is Latin for ‘alas!’ cut deeply into the stone.”
“What a hideous44 skull45!” exclaimed the young lady, looking at the strange carving46 of that emblem47, which projected at the summit of the tablet.
“Yes, what a diabolical48 expression! Isn’t it?” said Cleve.
“Are not those tears?” continued Miss Fanshawe, curiously49.
“No, look more nearly and you will see. They are worms — great worms — crawling from the eyes, and knotting themselves, as you see,” answered Cleve.
“Yes,” said the lady, with a slight shudder50, “and what a wicked grin the artist has given to the mouth. It is wonderfully powerful! What rage and misery51! It is an awful image! Is that a tongue?”
“A tongue of fire. It represents a flame issuing from between the teeth; and on the scroll52 beneath, which looks, you see, like parchment shrivelled by fire are the words in Latin, ‘Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched;’ and here is the epitaph —‘Hic sunt ruin?, forma letifera, cor mortuum, lubrica lingua d?monis, digitus proditor, nunc gehenn? favilla. Plorate. Plaudite.’ It is Latin, and the meaning is, ‘Here are ruins, fatal beauty, a dead heart, the slimy tongue of the demon53, a traitor54 finger, now ashes of gehenna. Lament55. Applaud.’ Some people say it is the tomb of the wicked Lady Mandeville, from whom we have the honour of being descended, who with her traitor finger indicated the place where her husband was concealed56; and afterwards was herself put to death, they say, though I never knew any evidence of it, by her own son. All this happened in the Castle of Cardyllian, which accounts for her being buried in the comparative seclusion of the Priory, and yet so near Cardyllian. But antiquarians say the real date of that lady’s misdoings was nearly a century later; and so the matter rests an enigma57 probably to the day of doom58.”
“It is a very good horror. What a pity we shall never know those sentences that have been cut away,” said Miss Fanshawe.
“That skull is worth sketching59; won’t you try it?” said Cleve.
“No, not for the world. I shall find it only too hard to forget it, and I don’t mean to look at it again. Some countenances61 seize one with a tenacity62 and vividness quite terrible.”
“Very true,” said Cleve, with a meaning she understood, as he turned away with her. “We are not rich in wonders here, but the old church chest is worth seeing, it is curiously carved.”
He led them towards a niche63 in which it is placed near the communion rails. But said Miss Sheckleton —
“I’m a little tired, Margaret; you will look at it, dear; and Mr. Verney will excuse me. We have been delving64 and hoeing all the morning, and I shall rest here for a few minutes.” And she sat down on the bench.
Miss Margaret Fanshawe looked at her a little vexed, Cleve thought; and the young lady said —
“Hadn’t you better come? It’s only a step, and Mr. Verney says it is really curious.”
“I’m a positive old woman,” said cousin Anne, “as you know, and really a little tired; and you take such an interest in old carving in wood — a thing I don’t at all understand, Mr. Verney; she has a book quite full of really beautiful drawings, some taken at Brussels, and some at Antwerp. Go, dear, and see it, and I shall be rested by the time you come back.”
So spoke21 good-natured Miss Sheckleton, depriving Margaret of every evasion65; and she accordingly followed Cleve Verney as serenely66 as she might have followed the verger.
“Here it is,” said Cleve, pausing before the recess in which this antique kist is placed. He glanced towards Miss Sheckleton. She was a good way off — out of hearing, if people spoke low; and besides, busy making a pencilled note in a little book which she had brought to light. Thoughtful old soul!
“And about the way in which faces rivet67 the imagination and haunt the memory, I’ve never experienced it but once,” said Cleve, in a very low tone.
“Oh! it has happened to me often, very often. From pictures, I think, always; evil expressions of countenance60 that are ambiguous and hard to explain, always something demoniacal, I think,” said the young lady.
“There is nothing of the demon — never was, never could be-in the phantom68 that haunts me,” said Cleve. “It is, on the contrary — I don’t say angelic. Angels are very good, but not interesting. It is like an image called up by an enchanter — a wild, wonderful spirit of beauty and mystery. In darkness or light I always see it. You like to escape from yours. I would not lose mine for worlds; it is my good genius, my inspiration; and whenever that image melts into air, and I see it no more, the last good principle of my life will have perished.”
The young lady laughed in a silvery little cadence69 that had a sadness in it, and said —
“Your superstitions70 are much prettier than mine. My good cousin Anne, there, talks of blue devils, and my familiars are, I think, of that vulgar troop; while yours are all couleur de rose, and so elegantly got up, and so perfectly71 presentable and well bred, that I really think I should grow quite tired of the best of them in a five-minutes’ tête-à-tête.”
“I must have described my apparition72 very badly,” said Cleve. “That which is lovely beyond all mortal parallel can be described only by its effects upon one’s fancy and emotions, and in proportion as these are intense, I believe they are incommunicable.”
“You are growing quite too metaphysical for me,” said Miss Margaret Fanshawe. “I respect metaphysics, but I never could understand them.”
“It is quite true,” laughed Cleve. “I was so. I hate metaphysics myself;’ and they have nothing to do with this, they are so dry and detestable. But now, as a physician — as an exorcist — tell me, I entreat73, in my sad case, haunted by a beautiful phantom of despair, which I have mistaken for my good angel, how am I to redeem74 myself from this fatal spell.”
A brilliant colour tinged75 the young lady’s cheeks, and her great eyes glanced on him for a moment, he thought, with a haughty76 and even angry brilliancy.
“I don’t profess77 the arts you mention; but I doubt the reality of your spectre. I think it is an illusion, depending on an undue78 excitement in the organ of self-esteem, quite to be dispelled79 by restoring the healthy action of those other organs — of common sense. Seriously, I’m not competent to advise gentlemen, young or old, in their perplexities, real or fancied; but I certainly would say to any one who had set before him an object of ambition, the attainment80 of which he thought would be injurious to him — be manly81, have done with it, let it go, give it to the winds. Besides, you know that half the objects which young men set before them, the ambitions which they cherish, are the merest castles in the air, and that all but themselves can see the ridicule82 of their aspirations83.”
“You must not go, Miss Fanshawe; you have hot seen the carving you came here to look at. Here is the old church chest; but — but suppose the patient— let us call him — knows that the object of his — his ambition is on all accounts the best and noblest he could possibly have set before him. What then?”
“What then!” echoed Miss Fanshawe. “How can any one possibly tell — but the patient, as you call him, himself — what he should do. Your patient does not interest me; he wearies me. Let us look at this carving.”
“Do you think he should despair because there is no present answer to his prayers, and his idol84 vouchsafes85 no sign or omen9?” persisted Cleve.
“I don’t think,” she replied, with a cold impatience86, “the kind of person you describe is capable of despairing in such a case. I think he would place too high a value upon his merits to question the certainty of their success — don’t you?” said the young lady.
“Well, no; I don’t think so. He is not an unreal person; I know him, and I know that his good opinion of himself is humbled87, and that he adores with an entire abandonment of self the being whom he literally88 worships.”
“Very adoring, perhaps, but rather — that’s a great dog like a wolf-hound in that panel, and it has got its fangs89 in that pretty stag’s throat,” said Miss Fanshawe, breaking into a criticism upon the carving.
“Yes — but you were saying ‘Very adoring, but rather’— what?” urged Cleve.
“Rather silly, don’t you think? What business have people adoring others of whom they know nothing — who may not even like them— who may possibly dislike them extremely? I am tired of your good genius — I hope I’m not very rude — and of your friend’s folly90 — tired as you must be; and I think we should both give him very much the same advice, I should say to him, pray don’t sacrifice yourself; you are much too precious; consider your own value, and above all, remember that even should you make up your mind to the humiliation91 of the altar and the knife, the ceremonial may prove a fruitless mortification92, and the opportunity of accomplishing your sacrifice be denied you by your divinity. And I think that’s a rather well-rounded period: don’t you?”
By this time Miss Margaret Fanshawe had reached her cousin, who stood up smiling.
“I’m ashamed to say I have been actually amusing myself here with my accounts. We have seen, I think, nearly everything now in this building. I should so like to visit the ruins at the other side of the court-yard.”
“I shall be only too happy to be your guide, if you permit me,” said Cleve.
And accordingly they left the church, and Cleve shut the door with a strange feeling both of irritation and anxiety.
“Does she dislike me? Or is she engaged? What can her odd speeches mean, if not one or other of these things? She warns me off, and seems positively93 angry at my approach. She took care that I should quite understand her ironies94, and there was no mistaking the reality of her unaccountable resentment95.”
So it was with a weight at his heart, the like of which he had never experienced before, that Cleve undertook, and I fear in a rather spiritless way performed his duties as cicerone, over the other parts of the building.
Her manner seemed to him changed, chilled and haughty. Had there come a secret and sudden antipathy96, the consequence of a too hasty revelation of feelings which he ought in prudence97 to have kept to himself for some time longer? And again came with a dreadful pang98 the thought that her heart was already won — the heart so cold and impenetrable to him — the passionate99 and docile100 worshipper of another man — some beast — some fool. But the first love — the only love worth having; and yet, of all loves the most ignorant — the insanest.
Bitter as gall101 was the outrage102 to his pride. He would have liked to appear quite indifferent, but he could not. He knew the girl would penetrate103 his finesse104. She practised none herself; he could see and feel a change that galled105 him — very slight but intolerable. Would it not be a further humiliation to be less frank than she, and to practise an affectation which she despised.
Miss Sheckleton eyed the young people stealthily and curiously now and then, he thought. She suspected perhaps more than there really was, and she was particularly kind and grave at parting, and, he thought, observed him with a sort of romantic compassion106 which is so pretty in old ladies.
He did touch Miss Fanshawe’s hand at parting, and she smiled a cold and transient smile as she gathered her cloaks about her, and looked over the sea, toward the setting sun. In that clear, mellow107 glory, how wonderfully beautiful she looked! He was angry with himself for the sort of adoration108 which glowed at his heart. What would he not have given to be indifferent, and to make her feel that he was so!
He smiled and waved his farewell to Miss Sheckleton. Miss Fanshawe was now looking toward Malory. The boat was gliding109 swiftly into distance, and disappeared with the sunset glittering on its sides, round the little headland, and Cleve was left alone.
His eyes dropped to the shingle110, and broken shells, and seaweed, that lay beneath his feet, in that level stream of amber111 light. He thought of going away, thought what a fool he had been, thought of futurity and fate, with a sigh, and renounced112 the girl, washed out the portrait before which he had worshipped for so long, with the hand of defiance113 — the water of Lethe. Vain, vain; in sympathetic dyes, the shadow stained upon the brain, still fills his retina, glides114 before him in light and darkness, and will not be divorced.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
obstinate
|
|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
vindictive
|
|
| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
zealous
|
|
| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
rattle
|
|
| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
pier
|
|
| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
whetted
|
|
| v.（在石头上）磨（刀、斧等）( whet的过去式和过去分词 )；引起，刺激（食欲、欲望、兴趣等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
tacked
|
|
| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
omen
|
|
| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
brute
|
|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
irritation
|
|
| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
sinuously
|
|
| 弯曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
quay
|
|
| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
misgave
|
|
| v.使（某人的情绪、精神等）疑虑，担忧，害怕( misgive的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
deferred
|
|
| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
strand
|
|
| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
ridge
|
|
| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
recollecting
|
|
| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
derive
|
|
| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
ware
|
|
| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
addicted
|
|
| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
accomplishment
|
|
| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
holly
|
|
| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
relics
|
|
| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
decrepitude
|
|
| n.衰老；破旧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
piers
|
|
| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
pensive
|
|
| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
masonry
|
|
| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
swelled
|
|
| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
yearning
|
|
| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
chapel
|
|
| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
seclusion
|
|
| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
aisles
|
|
| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
conjectures
|
|
| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
recess
|
|
| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
skull
|
|
| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
carving
|
|
| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
emblem
|
|
| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
diabolical
|
|
| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
scroll
|
|
| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
demon
|
|
| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
traitor
|
|
| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
lament
|
|
| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
enigma
|
|
| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
doom
|
|
| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
sketching
|
|
| n.草图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
countenances
|
|
| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
tenacity
|
|
| n.坚韧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
niche
|
|
| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
delving
|
|
| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
evasion
|
|
| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
serenely
|
|
| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
rivet
|
|
| n.铆钉；vt.铆接，铆牢；集中(目光或注意力) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
phantom
|
|
| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
cadence
|
|
| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
superstitions
|
|
| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
apparition
|
|
| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
entreat
|
|
| v.恳求，恳请 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
redeem
|
|
| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
tinged
|
|
| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
haughty
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
profess
|
|
| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
undue
|
|
| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
dispelled
|
|
| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
attainment
|
|
| n.达到，到达；［常pl.］成就，造诣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
ridicule
|
|
| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
idol
|
|
| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
vouchsafes
|
|
| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的第三人称单数 )；允诺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
86
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
humbled
|
|
| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
literally
|
|
| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
fangs
|
|
| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
humiliation
|
|
| n.羞辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
mortification
|
|
| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
ironies
|
|
| n.反语( irony的名词复数 )；冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事；嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
antipathy
|
|
| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
prudence
|
|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
pang
|
|
| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
docile
|
|
| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
gall
|
|
| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
outrage
|
|
| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
penetrate
|
|
| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
finesse
|
|
| n.精密技巧，灵巧，手腕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
galled
|
|
| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
mellow
|
|
| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
adoration
|
|
| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
gliding
|
|
| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
shingle
|
|
| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
amber
|
|
| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
renounced
|
|
| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
defiance
|
|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
glides
|
|
| n.滑行( glide的名词复数 )；滑音；音渡；过渡音v.滑动( glide的第三人称单数 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |