Howe’s Masquerade.
One afternoon last summer, while walking along Washington street, my eye was attracted by a sign-board protruding1 over a narrow archway nearly opposite the Old South Church. The sign represented the front of a stately edifice2 which was designated as the “OLD PROVINCE HOUSE, kept by Thomas Waite.” I was glad to be thus reminded of a purpose, long entertained, of visiting and rambling3 over the mansion4 of the old royal governors of Massachusetts, and, entering the arched passage which penetrated5 through the middle of a brick row of shops, a few steps transported me from the busy heart of modern Boston into a small and secluded6 court-yard. One side of this space was occupied by the square front of the Province House, three stories high and surmounted7 by a cupola, on the top of which a gilded8 Indian was discernible, with his bow bent9 and his arrow on the string, as if aiming at the weathercock on the spire10 of the Old South. The figure has kept this attitude for seventy years or more, ever since good Deacon Drowne, a cunning carver of wood, first stationed him on his long sentinel’s watch over the city.
The Province House is constructed of brick, which seems recently to have been overlaid with a coat of light-colored paint. A flight of red freestone steps fenced in by a balustrade of curiously11 wrought12 iron ascends14 from the court-yard to the spacious15 porch, over which is a balcony with an iron balustrade of similar pattern and workmanship to that beneath. These letters and figures — “16 P.S. 79” — are wrought into the ironwork of the balcony, and probably express the date of the edifice, with the initials of its founder16’s name.
A wide door with double leaves admitted me into the hall or entry, on the right of which is the entrance to the bar-room. It was in this apartment, I presume, that the ancient governors held their levees with vice-regal pomp, surrounded by the military men, the counsellors, the judges, and other officers of the Crown, while all the loyalty17 of the province thronged18 to do them honor. But the room in its present condition cannot boast even of faded magnificence. The panelled wainscot is covered with dingy21 paint and acquires a duskier hue22 from the deep shadow into which the Province House is thrown by the brick block that shuts it in from Washington street. A ray of sunshine never visits this apartment any more than the glare of the festal torches which have been extinguished from the era of the Revolution. The most venerable and ornamental23 object is a chimney-piece set round with Dutch tiles of blue-figured china, representing scenes from Scripture24, and, for aught I know, the lady of Pownall or Bernard may have sat beside this fireplace and told her children the story of each blue tile. A bar in modern style, well replenished25 with decanters, bottles, cigar-boxes and network bags of lemons, and provided with a beer-pump and a soda-fount, extends along one side of the room.
At my entrance an elderly person was smacking27 his lips with a zest28 which satisfied me that the cellars of the Province House still hold good liquor, though doubtless of other vintages than were quaffed29 by the old governors. After sipping30 a glass of port-sangaree prepared by the skilful32 hands of Mr. Thomas Waite, I besought33 that worthy34 successor and representative of so many historic personages to conduct me over their time-honored mansion. He readily complied, but, to confess the truth, I was forced to draw strenuously35 upon my imagination in order to find aught that was interesting in a house which, without its historic associations, would have seemed merely such a tavern37 as is usually favored by the custom of decent city boarders and old-fashioned country gentlemen. The chambers39, which were probably spacious in former times, are now cut up by partitions and subdivided40 into little nooks, each affording scanty41 room for the narrow bed and chair and dressing-table of a single lodger42: The great staircase, however, may be termed, without much hyperbole, a feature of grandeur43 and magnificence. It winds through the midst of the house by flights of broad steps, each flight terminating in a square landing-place, whence the ascent44 is continued toward the cupola. A carved balustrade, freshly painted in the lower stories, but growing dingier47 as we ascend13, borders the staircase with its quaintly48 twisted and intertwined pillars, from top to bottom. Up these stairs the military boots, or perchance the gouty shoes, of many a governor have trodden as the wearers mounted to the cupola which afforded them so wide a view over their metropolis49 and the surrounding country. The cupola is an octagon with several windows, and a door opening upon the roof. From this station, as I pleased myself with imagining, Gage50 may have beheld51 his disastrous52 victory on Bunker Hill (unless one of the tri-mountains intervened), and Howe have marked the approaches of Washington’s besieging53 army, although the buildings since erected54 in the vicinity have shut out almost every object save the steeple of the Old South, which seems almost within arm’s length. Descending56 from the cupola, I paused in the garret to observe the ponderous57 white-oak framework, so much more massive than the frames of modern houses, and thereby59 resembling an antique skeleton. The brick walls, the materials of which were imported from Holland, and the timbers of the mansion, are still as sound as ever, but, the floors and other interior parts being greatly decayed, it is contemplated60 to gut61 the whole and build a new house within the ancient frame-and brickwork. Among other inconveniences of the present edifice, mine host mentioned that any jar or motion was apt to shake down the dust of ages out of the ceiling of one chamber38 upon the floor of that beneath it.
We stepped forth62 from the great front window into the balcony where in old times it was doubtless the custom of the king’s representative to show himself to a loyal populace, requiting63 their huzzas and tossed-up hats with stately bendings of his dignified64 person. In those days the front of the Province House looked upon the street, and the whole site now occupied by the brick range of stores, as well as the present court-yard, was laid out in grass-plats overshadowed by trees and bordered by a wrought-iron fence. Now the old aristocratic edifice hides its time-worn visage behind an upstart modern building; at one of the back windows I observed some pretty tailoresses sewing and chatting and laughing, with now and then a careless glance toward the balcony. Descending thence, we again entered the bar-room, where the elderly gentleman above mentioned — the smack26 of whose lips had spoken so favorably for Mr. Waite’s good liquor — was still lounging in his chair. He seemed to be, if not a lodger, at least a familiar visitor of the house who might be supposed to have his regular score at the bar, his summer seat at the open window and his prescriptive corner at the winter’s fireside. Being of a sociable66 aspect, I ventured to address him with a remark calculated to draw forth his historical reminiscences, if any such were in his mind, and it gratified me to discover that, between memory and tradition, the old gentleman was really possessed67 of some very pleasant gossip about the Province House. The portion of his talk which chiefly interested me was the outline of the following legend. He professed68 to have received it at one or two removes from an eye-witness, but this derivation, together with the lapse69 of time, must have afforded opportunities for many variations of the narrative70; so that, despairing of literal and absolute truth, I have not scrupled72 to make such further changes as seemed conducive73 to the reader’s profit and delight.
At one of the entertainments given at the province-house during the latter part of the siege of Boston there passed a scene which has never yet been satisfactorily explained. The officers of the British army and the loyal gentry74 of the province, most of whom were collected within the beleaguered75 town, had been invited to a masqued ball, for it was the policy for Sir William Howe to hide the distress76 and danger of the period and the desperate aspect of the siege under an ostentation77 of festivity. The spectacle of this evening, if the oldest members of the provincial78 court circle might be believed, was the most gay and gorgeous affair that had occurred in the annals of the government. The brilliantly-lighted apartments were thronged with figures that seemed to have stepped from the dark canvas of historic portraits or to have flitted forth from the magic pages of romance, or at least to have flown hither from one of the London theatres without a change of garments. Steeled knights79 of the Conquest, bearded statesmen of Queen Elizabeth and high-ruffed ladies of her court were mingled80 with characters of comedy, such as a parti-colored Merry Andrew jingling81 his cap and bells, a Falstaff almost as provocative82 of laughter as his prototype, and a Don Quixote with a bean-pole for a lance and a pot-lid for a shield.
But the broadest merriment was excited by a group of figures ridiculously dressed in old regimentals which seemed to have been purchased at a military rag-fair or pilfered83 from some receptacle of the cast-off clothes of both the French and British armies. Portions of their attire84 had probably been worn at the siege of Louisburg, and the coats of most recent cut might have been rent and tattered85 by sword, ball or bayonet as long ago as Wolfe’s victory. One of these worthies86 — a tall, lank87 figure brandishing88 a rusty89 sword of immense longitude90 — purported91 to be no less a personage than General George Washington, and the other principal officers of the American army, such as Gates, Lee, Putnam, Schuyler, Ward46 and Heath, were represented by similar scarecrows. An interview in the mock-heroic style between the rebel warriors92 and the British commander-inchief was received with immense applause, which came loudest of all from the loyalists of the colony.
There was one of the guests, however, who stood apart, eying these antics sternly and scornfully at once with a frown and a bitter smile. It was an old man formerly93 of high station and great repute in the province, and who had been a very famous soldier in his day. Some surprise had been expressed that a person of Colonel Joliffe’s known Whig principles, though now too old to take an active part in the contest, should have remained in Boston during the siege, and especially that he should consent to show himself in the mansion of Sir William Howe. But thither94 he had come with a fair granddaughter under his arm, and there, amid all the mirth and buffoonery, stood this stern old figure, the best-sustained character in the masquerade, because so well representing the antique spirit of his native land. The other guests affirmed that Colonel Joliffe’s black puritanical95 scowl96 threw a shadow round about him, although, in spite of his sombre influence, their gayety continued to blaze higher, like — an ominous97 comparison — the flickering98 brilliancy of a lamp which has but a little while to burn.
Eleven strokes full half an hour ago had pealed101 from the clock of the Old South, when a rumor102 was circulated among the company that some new spectacle or pageant103 was about to be exhibited which should put a fitting close to the splendid festivities of the night.
“What new jest has Your Excellency in hand?” asked the Reverend Mather Byles, whose Presbyterian scruples105 had not kept him from the entertainment. “Trust me, sir, I have already laughed more than beseems my cloth at your Homeric confabulation with yonder ragamuffin general of the rebels. One other such fit of merriment, and I must throw off my clerical wig106 and band.”
“Not so, good Dr. Byles,” answered Sir William Howe; “if mirth were a crime, you had never gained your doctorate107 in divinity. As to this new foolery, I know no more about it than yourself — perhaps not so much. Honestly, now, doctor, have you not stirred up the sober brains of some of your countrymen to enact108 a scene in our masquerade?”
“Perhaps,” slyly remarked the granddaughter of Colonel Joliffe, whose high spirit had been stung by many taunts110 against New England — “perhaps we are to have a masque of allegorical figures — Victory with trophies111 from Lexington and Bunker Hill, Plenty with her overflowing112 horn to typify the present abundance in this good town, and Glory with a wreath for His Excellency’s brow.”
Sir William Howe smiled at words which he would have answered with one of his darkest frowns had they been uttered by lips that wore a beard. He was spared the necessity of a retort by a singular interruption. A sound of music was heard without the house, as if proceeding113 from a full band of military instruments stationed in the street, playing, not such a festal strain as was suited to the occasion, but a slow funeral-march. The drums appeared to be muffled114, and the trumpets115 poured forth a wailing116 breath which at once hushed the merriment of the auditors119, filling all with wonder and some with apprehension120. The idea occurred to many that either the funeral procession of some great personage had halted in front of the province-house, or that a corpse121 in a velvet122-covered and gorgeously-decorated coffin123 was about to be borne from the portal. After listening a moment, Sir William Howe called in a stern voice to the leader of the musicians, who had hitherto enlivened the entertainment with gay and lightsome melodies. The man was drum-major to one of the British regiments125.
“Dighton,” demanded the general, “what means this foolery? Bid your band silence that dead march, or, by my word, they shall have sufficient cause for their lugubrious126 strains. Silence it, sirrah!”
“Please, Your Honor,” answered the drum-major, whose rubicund127 visage had lost all its color, “the fault is none of mine. I and my band are all here together, and I question whether there be a man of us that could play that march without book. I never heard it but once before, and that was at the funeral of his late Majesty128, King George II.”
“Well, well!” said Sir William Howe, recovering his composure; “it is the prelude129 to some masquerading antic. Let it pass.”
A figure now presented itself, but among the many fantastic masks that were dispersed130 through the apartments none could tell precisely131 from whence it came. It was a man in an old-fashioned dress of black serge and having the aspect of a steward132 or principal domestic in the household of a nobleman or great English landholder. This figure advanced to the outer door of the mansion, and, throwing both its leaves wide open, withdrew a little to one side and looked back toward the grand staircase, as if expecting some person to descend55. At the same time, the music in the street sounded a loud and doleful summons. The eyes of Sir William Howe and his guests being directed to the staircase, there appeared on the uppermost landing-place, that was discernible from the bottom, several personages descending toward the door. The foremost was a man of stern visage, wearing a steeple-crowned hat and a skull-cap beneath it, a dark cloak and huge wrinkled boots that came halfway133 up his legs. Under his arm was a rolled-up banner which seemed to be the banner of England, but strangely rent and torn; he had a sword in his right hand and grasped a Bible in his left. The next figure was of milder aspect, yet full of dignity, wearing a broad ruff, over which descended134 a beard, a gown of wrought velvet and a doublet and hose of black satin; he carried a roll of manuscript in his hand. Close behind these two came a young man of very striking countenance135 and demeanor136 with deep thought and contemplation on his brow, and perhaps a flash of enthusiasm in his eye; his garb137, like that of his predecessors138, was of an antique fashion, and there was a stain of blood upon his ruff. In the same group with these were three or four others, all men of dignity and evident command, and bearing themselves like personages who were accustomed to the gaze of the multitude. It was the idea of the beholders that these figures went to join the mysterious funeral that had halted in front of the province-house, yet that supposition seemed to be contradicted by the air of triumph with which they waved their hands as they crossed the threshold and vanished through the portal.
“In the devil’s name, what is this?” muttered Sir William Howe to a gentleman beside him. “A procession of the regicide judges of King Charles the martyr141?”
“These,” said Colonel Joliffe, breaking silence almost for the first time that evening — “these, if I interpret them aright, are the Puritan governors, the rulers of the old original democracy of Massachusetts — Endicott with the banner from which he had torn the symbol of subjection, and Winthrop and Sir Henry Vane and Dudley, Haynes, Bellingham and Leverett.”
“Why had that young man a stain of blood upon his ruff?” asked Miss Joliffe.
“Because in after-years,” answered her grandfather, “he laid down the wisest head in England upon the block for the principles of liberty.”
“Will not Your Excellency order out the guard?” whispered Lord Percy, who, with other British officers, had now assembled round the general. “There may be a plot under this mummery.”
“Tush! we have nothing to fear,” carelessly replied Sir William Howe. “There can be no worse treason in the matter than a jest, and that somewhat of the dullest. Even were it a sharp and bitter one, our best policy would be to laugh it off. See! here come more of these gentry.”
Another group of characters had now partly descended the staircase. The first was a venerable and white-bearded patriarch who cautiously felt his way downward with a staff. Treading hastily behind him, and stretching forth his gauntleted hand as if to grasp the old man’s shoulder, came a tall soldier-like figure equipped with a plumed142 cap of steel, a bright breastplate and a long sword, which rattled143 against the stairs. Next was seen a stout144 man dressed in rich and courtly attire, but not of courtly demeanor; his gait had the swinging motion of a seaman’s walk, and, chancing to stumble on the staircase, he suddenly grew wrathful and was heard to mutter an oath. He was followed by a noble-looking personage in a curled wig such as are represented in the portraits of Queen Anne’s time and earlier, and the breast of his coat was decorated with an embroidered146 star. While advancing to the door he bowed to the right hand and to the left in a very gracious and insinuating147 style, but as he crossed the threshold, unlike the early Puritan governors, he seemed to wring148 his hands with sorrow.
“Prithee, play the part of a chorus, good Dr. Byles,” said Sir William Howe. “What worthies are these?”
“If it please Your Excellency, they lived somewhat before my day,” answered the doctor; “but doubtless our friend the colonel has been hand and glove with them.”
“Their living faces I never looked upon,” said Colonel Joliffe, gravely; “although I have spoken face to face with many rulers of this land, and shall greet yet another with an old man’s blessing149 ere I die. But we talk of these figures. I take the venerable patriarch to be Bradstreet, the last of the Puritans, who was governor at ninety or thereabouts. The next is Sir Edmund Andros, a tyrant150, as any New England schoolboy will tell you, and therefore the people cast him down from his high seat into a dungeon151. Then comes Sir William Phipps, shepherd, cooper, sea-captain and governor. May many of his countrymen rise as high from as low an origin! Lastly, you saw the gracious earl of Bellamont, who ruled us under King William.”
“But what is the meaning of it all?” asked Lord Percy.
“Now, were I a rebel,” said Miss Joliffe, half aloud, “I might fancy that the ghosts of these ancient governors had been summoned to form the funeral procession of royal authority in New England.”
Several other figures were now seen at the turn of the staircase. The one in advance had a thoughtful, anxious and somewhat crafty152 expression of face, and in spite of his loftiness of manner, which was evidently the result both of an ambitious spirit and of long continuance in high stations, he seemed not incapable153 of cringing154 to a greater than himself. A few steps behind came an officer in a scarlet155 and embroidered uniform cut in a fashion old enough to have been worn by the duke of Marlborough. His nose had a rubicund tinge156, which, together with the twinkle of his eye, might have marked him as a lover of the wine-cup and good-fellowship; notwithstanding which tokens, he appeared ill at ease, and often glanced around him as if apprehensive158 of some secret mischief159. Next came a portly gentleman wearing a coat of shaggy cloth lined with silken velvet; he had sense, shrewdness and humor in his face and a folio volume under his arm, but his aspect was that of a man vexed160 and tormented162 beyond all patience and harassed163 almost to death. He went hastily down, and was followed by a dignified person dressed in a purple velvet suit with very rich embroidery164; his demeanor would have possessed much stateliness, only that a grievous fit of the gout compelled him to hobble from stair to stair with contortions165 of face and body. When Dr. Byles beheld this figure on the staircase, he shivered as with an ague, but continued to watch him steadfastly167 until the gouty gentleman had reached the threshold, made a gesture of anguish168 and despair and vanished into the outer gloom, whither the funeral music summoned him.
“Governor Belcher — my old patron — in his very shape and dress!” gasped170 Dr. Byles. “This is an awful mockery.”
“A tedious foolery, rather,” said Sir William Howe, with an air of indifference171. “But who were the three that preceded him?”
“Governor Dudley, a cunning politician; yet his craft once brought him to a prison,” replied Colonel Joliffe. “Governor Shute, formerly a colonel under Marlborough, and whom the people frightened out of the province, and learned Governor Burnett, whom the legislature tormented into a mortal fever.”
“Methinks they were miserable172 men — these royal governors of Massachusetts,” observed Miss Joliffe. “Heavens! how dim the light grows!”
It was certainly a fact that the large lamp which illuminated173 the staircase now burned dim and duskily; so that several figures which passed hastily down the stairs and went forth from the porch appeared rather like shadows than persons of fleshly substance.
Sir William Howe and his guests stood at the doors of the contiguous apartments watching the progress of this singular pageant with various emotions of anger, contempt or half-acknowledged fear, but still with an anxious curiosity. The shapes which now seemed hastening to join the mysterious procession were recognized rather by striking peculiarities175 of dress or broad characteristics of manner than by any perceptible resemblance of features to their prototypes. Their faces, indeed, were invariably kept in deep shadow, but Dr. Byles and other gentlemen who had long been familiar with the successive rulers of the province were heard to whisper the names of Shirley, of Pownall, of Sir Francis Bernard and of the well-remembered Hutchinson, thereby confessing that the actors, whoever they might be, in this spectral177 march of governors had succeeded in putting on some distant portraiture178 of the real personages. As they vanished from the door, still did these shadows toss their arms into the gloom of night with a dread179 expression of woe180. Following the mimic181 representative of Hutchinson came a military figure holding before his face the cocked hat which he had taken from his powdered head, but his epaulettes and other insignia of rank were those of a general officer, and something in his mien182 reminded the beholders of one who had recently been master of the province-house and chief of all the land.
“The shape of Gage, as true as in a looking-glass!” exclaimed Lord Percy, turning pale.
“No, surely,” cried Miss Joliffe, laughing hysterically183; “it could not be Gage, or Sir William would have greeted his old comrade in arms. Perhaps he will not suffer the next to pass unchallenged.”
“Of that be assured, young lady,” answered Sir William Howe, fixing his eyes with a very marked expression upon the immovable visage of her grandfather. “I have long enough delayed to pay the ceremonies of a host to these departing guests; the next that takes his leave shall receive due courtesy.”
A wild and dreary184 burst of music came through the open door. It seemed as it the procession, which had been gradually filling up its ranks, were now about to move, and that this loud peal100 of the wailing trumpets and roll of the muffled drums were a call to some loiterer to make haste. Many eyes, by an irresistible185 impulse, were turned upon Sir William Howe, as if it were he whom the dreary music summoned to the funeral of departed power.
“See! here comes the last,” whispered Miss Joliffe, pointing her tremulous finger to the staircase.
A figure had come into view as if descending the stairs, although so dusky was the region whence it emerged some of the spectators fancied that they had seen this human shape suddenly moulding itself amid the gloom. Downward the figure came with a stately and martial186 tread, and, reaching the lowest stair, was observed to be a tall man booted and wrapped in a military cloak, which was drawn187 up around the face so as to meet the napped brim of a laced hat; the features, therefore, were completely hidden. But the British officers deemed that they had seen that military cloak before, and even recognized the frayed188 embroidery on the collar, as well as the gilded scabbard of a sword which protruded189 from the folds of the cloak and glittered in a vivid gleam of light. Apart from these trifling190 particulars there were characteristics of gait and bearing which impelled191 the wondering guests to glance from the shrouded192 figure to Sir William Howe, as if to satisfy themselves that their host had not suddenly vanished from the midst of them. With a dark flush of wrath145 upon his brow, they saw the general draw his sword and advance to meet the figure in the cloak before the latter had stepped one pace upon the floor.
“Villain, unmuffle yourself!” cried he. “You pass no farther.”
The figure, without blenching194 a hair’s-breadth from the sword which was pointed195 at his breast, made a solemn pause and lowered the cape196 of the cloak from about his face, yet not sufficiently197 for the spectators to catch a glimpse of it. But Sir William Howe had evidently seen enough. The sternness of his countenance gave place to a look of wild amazement198, if not horror, while he recoiled199 several steps from the figure and let fall his sword upon the floor. The martial shape again drew the cloak about his features and passed on, but, reaching the threshold with his back toward the spectators, he was seen to stamp his foot and shake his clenched200 hands in the air. It was afterward201 affirmed that Sir William Howe had repeated that selfsame gesture of rage and sorrow when for the last time, and as the last royal governor, he passed through the portal of the province-house.
“Hark! The procession moves,” said Miss Joliffe.
The music was dying away along the street, and its dismal202 strains were mingled with the knell203 of midnight from the steeple of the Old South and with the roar of artillery204 which announced that the beleaguered army of Washington had intrenched itself upon a nearer height than before. As the deep boom of the cannon205 smote206 upon his ear Colonel Joliffe raised himself to the full height of his aged207 form and smiled sternly on the British general.
“Would Your Excellency inquire further into the mystery of the pageant?” said he.
“Take care of your gray head!” cried Sir William Howe, fiercely, though with a quivering lip. “It has stood too long on a traitor208’s shoulders.”
“You must make haste to chop it off, then,” calmly replied the colonel, “for a few hours longer, and not all the power of Sir William Howe, nor of his master, shall cause one of these gray hairs to fall. The empire of Britain in this ancient province is at its last gasp169 to-night; almost while I speak it is a dead corpse, and methinks the shadows of the old governors are fit mourners at its funeral.”
With these words Colonel Joliffe threw on his cloak, and, drawing his granddaughter’s arm within his own, retired209 from the last festival that a British ruler ever held in the old province of Massachusetts Bay. It was supposed that the colonel and the young lady possessed some secret intelligence in regard to the mysterious pageant of that night. However this might be, such knowledge has never become general. The actors in the scene have vanished into deeper obscurity than even that wild Indian hand who scattered210 the cargoes211 of the tea-ships on the waves and gained a place in history, yet left no names. But superstition212, among other legends of this mansion, repeats the wondrous213 tale that on the anniversary night of Britain’s discomfiture214 the ghosts of the ancient governors of Massachusetts still glide215 through the portal of the Province House. And last of all comes a figure shrouded in a military cloak, tossing his clenched hands into the air and stamping his iron-shod boots upon the broad freestone steps with a semblance176 of feverish216 despair, but without the sound of a foot-tramp.
When the truth-telling accents of the elderly gentleman were hushed, I drew a long breath and looked round the room, striving with the best energy of my imagination to throw a tinge of romance and historic grandeur over the realities of the scene. But my nostrils217 snuffed up a scent45 of cigar-smoke, clouds of which the narrator had emitted by way of visible emblem218, I suppose, of the nebulous obscurity of his tale. Moreover, my gorgeous fantasies were woefully disturbed by the rattling219 of the spoon in a tumbler of whiskey-punch which Mr. Thomas Waite was mingling220 for a customer. Nor did it add to the picturesque221 appearance of the panelled walls that the slate222 of the Brookline stage was suspended against them, instead of the armorial escutcheon of some far-descended governor. A stage-driver sat at one of the windows reading a penny paper of the day — the Boston Times — and presenting a figure which could nowise be brought into any picture of “Times in Boston” seventy or a hundred years ago. On the window-seat lay a bundle neatly223 done up in brown paper, the direction of which I had the idle curiosity to read: “MISS SUSAN HUGGINS, at the PROVINCE HOUSE.” A pretty chambermaid, no doubt. In truth, it is desperately224 hard work when we attempt to throw the spell of hoar antiquity225 over localities with which the living world and the day that is passing over us have aught to do. Yet, as I glanced at the stately staircase down which the procession of the old governors had descended, and as I emerged through the venerable portal whence their figures had preceded me, it gladdened me to be conscious of a thrill of awe226. Then, diving through the narrow archway, a few strides transported me into the densest227 throng19 of Washington street.
II.
Edward Randolph’s Portrait.
The old legendary228 guest of the Province House abode229 in my remembrance from midsummer till January. One idle evening last winter, confident that he would be found in the snuggest230 corner of the bar-room, I resolved to pay him another visit, hoping to deserve well of my country by snatching from oblivion some else unheard-of fact of history. The night was chill and raw, and rendered boisterous231 by almost a gale232 of wind which whistled along Washington street, causing the gaslights to flare233 and flicker99 within the lamps.
As I hurried onward234 my fancy was busy with a comparison between the present aspect of the street and that which it probably wore when the British governors inhabited the mansion whither I was now going. Brick edifices235 in those times were few till a succession of destructive fires had swept, and swept again, the wooden dwellings236 and warehouses238 from the most populous239 quarters of the town. The buildings stood insulated and independent, not, as now, merging240 their separate existences into connected ranges with a front of tiresome241 identity, but each possessing features of its own, as if the owner’s individual taste had shaped it, and the whole presenting a picturesque irregularity the absence of which is hardly compensated242 by any beauties of our modern architecture. Such a scene, dimly vanishing from the eye by the ray of here and there a tallow candle glimmering243 through the small panes244 of scattered windows, would form a sombre contrast to the street as I beheld it with the gaslights blazing from corner to corner, flaming within the shops and throwing a noonday brightness through the huge plates of glass. But the black, lowering sky, as I turned my eyes upward, wore, doubtless, the same visage as when it frowned upon the ante-Revolutionary New Englanders. The wintry blast had the same shriek245 that was familiar to their ears. The Old South Church, too, still pointed its antique spire into the darkness and was lost between earth and heaven, and, as I passed, its clock, which had warned so many generations how transitory was their lifetime, spoke65 heavily and slow the same unregarded moral to myself. “Only seven o’clock!” thought I. “My old friend’s legends will scarcely kill the hours ‘twixt this and bedtime.”
Passing through the narrow arch, I crossed the courtyard, the confined precincts of which were made visible by a lantern over the portal of the Province House. On entering the bar-room, I found, as I expected, the old tradition-monger seated by a special good fire of anthracite, compelling clouds of smoke from a corpulent cigar. He recognized me with evident pleasure, for my rare properties as a patient listener invariably make me a favorite with elderly gentlemen and ladies of narrative propensites. Drawing a chair to the fire, I desired mine host to favor us with a glass apiece of whiskey-punch, which was speedily prepared, steaming hot, with a slice of lemon at the bottom, a dark-red stratum246 of port wine upon the surface and a sprinkling of nutmeg strewn over all. As we touched our glasses together, my legendary friend made himself known to me as Mr. Bela Tiffany, and I rejoiced at the oddity of the name, because it gave his image and character a sort of individuality in my conception. The old gentleman’s draught247 acted as a solvent248 upon his memory, so that it overflowed249 with tales, traditions, anecdotes250 of famous dead people and traits of ancient manners, some of which were childish as a nurse’s lullaby, while others might have been worth the notice of the grave historian. Nothing impressed me more than a story of a black mysterious picture which used to hang in one of the chambers of the Province House, directly above the room where we were now sitting. The following is as correct a version of the fact as the reader would be likely to obtain from any other source, although, assuredly, it has a tinge of romance approaching to the marvellous.
In one of the apartments of the province-house there was long preserved an ancient picture the frame of which was as black as ebony, and the canvas itself so dark with age, damp and smoke that not a touch of the painter’s art could be discerned. Time had thrown an impenetrable veil over it and left to tradition and fable252 and conjecture253 to say what had once been there portrayed254. During the rule of many successive governors it had hung, by prescriptive and undisputed right, over the mantel piece of the same chamber, and it still kept its place when Lieutenant-governor Hutchinson assumed the administration of the province on the departure of Sir Francis Bernard.
The lieutenant-governor sat one afternoon resting his head against the carved back of his stately arm-chair and gazing up thoughtfully at the void blackness of the picture. It was scarcely a time for such inactive musing255, when affairs of the deepest moment required the ruler’s decision; for within that very hour Hutchinson had received intelligence of the arrival of a British fleet bringing three regiments from Halifax to overawe the insubordination of the people. These troops awaited his permission to occupy the fortress256 of Castle William and the town itself, yet, instead of affixing258 his signature to an official order, there sat the lieutenant-governor so carefully scrutinizing259 the black waste of canvas that his demeanor attracted the notice of two young persons who attended him. One, wearing a military dress of buff, was his kinsman260, Francis Lincoln, the provincial captain of Castle William; the other, who sat on a low stool beside his chair, was Alice Vane, his favorite niece. She was clad entirely261 in white — a pale, ethereal creature who, though a native of New England, had been educated abroad and seemed not merely a stranger from another clime, but almost a being from another world. For several years, until left an orphan262, she had dwelt with her father in sunny Italy, and there had acquired a taste and enthusiasm for sculpture and painting which she found few opportunities of gratifying in the undecorated dwellings of the colonial gentry. It was said that the early productions of her own pencil exhibited no inferior genius, though perhaps the rude atmosphere of New England had cramped263 her hand and dimmed the glowing colors of her fancy. But, observing her uncle’s steadfast166 gaze, which appeared to search through the mist of years to discover the subject of the picture, her curiosity was excited.
“Is it known, my dear uncle,” inquired she, “what this old picture once represented? Possibly, could it be made visible, it might prove a masterpiece of some great artist; else why has it so long held such a conspicuous264 place?”
As her uncle, contrary to his usual custom — for he was as attentive265 to all the humors and caprices of Alice as if she had been his own best-beloved child — did not immediately reply, the young captain of Castle William took that office upon himself.
“This dark old square of canvas, my fair cousin,” said he, “has been an heirloom in the province-house from time immemorial. As to the painter, I can tell you nothing; but if half the stories told of it be true, not one of the great Italian masters has ever produced so marvellous a piece of work as that before you.”
Captain Lincoln proceeded to relate some of the strange fables266 and fantasies which, as it was impossible to refute them by ocular demonstration268, had grown to be articles of popular belief in reference to this old picture. One of the wildest, and at the same time the best-accredited, accounts stated it to be an original and authentic269 portrait of the evil one, taken at a witch-meeting near Salem, and that its strong and terrible resemblance had been confirmed by several of the confessing wizards and witches at their trial in open court. It was likewise affirmed that a familiar spirit or demon267 abode behind the blackness of the picture, and had shown himself at seasons of public calamity270 to more than one of the royal governors. Shirley, for instance, had beheld this ominous apparition271 on the eve of General Abercrombie’s shameful272 and bloody273 defeat under the walls of Ticonderoga. Many of the servants of the province-house had caught glimpses of a visage frowning down upon them at morning or evening twilight274, or in the depths of night while raking up the fire that glimmered275 on the hearth276 beneath, although, if any were, bold enough to hold a torch before the picture, it would appear as black and undistinguishable as ever. The oldest inhabitant of Boston recollected277 that his father — in whose days the portrait had not wholly faded out of sight — had once looked upon it, but would never suffer himself to be questioned as to the face which was there represented. In connection with such stories, it was remarkable278 that over the top of the frame there were some ragged279 remnants of black silk, indicating that a veil had formerly hung down before the picture until the duskiness of time had so effectually concealed281 it. But, after all, it was the most singular part of the affair that so many of the pompous282 governors of Massachusetts had allowed the obliterated283 picture to remain in the state-chamber of the province-house.
“Some of these fables are really awful,” observed Alice Vane, who had occasionally shuddered284 as well as smiled while her cousin spoke. “It would be almost worth while to wipe away the black surface of the canvas, since the original picture can hardly be so formidable as those which fancy paints instead of it.”
“But would it be possible,” inquired her cousin,” to restore this dark picture to its pristine286 hues287?”
“Such arts are known in Italy,” said Alice.
The lieutenant-governor had roused himself from his abstracted mood, and listened with a smile to the conversation of his young relatives. Yet his voice had something peculiar174 in its tones when he undertook the explanation of the mystery.
“I am sorry, Alice, to destroy your faith in the legends of which you are so fond,” remarked he, “but my antiquarian researches have long since made me acquainted with the subject of this picture — if picture it can be called — which is no more visible, nor ever will be, than the face of the long-buried man whom it once represented. It was the portrait of Edward Randolph, the founder of this house, a person famous in the history of New England.”
“Of that Edward Randolph,” exclaimed Captain Lincoln, “who obtained the repeal288 of the first provincial charter, under which our forefathers289 had enjoyed almost democratic privileges — he that was styled the arch-enemy of New England, and whose memory is still held in detestation as the destroyer of our liberties?”
“It was the same Randolph,” answered Hutchinson, moving uneasily in his chair. “It was his lot to taste the bitterness of popular odium.”
“Our annals tell us,” continued the captain of Castle William, “that the curse of the people followed this Randolph where he went and wrought evil in all the subsequent events of his life, and that its effect was seen, likewise, in the manner of his death. They say, too, that the inward misery291 of that curse worked itself outward and was visible on the wretched man’s countenance, making it too horrible to be looked upon. If so, and if this picture truly represented his aspect, it was in mercy that the cloud of blackness has gathered over it.”
“These traditions are folly293 to one who has proved, as I have, how little of historic truth lies at the bottom,” said the lieutenant-governor. “As regards the life and character of Edward Randolph, too implicit294 credence295 has been given to Dr. Cotton Mather, who — I must say it, though some of his blood runs in my veins296 — has filled our early history with old women’s tales as fanciful and extravagant297 as those of Greece or Rome.”
“And yet,” whispered Alice Vane, “may not such fables have a moral? And methinks, if the visage of this portrait be so dreadful, it is not without a cause that it has hung so long in a chamber of the province-house. When the rulers feel themselves irresponsible, it were well that they should be reminded of the awful weight of a people’s curse.”
The lieutenant-governor started and gazed for a moment at his niece, as if her girlish fantasies had struck upon some feeling in his own breast which all his policy or principles could not entirely subdue298. He knew, indeed, that Alice, in spite of her foreign education, retained the native sympathies of a New England girl.
“Peace, silly child!” cried he, at last, more harshly than he had ever before addressed the gentle Alice. “The rebuke299 of a king; is more to be dreaded300 than the clamor of a wild, misguided multitude. — Captain Lincoln, it is decided301: the fortress of Castle William must be occupied by the royal troops. The two remaining regiments shall be billeted in the town or encamped upon the Common. It is time, after years of tumult302, and almost rebellion, that His Majesty’s government should have a wall of strength about it.”
“Trust, sir — trust yet a while to the loyalty of the people,” said Captain Lincoln, “nor teach them that they can ever be on other terms with British soldiers than those of brotherhood303, as when they fought side by side through the French war. Do not convert the streets of your native town into a camp. Think twice before you give up old Castle William, the key of the province, into other keeping than that of true-born New Englanders.”
“Young man, it is decided,” repeated Hutchinson, rising from his chair. “A British officer will be in attendance this evening to receive the necessary instructions for the disposal of the troops. Your presence also will be required. Till then, farewell.”
With these words the lieutenant-governor hastily left the room, while Alice and her cousin more slowly followed, whispering together, and once pausing to glance back at the mysterious picture. The captain of Castle William fancied that the girl’s air and mien were such as might have belonged to one of those spirits of fable — fairies or creatures of a more antique mythology304 — who sometimes mingled their agency with mortal affairs, half in caprice, yet with a sensibility to human weal or woe. As he held the door for her to pass Alice beckoned305 to the picture and smiled.
“Come forth, dark and evil shape!” cried she. “It is thine hour.”
In the evening Lieutenant-governor Hutchinson sat in the same chamber where the foregoing scene had occurred, surrounded by several persons whose various interests had summoned them together. There were the selectmen of Boston — plain patriarchal fathers of the people, excellent representatives of the old puritanical founders306 whose sombre strength had stamped so deep an impress upon the New England character. Contrasting with these were one or two members of council, richly dressed in the white wigs307, the embroidered waistcoats and other magnificence of the time, and making a somewhat ostentatious display of courtier-like ceremonial. In attendance, likewise, was a major of the British army, awaiting the lieutenant-governor’s orders for the landing of the troops, which still remained on board the transports. The captain of Castle William stood beside Hutchinson’s chair, with folded arms, glancing rather haughtily308 at the British officer by whom he was soon to be superseded309 in his command. On a table in the centre of the chamber stood a branched silver candlestick, throwing down the glow of half a dozen waxlights upon a paper apparently310 ready for the lieutenant-governor’s signature.
Partly shrouded in the voluminous folds of one of the window-curtains, which fell from the ceiling to the floor, was seen the white drapery of a lady’s robe. It may appear strange that Alice Vane should have been there at such a time, but there was something so childlike, so wayward, in her singular character, so apart from ordinary rules, that her presence did not surprise the few who noticed it. Meantime, the chairman of the selectmen was addressing to the lieutenant-governor a long and solemn protest against the reception of the British troops into the town.
“And if Your Honor,” concluded this excellent but somewhat prosy old gentleman, “shall see fit to persist in bringing these mercenary sworders and musketeers into our quiet streets, not on our heads be the responsibility. Think, sir, while there is yet time, that if one drop of blood be shed, that blood shall be an eternal stain upon Your Honor’s memory. You, sir, have written with an able pen the deeds of our forefathers; the more to be desired is it, therefore, that yourself should deserve honorable mention as a true patriot311 and upright ruler when your own doings shall be written down in history.”
“I am not insensible, my good sir, to the natural desire to stand well in the annals of my country,” replied Hutchinson, controlling his impatience312 into courtesy, “nor know I any better method of attaining313 that end than by withstanding the merely temporary spirit of mischief which, with your pardon, seems to have infected older men than myself. Would you have me wait till the mob shall sack the province-house as they did my private mansion? Trust me, sir, the time may come when you will be glad to flee for protection to the king’s banner, the raising of which is now so distasteful to you.”
“Yes,” said the British major, who was impatiently expecting the lieutenant-governor’s orders. “The demagogues of this province have raised the devil, and cannot lay him again. We will exorcise him in God’s name and the king’s.”
“If you meddle314 with the devil, take care of his claws,” answered the captain of Castle William, stirred by the taunt109 against his countrymen.
“Craving your pardon, young sir,” said the venerable selectman, “let not an evil spirit enter into your words. We will strive against the oppressor with prayer and fasting, as our forefathers would have done. Like them, moreover, we will submit to whatever lot a wise Providence315 may send us — always after our own best exertions316 to amend317 it.”
“And there peep forth the devil’s claws!” muttered Hutchinson, who well understood the nature of Puritan submission318. “This matter shall be expedited forthwith. When there shall be a sentinel at every corner and a court of guard before the town-house, a loyal gentleman may venture to walk abroad. What to me is the outcry of a mob in this remote province of the realm? The king is my master, and England is my country; upheld by their armed strength, I set my foot upon the rabble319 and defy them.”
He snatched a pen and was about to affix257 his signature to the paper that lay on the table, when the captain of Castle William placed his hand upon his shoulder. The freedom of the action, so contrary to the ceremonious respect which was then considered due to rank and dignity, awakened320 general surprise, and in none more than in the lieutenant-governor himself. Looking angrily up, he perceived that his young relative was pointing his finger to the opposite wall. Hutchinson’s eye followed the signal, and he saw what had hitherto been unobserved — that a black silk curtain was suspended before the mysterious picture, so as completely to conceal280 it. His thoughts immediately recurred321 to the scene of the preceding afternoon, and in his surprise, confused by indistinct emotions, yet sensible that his niece must have had an agency in this phenomenon, he called loudly upon her:
“Alice! Come hither, Alice!”
No sooner had he spoken than Alice Vane glided322 from her station, and, pressing one hand across her eyes, with the other snatched away the sable323 curtain that concealed the portrait. An exclamation324 of surprise burst from every beholder139, but the lieutenant-governor’s voice had a tone of horror.
“By Heaven!” said he, in a low inward murmur325, speaking rather to himself than to those around him; “if the spirit of Edward Randolph were to appear among us from the place of torment161, he could not wear more of the terrors of hell upon his face.”
“For some wise end,” said the aged selectman, solemnly, “hath Providence scattered away the mist of years that had so long hid this dreadful effigy326. Until this hour no living man hath seen what we behold140.”
Within the antique frame which so recently had enclosed a sable waste of canvas now appeared a visible picture-still dark, indeed, in its hues and shadings, but thrown forward in strong relief. It was a half-length figure of a gentleman in a rich but very old-fashioned dress of embroidered velvet, with a broad ruff and a beard, and wearing a hat the brim of which overshadowed his forehead. Beneath this cloud the eyes had a peculiar glare which was almost lifelike. The whole portrait started so distinctly out of the background that it had the effect of a person looking down from the wall at the astonished and awe-stricken spectators. The expression of the face, if any words can convey an idea of it, was that of a wretch292 detected in some hideous327 guilt328 and exposed to the bitter hatred329 and laughter and withering330 scorn of a vast surrounding multitude. There was the struggle of defiance331, beaten down and overwhelmed by the crushing weight of ignominy. The torture of the soul had come forth upon the countenance. It seemed as if the picture, while hidden behind the cloud of immemorial years, had been all the time acquiring an intenser depth and darkness of expression, till now it gloomed forth again and threw its evil omen124 over the present hour. Such, if the wild legend may be credited, was the portrait of Edward Randolph as he appeared when a people’s curse had wrought its influence upon his nature.
“‘Twould drive me mad, that awful face,” said Hutchinson, who seemed fascinated by the contemplation of it.
“Be warned, then,” whispered Alice. “He trampled332 on a people’s rights. Behold his punishment, and avoid a crime like his.”
The lieutenant-governor actually trembled for an instant, but, exerting his energy — which was not, however, his most characteristic feature — he strove to shake off the spell of Randolph’s countenance.
“Girl,” cried he, laughing bitterly, as he turned to Alice, “have you brought hither your painter’s art, your Italian spirit of intrigue333, your tricks of stage-effect, and think to influence the councils of rulers and the affairs of nations by such shallow contrivances? See here!”
“Stay yet a while,” said the selectman as Hutchinson again snatched the pen; “for if ever mortal man received a warning from a tormented soul, Your Honor is that man.”
“Away!” answered Hutchinson, fiercely. “Though yonder senseless picture cried ‘Forbear!’ it should not move me!”
Casting a scowl of defiance at the pictured face — which seemed at that moment to intensify334 the horror of its miserable and wicked look — he scrawled335 on the paper, in characters that betokened336 it a deed of desperation, the name of Thomas Hutchinson. Then, it is said, he shuddered, as if that signature had granted away his salvation337.
“It is done,” said he, and placed his hand upon his brow.
“May Heaven forgive the deed!” said the soft, sad accents of Alice Vane, like the voice of a good spirit flitting away.
When morning came, there was a stifled338 whisper through the household, and spreading thence about the town, that the dark mysterious picture had started from the wall and spoken face to face with Lieutenant-governor Hutchinson. If such a miracle had been wrought, however, no traces of it remained behind; for within the antique frame nothing could be discerned save the impenetrable cloud which had covered the canvas since the memory of man. If the figure had, indeed, stepped forth, it had fled back, spirit-like, at the day-dawn, and hidden itself behind a century’s obscurity. The truth probably was that Alice Vane’s secret for restoring the hues of the picture had merely effected a temporary renovation339. But those who in that brief interval340 had beheld the awful visage of Edward Randolph desired no second glance, and ever afterward trembled at the recollection of the scene, as if an evil spirit had appeared visibly among them. And, as for Hutchinson, when, far over the ocean, his dying-hour drew on, he gasped for breath and complained that he was choking with the blood of the Boston Massacre341, and Francis Lincoln, the former captain of Castle William, who was standing157 at his bedside, perceived a likeness342 in his frenzied343 look to that of Edward Randolph. Did his broken spirit feel at that dread hour the tremendous burden of a people’s curse?
At the conclusion of this miraculous344 legend I inquired of mine host whether the picture still remained in the chamber over our heads, but Mr. Tiffany informed me that it had long since been removed, and was supposed to be hidden in some out-of-the-way corner of the New England Museum. Perchance some curious antiquary may light upon it there, and, with the assistance of Mr. Howorth, the picture-cleaner, may supply a not unnecessary proof of the authenticity345 of the facts here set down.
During the progress of the story a storm had been gathering346 abroad and raging and rattling so loudly in the upper regions of the Province House that it seemed as if all the old governors and great men were running riot above stairs while Mr. Bela Tiffany babbled347 of them below. In the course of generations, when many people have lived and died in an ancient house, the whistling of the wind through its crannies and the creaking of its beams and rafters become strangely like the tones of the human voice, or thundering laughter, or heavy footsteps treading the deserted348 chambers. It is as if the echoes of half a century were revived. Such were the ghostly sounds that roared and murmured in our ears when I took leave of the circle round the fireside of the Province House and, plunging349 down the doorsteps, fought my way homeward against a drifting snow-storm.
III.
Lady Eleanore’s Mantle350.
Mine excellent friend the landlord of the Province House was pleased the other evening to invite Mr. Tiffany and myself to an oyster-supper. This slight mark of respect and gratitude351, as he handsomely observed, was far less than the ingenious tale-teller, and I, the humble352 note-taker of his narratives353, had fairly earned by the public notice which our joint354 lucubrations had attracted to his establishment. Many a cigar had been smoked within his premises355, many a glass of wine or more potent356 aqua vit? had been quaffed, many a dinner had been eaten, by curious strangers who, save for the fortunate conjunction of Mr. Tiffany and me, would never have ventured through that darksome avenue which gives access to the historic precincts of the Province House. In short, if any credit be due to the courteous357 assurances of Mr. Thomas Waite, we had brought his forgotten mansion almost as effectually into public view as if we had thrown down the vulgar range of shoe-shops and dry-good stores which hides its aristocratic front from Washington street. It may be unadvisable, however, to speak too loudly of the increased custom of the house, lest Mr. Waite should find it difficult to renew the lease on so favorable terms as heretofore.
Being thus welcomed as benefactors358, neither Mr. Tiffany nor myself felt any scruple71 in doing full justice to the good things that were set before us. If the feast were less magnificent than those same panelled walls had witnessed in a bygone century; if mine host presided with somewhat less of state than might have befitted a successor of the royal governors; if the guests made a less imposing359 show than the bewigged and powdered and embroidered dignitaries who erst banqueted at the gubernatorial table and now sleep within their armorial tombs on Copp’s Hill or round King’s Chapel360, — yet never, I may boldly say, did a more comfortable little party assemble in the province-house from Queen Anne’s days to the Revolution. The occasion was rendered more interesting by the presence of a venerable personage whose own actual reminiscences went back to the epoch361 of Gage and Howe, and even supplied him with a doubtful anecdote251 or two of Hutchinson. He was one of that small, and now all but extinguished, class whose attachment362 to royalty363, and to the colonial institutions and customs that were connected with it, had never yielded to the democratic heresies364 of after-times. The young queen of Britain has not a more loyal subject in her realm — perhaps not one who would kneel before her throne with such reverential love — as this old grandsire whose head has whitened beneath the mild sway of the republic which still in his mellower365 moments he terms a usurpation366. Yet prejudices so obstinate367 have not made him an ungentle or impracticable companion. If the truth must be told, the life of the aged loyalist has been of such a scrambling368 and unsettled character — he has had so little choice of friends and been so often destitute369 of any — that I doubt whether he would refuse a cup of kindness with either Oliver Cromwell or John Hancock, to say nothing of any democrat290 now upon the stage. In another paper of this series I may perhaps give the reader a closer glimpse of his portrait.
Our host in due season uncorked a bottle of Madeira of such exquisite370 perfume and admirable flavor that he surely must have discovered it in an ancient bin371 down deep beneath the deepest cellar where some jolly old butler stored away the governor’s choicest wine and forgot to reveal the secret on his death-bed. Peace to his red-nosed ghost and a libation to his memory! This precious liquor was imbibed372 by Mr. Tiffany with peculiar zest, and after sipping the third glass it was his pleasure to give us one of the oddest legends which he had yet raked from the storehouse where he keeps such matters. With some suitable adornments from my own fancy, it ran pretty much as follows.
Not long after Colonel Shute had assumed the government of Massachusetts Bay — now nearly a hundred and twenty years ago — a young lady of rank and fortune arrived from England to claim his protection as her guardian374. He was her distant relative, but the nearest who had survived the gradual extinction375 of her family; so that no more eligible376 shelter could be found for the rich and high-born Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe than within the province-house of a Transatlantic colony. The consort377 of Governor Shute, moreover, had been as a mother to her childhood, and was now anxious to receive her in the hope that a beautiful young woman would be exposed to infinitely378 less peril379 from the primitive380 society of New England than amid the artifices381 and corruptions382 of a court. If either the governor or his lady had especially consulted their own comfort, they would probably have sought to devolve the responsibility on other hands, since with some noble and splendid traits of character Lady Eleanore was remarkable for a harsh, unyielding pride, a haughty383 consciousness of her hereditary384 and personal advantages, which made her almost incapable of control. Judging from many traditionary anecdotes, this peculiar temper was hardly less than a monomania; or if the acts which it inspired were those of a sane385 person, it seemed due from Providence that pride so sinful should be followed by as severe a retribution. That tinge of the marvellous which is thrown over so many of these half-forgotten legends has probably imparted an additional wildness to the strange story of Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe.
The ship in which she came passenger had arrived at Newport, whence Lady Eleanore was conveyed to Boston in the governor’s coach, attended by a small escort of gentlemen on horseback. The ponderous equipage, with its four black horses, attracted much notice as it rumbled386 through Cornhill surrounded by the prancing387 steeds of half a dozen cavaliers with swords dangling388 to their stirrups and pistols at their holsters. Through the large glass windows of the coach, as it rolled along, the people could discern the figure of Lady Eleanore, strangely combining an almost queenly stateliness with the grace and beauty of a maiden389 in her teens. A singular tale had gone abroad among the ladies of the province that their fair rival was indebted for much of the irresistible charm of her appearance to a certain article of dress — an embroidered mantle — which had been wrought by the most skilful artist in London, and possessed even magical properties of adornment373. On the present occasion, however, she owed nothing to the witchery of dress, being clad in a riding-habit of velvet which would have appeared stiff and ungraceful on any other form.
The coachman reined390 in his four black steeds, and the whole cavalcade391 came to a pause in front of the contorted iron balustrade that fenced the province-house from the public street. It was an awkward coincidence that the bell of the Old South was just then tolling392 for a funeral; so that, instead of a gladsome peal with which it was customary to announce the arrival of distinguished393 strangers, Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe was ushered394 by a doleful clang, as if calamity had come embodied395 in her beautiful person.
“A very great disrespect!” exclaimed Captain Langford, an English officer who had recently brought despatches to Governor Shute. “The funeral should have been deferred396 lest Lady Eleanore’s spirits be affected397 by such a dismal welcome.”
“With your pardon, sir,” replied Dr. Clarke, a physician and a famous champion of the popular party, “whatever the heralds398 may pretend, a dead beggar must have precedence of a living queen. King Death confers high privileges.”
These remarks-were interchanged while the speakers waited a passage through the crowd which had gathered on each side of the gateway399, leaving an open avenue to the portal of the province-house. A black slave in livery now leaped from behind the coach and threw open the door, while at the same moment Governor Shute descended the flight of steps from his mansion to assist Lady Eleanore in alighting. But the governor’s stately approach was anticipated in a manner that excited general astonishment400. A pale young man with his black hair all in disorder401 rushed from the throng and prostrated402 himself beside the coach, thus offering his person as a footstool for Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe to tread upon. She held back an instant, yet with an expression as if doubting whether the young man were worthy to bear the weight of her footstep rather than dissatisfied to receive such awful reverence404 from a fellow-mortal.
“Up, sir!” said the governor, sternly, at the same time lifting his cane405 over the intruder. “What means the Bedlamite by this freak?”
“Nay406,” answered Lady Eleanore, playfully, but with more scorn than pity in her tone; “Your Excellency shall not strike him. When men seek only to be trampled upon, it were a pity to deny them a favor so easily granted — and so well deserved!” Then, though as lightly as a sunbeam on a cloud, she placed her foot upon the cowering407 form and extended her hand to meet that of the governor.
There was a brief interval during which Lady Eleanore retained this attitude, and never, surely, was there an apter emblem of aristocracy and hereditary pride trampling408 on human sympathies and the kindred of nature than these two figures presented at that moment. Yet the spectators were so smitten409 with her beauty, and so essential did pride seem to the existence of such a creature, that they gave a simultaneous acclamation of applause.
“Who is this insolent410 young fellow?” inquired Captain Langford, who still remained beside Dr. Clarke. “If he be in his senses, his impertinence demands the bastinado; if mad, Lady Eleanore should be secured from further inconvenience by his confinement411.”
“His name is Jervase Helwyse,” answered the doctor — “a youth of no birth or fortune, or other advantages save the mind and soul that nature gave him; and, being secretary to our colonial agent in London, it was his misfortune to meet this Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe. He loved her, and her scorn has driven him mad.”
“He was mad so to aspire,” observed the English officer.
“It may be so,” said Dr. Clarke, frowning as he spoke; “but I tell you, sir, I could wellnigh doubt the justice of the Heaven above us if no signal humiliation412 overtake this lady who now treads so haughtily into yonder mansion. She seeks to place herself above the sympathies of our common nature, which envelops413 all human souls; see if that nature do not assert its claim over her in some mode that shall bring her level with the lowest.”
“Never!” cried Captain Langford, indignantly — “neither in life nor when they lay her with her ancestors.”
Not many days afterward the governor gave a ball in honor of Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe. The principal gentry of the colony received invitations, which were distributed to their residences far and near by messengers on horseback bearing missives sealed with all the formality of official despatches. In obedience414 to the summons, there was a general gathering of rank, wealth and beauty, and the wide door of the province-house had seldom given admittance to more numerous and honorable guests than on the evening of Lady Eleanore’s ball. Without much extravagance of eulogy415, the spectacle might even be termed splendid, for, according to the fashion of the times, the ladies shone in rich silks and satins outspread over wide-projecting hoops416, and the gentlemen glittered in gold embroidery laid unsparingly upon the purple or scarlet or sky-blue velvet which was the material of their coats and waistcoats. The latter article of dress was of great importance, since it enveloped417 the wearer’s body nearly to the knees and was perhaps bedizened with the amount of his whole year’s income in golden flowers and foliage418. The altered taste of the present day — a taste symbolic419 of a deep change in the whole system of society — would look upon almost any of those gorgeous figures as ridiculous, although that evening the guests sought their reflections in the pier-glasses and rejoiced to catch their own glitter amid the glittering crowd. What a pity that one of the stately mirrors has not preserved a picture of the scene which by the very traits that were so transitory might have taught us much that would be worth knowing and remembering!
Would, at least, that either painter or mirror could convey to us some faint idea of a garment already noticed in this legend — the Lady Eleanore’s embroidered mantle, which the gossips whispered was invested with magic properties, so as to lend a new and untried grace to her figure each time that she put it on! Idle fancy as it is, this mysterious mantle has thrown an awe around my image of her, partly from its fabled420 virtues421 and partly because it was the handiwork of a dying woman, and perchance owed the fantastic grace of its conception to the delirium422 of approaching death.
After the ceremonial greetings had been paid, Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe stood apart from the mob of guests, insulating herself within a small and distinguished circle to whom she accorded a more cordial favor than to the general throng. The waxen torches threw their radiance vividly423 over the scene, bringing out its brilliant points in strong relief, but she gazed carelessly, and with now and then an expression of weariness or scorn tempered with such feminine grace that her auditors scarcely perceived the moral deformity of which it was the utterance424. She beheld the spectacle not with vulgar ridicule425, as disdaining426 to be pleased with the provincial mockery of a court-festival, but with the deeper scorn of one whose spirit held itself too high to participate in the enjoyment427 of other human souls. Whether or no the recollections of those who saw her that evening were influenced by the strange events with which she was subsequently connected, so it was that her figure ever after recurred to them as marked by something wild and unnatural428, although at the time the general whisper was of her exceeding beauty and of the indescribable charm which her mantle threw around her. Some close observers, indeed, detected a feverish flush and alternate paleness of countenance, with a corresponding flow and revulsion of spirits, and once or twice a painful and helpless betrayal of lassitude, as if she were on the point of sinking to the ground. Then, with a nervous shudder285, she seemed to arouse her energies, and threw some bright and playful yet half-wicked sarcasm429 into the conversation. There was so strange a characteristic in her manners and sentiments that it astonished every right-minded listener, till, looking in her face, a lurking430 and incomprehensible glance and smile perplexed431 them with doubts both as to her seriousness and sanity432. Gradually, Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe’s circle grew smaller, till only four gentlemen remained in it. These were Captain Langford, the English officer before mentioned; a Virginian planter who had come to Massachusetts on some political errand; a young Episcopal clergyman, the grandson of a British earl; and, lastly, the private secretary of Governor Shute, whose obsequiousness433 had won a sort of tolerance434 from Lady Eleanore.
At different periods of the evening the liveried servants of the province-house passed among the guests bearing huge trays of refreshments435 and French and Spanish wines. Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe, who refused to wet her beautiful lips even with a bubble of champagne436, had sunk back into a large damask chair, apparently overwearied either with the excitement of the scene or its tedium437; and while, for an instant, she was unconscious of voices, laughter and music, a young man stole forward and knelt down at her feet. He bore a salver in his hand on which was a chased silver goblet438 filled to the brim with wine, which he offered as reverentially as to a crowned queen — or, rather, with the awful devotion of a priest doing sacrifice to his idol439. Conscious that some one touched her robe, Lady Eleanore started, and unclosed her eyes upon the pale, wild features and dishevelled hair of Jervase Helwyse.
“Why do you haunt me thus?” said she, in a languid tone, but with a kindlier feeling than she ordinarily permitted herself to express. “They tell me that I have done you harm.”
“Heaven knows if that be so,” replied the young man, solemnly. “But, Lady Eleanore, in requital440 of that harm, if such there be, and for your own earthly and heavenly welfare, I pray you to take one sip31 of this holy wine and then to pass the goblet round among the guests. And this shall be a symbol that you have not sought to withdraw yourself from the chain of human sympathies, which whoso would shake off must keep company with fallen angels.”
“Where has this mad fellow stolen that sacramental vessel441?” exclaimed the Episcopal clergyman.
This question drew the notice of the guests to the silver cup, which was recognized as appertaining to the communion-plate of the Old South Church, and, for aught that could be known, it was brimming over with the consecrated442 wine.
“Perhaps it is poisoned,” half whispered the governor’s secretary.
“Pour it down the villain’s throat!” cried the Virginian, fiercely.
“Turn him out of the house!” cried Captain Langford, seizing Jervase Helwyse so roughly by the shoulder that the sacramental cup was overturned and its contents sprinkled upon Lady Eleanore’s mantle. “Whether knave443, fool or Bedlamite, it is intolerable that the fellow should go at large.”
“Pray, gentlemen, do my poor admirer no harm,” said Lady Eleanore, with a faint and weary smile. “Take him out of my sight, if such be your pleasure, for I can find in my heart to do nothing but laugh at him, whereas, in all decency444 and conscience, it would become me to weep for the mischief I have wrought.”
But while the bystanders were attempting to lead away the unfortunate young man he broke from them and with a wild, impassioned earnestness offered a new and equally strange petition to Lady Eleanore. It was no other than that she should throw off the mantle, which while he pressed the silver cup of wine upon her she had drawn more closely around her form, so as almost to shroud193 herself within it.
“Cast it from you,” exclaimed Jervase Helwyse, clasping his hands in an agony of entreaty445. “It may not yet be too late. Give the accursed garment to the flames.”
But Lady Eleanore, with a laugh of scorn, drew the rich folds of the embroidered mantle over her head in such a fashion as to give a completely new aspect to her beautiful face, which, half hidden, half revealed, seemed to belong to some being of mysterious character and purposes.
“Farewell, Jervase Helwyse!” said she. “Keep my image in your remembrance as you behold it now.”
“Alas, lady!” he replied, in a tone no longer wild, but sad as a funeral-bell; “we must meet shortly when your face may wear another aspect, and that shall be the image that must abide446 within me.” He made no more resistance to the violent efforts of the gentlemen and servants who almost dragged him out of the apartment and dismissed him roughly from the iron gate of the province-house.
Captain Langford, who had been very active in this affair, was returning to the presence of Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe, when he encountered the physician, Dr. Clarke, with whom he had held some casual talk on the day of her arrival. The doctor stood apart, separated from Lady Eleanore by the width of the room, but eying her with such keen sagacity that Captain Langford involuntarily gave him credit for the discovery of some deep secret.
“You appear to be smitten, after all, with the charms of this queenly maiden,” said he, hoping thus to draw forth the physician’s hidden knowledge.
“God forbid!” answered Dr. Clarke, with a grave smile; “and if you be wise, you will put up the same prayer for yourself. Woe to those who shall be smitten by this beautiful Lady Eleanore! But yonder stands the governor, and I have a word or two for his private ear. Good-night!” He accordingly advanced to Governor Shute and addressed him in so low a tone that none of the bystanders could catch a word of what he said, although the sudden change of His Excellency’s hitherto cheerful visage betokened that the communication could be of no agreeable import. A very few moments afterward it was announced to the guests that an unforeseen circumstance rendered it necessary to put a premature447 close to the festival.
The ball at the province-house supplied a topic of conversation for the colonial metropolis for some days after its occurrence, and might still longer have been the general theme, only that a subject of all-engrossing interest thrust it for a time from the public recollection. This was the appearance of a dreadful epidemic448 which in that age, and long before and afterward, was wont449 to slay450 its hundreds and thousands on both sides of the Atlantic. On the occasion of which we speak it was distinguished by a peculiar virulence451, insomuch that it has left its traces — its pitmarks, to use an appropriate figure — on the history of the country, the affairs of which were thrown into confusion by its ravages452. At first, unlike its ordinary course, the disease seemed to confine itself to the higher circles of society, selecting its victims from among the proud, the well-born and the wealthy, entering unabashed into stately chambers and lying down with the slumberers in silken beds. Some of the most distinguished guests of the province-house — even those whom the haughty Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe had deemed not unworthy of her favor — were stricken by this fatal scourge454. It was noticed with an ungenerous bitterness of feeling that the four gentlemen — the Virginian, the British officer, the young clergyman and the governor’s secretary — who had been her most devoted455 attendants on the evening of the ball were the foremost on whom the plague-stroke fell. But the disease, pursuing its onward progress, soon ceased to be exclusively a prerogative456 of aristocracy. Its red brand was no longer conferred like a noble’s star or an order of knighthood. It threaded its way through the narrow and crooked457 streets, and entered the low, mean, darksome dwellings and laid its hand of death upon the artisans and laboring459 classes of the town. It compelled rich and poor to feel themselves brethren then, and stalking to and fro across the Three Hills with a fierceness which made it almost a new pestilence460, there was that mighty461 conqueror462 — that scourge and horror of our forefathers — the small-pox.
We cannot estimate the affright which this plague inspired of yore by contemplating463 it as the fangless464 monster of the present day. We must remember, rather, with what awe we watched the gigantic footsteps of the Asiatic cholera465 striding from shore to shore of the Atlantic and marching like Destiny upon cities far remote which flight had already half depopulated. There is no other fear so horrible and unhumanizing as that which makes man dread to breathe heaven’s vital air lest it be poison, or to grasp the hand of a brother or friend lest the grip of the pestilence should clutch him. Such was the dismay that now followed in the track of the disease or ran before it throughout the town. Graves were hastily dug and the pestilential relics466 as hastily covered, because the dead were enemies of the living and strove to draw them headlong, as it were, into their own dismal pit. The public councils were suspended, as if mortal wisdom might relinquish467 its devices now that an unearthly usurper468 had found his way into the ruler’s mansion. Had an enemy’s fleet been hovering469 on the coast or his armies trampling on our soil, the people would probably have committed their defence to that same direful conqueror who had wrought their own calamity and would permit no interference with his sway. This conqueror had a symbol of his triumphs: it was a blood-red flag that fluttered in the tainted470 air over the door of every dwelling237 into which the small-pox had entered.
Such a banner was long since waving over the portal of the province-house, for thence, as was proved by tracking its footsteps back, had all this dreadful mischief issued. It had been traced back to a lady’s luxurious471 chamber, to the proudest of the proud, to her that was so delicate and hardly owned herself of earthly mould, to the haughty one who took her stand above human sympathies — to Lady Eleanore. There remained no room for doubt that the contagion472 had lurked473 in that gorgeous mantle which threw so strange a grace around her at the festival. Its fantastic splendor474 had been conceived in the delirious475 brain of a woman on her death-bed and was the last toil476 of her stiffening477 fingers, which had interwoven fate and misery with its golden threads. This dark tale, whispered at first, was now bruited478 far and wide. The people raved479 against the Lady Eleanore and cried out that her pride and scorn had evoked480 a fiend, and that between them both this monstrous481 evil had been born. At times their rage and despair took the semblance of grinning mirth; and whenever the red flag of the pestilence was hoisted482 over another and yet another door, they clapped their hands and shouted through the streets in bitter mockery: “Behold a new triumph for the Lady Eleanore!”
One day in the midst of these dismal times a wild figure approached the portal of the province-house, and, folding his arms, stood contemplating the scarlet banner, which a passing breeze shook fitfully, as if to fling abroad the contagion that it typified. At length, climbing one of the pillars by means of the iron balustrade, he took down the flag, and entered the mansion waving it above his head. At the foot of the staircase he met the governor, booted and spurred, with his cloak drawn around him, evidently on the point of setting forth upon a journey.
“Wretched lunatic, what do you seek here?” exclaimed Shute, extending his cane to guard himself from contact. “There is nothing here but Death; back, or you will meet him.”
“Death will not touch me, the banner-bearer of the pestilence,” cried Jervase Helwyse, shaking the red flag aloft. “Death and the pestilence, who wears the aspect of the Lady Eleanore, will walk through the streets to-night, and I must march before them with this banner.”
“Why do I waste words on the fellow?” muttered the governor, drawing his cloak across his mouth. “What matters his miserable life, when none of us are sure of twelve hours’ breath? — On, fool, to your own destruction!”
He made way for Jervase Helwyse, who immediately ascended483 the staircase, but on the first landing-place was arrested by the firm grasp of a hand upon his shoulder. Looking fiercely up with a madman’s impulse to struggle with and rend104 asunder484 his opponent, he found himself powerless beneath a calm, stern eye which possessed the mysterious property of quelling485 frenzy487 at its height. The person whom he had now encountered was the physician, Dr. Clarke, the duties of whose sad profession had led him to the province-house, where he was an infrequent guest in more prosperous times.
“Young man, what is your purpose?” demanded he.
“I seek the Lady Eleanore,” answered Jervase Helwyse, submissively.
“All have fled from her,” said the physician. “Why do you seek her now? I tell you, youth, her nurse fell death-stricken on the threshold of that fatal chamber. Know ye not that never came such a curse to our shores as this lovely Lady Eleanore, that her breath has filled the air with poison, that she has shaken pestilence and death upon the land from the folds of her accursed mantle?”
“Let me look upon her,” rejoined the mad youth, more wildly. “Let me behold her in her awful beauty, clad in the regal garments of the pestilence. She and Death sit on a throne together; let me kneel down before them.”
“Poor youth!” said Dr. Clarke, and, moved by a deep sense of human weakness, a smile of caustic488 humor curled his lip even then. “Wilt thou still worship the destroyer and surround her image with fantasies the more magnificent the more evil she has wrought? Thus man doth ever to his tyrants489. Approach, then. Madness, as I have noted490, has that good efficacy that it will guard you from contagion, and perhaps its own cure may be found in yonder chamber.” Ascending491 another flight of stairs, he threw open a door and signed to Jervase Helwyse that he should enter.
The poor lunatic, it seems probable, had cherished a delusion492 that his haughty mistress sat in state, unharmed herself by the pestilential influence which as by enchantment493 she scattered round about her. He dreamed, no doubt, that her beauty was not dimmed, but brightened into superhuman splendor. With such anticipations494 he stole reverentially to the door at which the physician stood, but paused upon the threshold, gazing fearfully into the gloom of the darkened chamber.
“Where is the Lady Eleanore?” whispered he.
“Call her,” replied the physician.
“Lady Eleanore! princess! queen of Death!” cried Jervase Helwyse, advancing three steps into the chamber. “She is not here. There, on yonder table, I behold the sparkle of a diamond which once she wore upon her bosom495. There” — and he shuddered — “there hangs her mantle, on which a dead woman embroidered a spell of dreadful potency496. But where is the Lady Eleanore?”
Something stirred within the silken curtains of a canopied497 bed and a low moan was uttered, which, listening intently, Jervase Helwyse began to distinguish as a woman’s voice complaining dolefully of thirst. He fancied, even, that he recognized its tones.
“My throat! My throat is scorched,” murmured the voice. “A drop of water!”
“What thing art thou?” said the brain-stricken youth, drawing near the bed and tearing asunder its curtains. “Whose voice hast thou stolen for thy murmurs498 and miserable petitions, as if Lady Eleanore could be conscious of mortal infirmity? Fie! Heap of diseased mortality, why lurkest thou in my lady’s chamber?”
“Oh, Jervase Helwyse,” said the voice — and as it spoke the figure contorted itself, struggling to hide its blasted face — “look not now on the woman you once loved. The curse of Heaven hath stricken me because I would not call man my brother nor woman sister. I wrapped myself in pride as in a mantle and scorned the sympathies of nature, and therefore has Nature made this wretched body the medium of a dreadful sympathy. You are avenged499, they are all avenged, Nature is avenged; for I am Eleanore Rochcliffe.”
The malice500 of his mental disease, the bitterness lurking at the bottom of his heart, mad as he was, for a blighted501 and ruined life and love that had been paid with cruel scorn, awoke within the breast of Jervase Helwyse. He shook his finger at the wretched girl, and the chamber echoed, the curtains of the bed were shaken, with his outburst of insane merriment.
“Another triumph for the Lady Eleanore!” he cried. “All have been her victims; who so worthy to be the final victim as herself?” Impelled by some new fantasy of his crazed intellect, he snatched the fatal mantle and rushed from the chamber and the house.
That night a procession passed by torchlight through the streets, bearing in the midst the figure of a woman enveloped with a richly-embroidered mantle, while in advance stalked Jervase Helwyse waving the red flag of the pestilence. Arriving opposite the province-house, the mob burned the effigy, and a strong wind came and swept away the ashes. It was said that from that very hour the pestilence abated502, as if its sway had some mysterious connection, from the first plague-stroke to the last, with Lady Elcanore’s mantle. A remarkable uncertainty503 broods over that unhappy lady’s fate. There is a belief, however, that in a certain chamber of this mansion a female form may sometimes be duskily discerned shrinking into the darkest corner and muffling504 her face within an embroidered mantle. Supposing the legend true, can this be other than the once proud Lady Eleanore?
Mine host and the old loyalist and I bestowed505 no little Warmth of applause upon this narrative, in which we had all been deeply interested; for the reader can scarcely conceive how unspeakably the effect of such a tale is heightened when, as in the present case, we may repose506 perfect confidence in the veracity507 of him who tells it. For my own part, knowing how scrupulous508 is Mr. Tiffany to settle the foundation of his facts, I could not have believed him one whit58 the more faithfully had he professed himself an eyewitness509 of the doings and sufferings of poor Lady Eleanore. Some sceptics, it is true, might demand documentary evidence, or even require him to produce the embroidered mantle, forgetting that — Heaven be praised! — it was consumed to ashes.
But now the old loyalist, whose blood was warmed by the good cheer, began to talk, in his turn, about the traditions of the Province House, and hinted that he, if it were agreeable, might add a few reminiscences to our legendary stock. Mr. Tiffany, having no cause to dread a rival, immediately besought him to favor us with a specimen510; my own entreaties511, of course, were urged to the same effect; and our venerable guest, well pleased to find willing auditors, awaited only the return of Mr. Thomas Waite, who had been summoned forth to provide accommodations for several new arrivals. Perchance the public — but be this as its own caprice and ours shall settle the matter — may read the result in another tale of the Province House.
IV.
Old Esther Dudley.
Our host having resumed the chair, he as well as Mr. Tiffany and myself expressed much eagerness to be made acquainted with the story to which the loyalist had alluded512. That venerable man first of all saw lit to moisten his throat with another glass of wine, and then, turning his face toward our coal-fire, looked steadfastly for a few moments into the depths of its cheerful glow. Finally he poured forth a great fluency513 of speech. The generous liquid that he had imbibed, while it warmed his age-chilled blood, likewise took off the chill from his heart and mind, and gave him an energy to think and feel which we could hardly have expected to find beneath the snows of fourscore winters. His feelings, indeed, appeared to me more excitable than those of a younger man — or, at least, the same degree of feeling manifested itself by more visible effects than if his judgment514 and will had possessed the potency of meridian515 life. At the pathetic passages of his narrative he readily melted into tears. When a breath of indignation swept across his spirit, the blood flushed his withered516 visage even to the roots of his white hair, and he shook his clinched517 fist at the trio of peaceful auditors, seeming to fancy enemies in those who felt very kindly518 toward the desolate519 old soul. But ever and anon, sometimes in the midst of his most earnest talk, this ancient person’s intellect would wander vaguely520, losing its hold of the matter in hand and groping for it amid misty521 shadows. Then would he cackle forth a feeble laugh and express a doubt whether his wits — for by that phrase it pleased our ancient friend to signify his mental powers — were not getting a little the worse for wear.
Under these disadvantages, the old loyalist’s story required more revision to render it fit for the public eye than those of the series which have preceded it; nor should it be concealed that the sentiment and tone of the affair may have undergone some slight — or perchance more than slight — metamorphosis in its transmission to the reader through the medium of a thoroughgoing democrat. The tale itself is a mere36 sketch522 with no involution of plot nor any great interest of events, yet possessing, if I have rehearsed it aright, that pensive523 influence over the mind which the shadow of the old Province House flings upon the loiterer in its court-yard.
The hour had come — the hour of defeat and humiliation — when Sir William Howe was to pass over the threshold of the province-house and embark524, with no such triumphal ceremonies as he once promised himself, on board the British fleet. He bade his servants and military attendants go before him, and lingered a moment in the loneliness of the mansion to quell486 the fierce emotions that struggled in his bosom as with a death-throb. Preferable then would he have deemed his fate had a warrior’s death left him a claim to the narrow territory of a grave within the soil which the king had given him to defend. With an ominous perception that as his departing footsteps echoed adown the staircase the sway of Britain was passing for ever from New England, he smote his clenched hand on his brow and cursed the destiny that had flung the shame of a dismembered empire upon him.
“Would to God,” cried he, hardly repressing his tears of rage, “that the rebels were even now at the doorstep! A blood-stain upon the floor should then bear testimony525 that the last British ruler was faithful to his trust.”
The tremulous voice of a woman replied to his exclamation.
“Heaven’s cause and the king’s are one,” it said. “Go forth, Sir William Howe, and trust in Heaven to bring back a royal governor in triumph.”
Subduing526 at once the passion to which he had yielded only in the faith that it was unwitnessed, Sir William Howe became conscious that an aged woman leaning on a gold-headed staff was standing betwixt him and the door. It was old Esther Dudley, who had dwelt almost immemorial years in this mansion, until her presence seemed as inseparable from it as the recollections of its history. She was the daughter of an ancient and once eminent527 family which had fallen into poverty and decay and left its last descendant no resource save the bounty528 of the king, nor any shelter except within the walls of the province-house. An office in the household with merely nominal529 duties had been assigned to her as a pretext530 for the payment of a small pension, the greater part of which she expended531 in adorning532 herself with an antique magnificence of attire. The claims of Esther Dudley’s gentle blood were acknowledged by all the successive governors, and they treated her with the punctilious533 courtesy which it was her foible to demand, not always with success, from a neglectful world. The only actual share which she assumed in the business of the mansion was to glide through its passages and public chambers late at night to see that the servants had dropped no fire from their flaring534 torches nor left embers crackling and blazing on the hearths535. Perhaps it was this invariable custom of walking her rounds in the hush117 of midnight that caused the superstition of the times to invest the old woman with attributes of awe and mystery, fabling536 that she had entered the portal of the province-house — none knew whence — in the train of the first royal governor, and that it was her fate to dwell there till the last should have departed.
But Sir William Howe, if he ever heard this legend, had forgotten it.
“Mistress Dudley, why are you loitering here?” asked he, with some severity of tone. “It is my pleasure to be the last in this mansion of the king.”
“Not so, if it please Your Excellency,” answered the time-stricken woman. “This roof has sheltered me long; I will not pass from it until they bear me to the tomb of my forefathers. What other shelter is there for old Esther Dudley save the province-house or the grave?”
“Now, Heaven forgive me!” said Sir William Howe to himself. “I was about to leave this wretched old creature to starve or beg. — Take this, good Mistress Dudley,” he added, putting a purse into her hands. “King George’s head on these golden guineas is sterling537 yet, and will continue so, I warrant you, even should the rebels crown John Hancock their king. That purse will buy a better shelter than the province-house can now afford.”
“While the burden of life remains538 upon me I will have no other shelter than this roof,” persisted Esther Dudley, striking her stuff upon the floor with a gesture that expressed immovable resolve; “and when Your Excellency returns in triumph, I will totter539 into the porch to welcome you.”
“My poor old friend!” answered the British general, and all his manly540 and martial pride could no longer restrain a gush541 of bitter tears. “This is an evil hour for you and me. The province which the king entrusted542 to my charge is lost. I go hence in misfortune — perchance in disgrace — to return no more. And you, whose present being is incorporated with the past, who have seen governor after governor in stately pageantry ascend these steps, whose whole life has been an observance of majestic543 ceremonies and a worship of the king, — how will you endure the change? Come with us; bid farewell to a land that has shaken off its allegiance, and live still under a royal government at Halifax.”
“Never! never!” said the pertinacious544 old dame545. “Here will I abide, and King George shall still have one true subject in his disloyal province.”
“Beshrew the old fool!” muttered Sir William Howe, growing impatient of her obstinacy546 and ashamed of the emotion into which he had been betrayed. “She is the very moral of old-fashioned prejudice, and could exist nowhere but in this musty edifice. — Well, then, Mistress Dudley, since you will needs tarry, I give the province-house in charge to you. Take this key, and keep it safe until myself or some other royal governor shall demand it of you.” Smiling bitterly at himself and her, he took the heavy key of the province-house, and, delivering it into the old lady’s hands, drew his clonk around him for departure.
As the general glanced back at Esther Dudley’s antique figure he deemed her well fitted for such a charge, as being so perfect a representative of the decayed past — of an age gone by, with its manners, opinions, faith and feelings all fallen into oblivion or scorn, of what had once been a reality, but was now merely a vision of faded magnificence. Then Sir William Howe strode forth, smiting547 his clenched hands together in the fierce anguish of his spirit, and old Esther Dudley was left to keep watch in the lonely province-house, dwelling there with Memory; and if Hope ever seemed to flit around her, still it was Memory in disguise.
The total change of affairs that ensued on the departure of the British troops did not drive the venerable lady from her stronghold. There was not for many years afterward a governor of Massachusetts, and the magistrates548 who had charge of such matters saw no objection to Esther Dudley’s residence in the province-house, especially as they must otherwise have paid a hireling for taking care of the premises, which with her was a labor458 of love; and so they left her the undisturbed mistress of the old historic edifice. Many and strange were the fables which the gossips whispered about her in all the chimney-corners of the town.
Among the time-worn articles of furniture that had been left in the mansion, there was a tall antique mirror which was well worthy of a tale by itself, and perhaps may hereafter be the theme of one. The gold of its heavily-wrought frame was tarnished549, and its surface so blurred550 that the old woman’s figure, whenever she paused before it, looked indistinct and ghostlike. But it was the general belief that Esther could cause the governors of the overthrown551 dynasty, with the beautiful ladies who had once adorned552 their festivals, the Indian chiefs who had come up to the province-house to hold council or swear allegiance, the grim provincial warriors, the severe clergymen — in short, all the pageantry of gone days, all the figures that ever swept across the broad-plate of glass in former times, — she could cause the whole to reappear and people the inner world of the mirror with shadows of old life. Such legends as these, together with the singularity of her isolated553 existence, her age and the infirmity that each added winter flung upon her, made Mistress Dudley the object both of fear and pity, and it was partly the result of either sentiment that, amid all the angry license554 of the times, neither wrong nor insult ever fell upon her unprotected head. Indeed, there was so much haughtiness555 in her demeanor toward intruders — among whom she reckoned all persons acting556 under the new authorities — that it was really an affair of no small nerve to look her in the face. And, to do the people justice, stern republicans as they had now become, they were well content that the old gentlewoman, in her hoop-petticoat and faded embroidery, should still haunt the palace of ruined pride and overthrown power, the symbol of a departed system, embodying557 a history in her person. So Esther Dudley dwelt year after year in the province-house, still reverencing558 all that others had flung aside, still faithful to her king, who, so long as the venerable dame yet held her post, might be said to retain one true subject in New England and one spot of the empire that had been wrested559 from him.
And did she dwell there in utter loneliness? Rumor said, “Not so.” Whenever her chill and withered heart desired warmth, she was wont to summon a black slave of Governor Shirley’s from the blurred mirror and send him in search of guests who had long ago been familiar in those deserted chambers. Forth went the sable messenger, with the starlight or the moonshine gleaming through him, and did his errand in the burial-grounds, knocking at the iron doors of tombs or upon the marble slabs560 that covered them, and whispering to those within, “My mistress, old Esther Dudley, bids you to the province-house at midnight;” and punctually as the clock of the Old South told twelve came the shadows of the Olivers, the Hutchinsons, the Dudleys — all the grandees561 of a bygone generation — gliding562 beneath the portal into the well-known mansion, where Esther mingled with them as if she likewise were a shade. Without vouching563 for the truth of such traditions, it is certain that Mistress Dudley sometimes assembled a few of the stanch564 though crestfallen565 old Tories who had lingered in the rebel town during those days of wrath and tribulation566. Out of a cobwebbed bottle containing liquor that a royal governor might have smacked567 his lips over they quaffed healths to the king and babbled treason to the republic, feeling as if the protecting shadow of the throne were still flung around them. But, draining the last drops of their liquor, they stole timorously568 homeward, and answered not again if the rude mob reviled569 them in the street.
Yet Esther Dudley’s most frequent and favored guests were the children of the town. Toward them she was never stern. A kindly and loving nature hindered elsewhere from its free course by a thousand rocky prejudices lavished570 itself upon these little ones. By bribes571 of gingerbread of her own making, stamped with a royal crown, she tempted572 their sunny sportiveness beneath the gloomy portal of the province-house, and would often beguile573 them to spend a whole play-day there, sitting in a circle round the verge574 of her hoop-petticoat, greedily attentive to her stories of a dead world. And when these little boys and girls stole forth again from the dark, mysterious mansion, they went bewildered, full of old feelings that graver people had long ago forgotten, rubbing their eyes at the world around them as if they had gone astray into ancient times and become children of the past. At home, when their parents asked where they had loitered such a weary while and with whom they had been at play, the children would talk of all the departed worthies of the province as far back as Governor Belcher and the haughty dame of Sir William Phipps. It would seem as though they had been sitting on the knees of these famous personages, whom the grave had hidden for half a century, and had toyed with the embroidery of their rich waistcoats or roguishly pulled the long curls of their flowing wigs. “But Governor Belcher has been dead this many a year,” would the mother say to her little boy. “And did you really see him at the province-house?” — “Oh yes, dear mother — yes!” the half-dreaming child would answer. “But when old Esther had done speaking about him, he faded away out of his chair.” Thus, without affrighting her little guests, she led them by the hand into the chambers of her own desolate heart and made childhood’s fancy discern the ghosts that haunted there.
Living so continually in her own circle of ideas, and never regulating her mind by a proper reference to present things, Esther Dudley appears to have grown partially575 crazed. It was found that she had no right sense of the progress and true state of the Revolutionary war, but held a constant faith that the armies of Britain were victorious576 on every field and destined577 to be ultimately triumphant578. Whenever the town rejoiced for a battle won by Washington or Gates or Morgan or Greene, the news, in passing through the door of the province-house as through the ivory gate of dreams, became metamorphosed into a strange tale of the prowess of Howe, Clinton or Cornwallis. Sooner or later, it was her invincible579 belief, the colonies would be prostrate403 at the footstool of the king. Sometimes she seemed to take for granted that such was already the case. On one occasion she startled the townspeople by a brilliant illumination of the province-house with candles at every pane20 of glass and a transparency of the king’s initials and a crown of light in the great balcony-window. The figure of the aged woman in the most gorgeous of her mildewed580 velvets and brocades was seen passing from casement581 to casement, until she paused before the balcony and flourished a huge key above her head. Her wrinkled visage actually gleamed with triumph, as if the soul within her were a festal lamp.
“What means this blaze of light? What does old Esther’s joy portend582?” whispered a spectator. “It is frightful583 to, see her gliding about the chambers and rejoicing there without a soul to bear her company.”
“It is as if she were making merry in a tomb,” said another.
“Pshaw! It is no such mystery,” observed an old man, after some brief exercise of memory. “Mistress Dudley is keeping jubilee584 for the king of England’s birthday.”
Then the people laughed aloud, and would have thrown mud against the blazing transparency of the king’s crown and initials, only that they pitied the poor old dame who was so dismally585 triumphant amid the wreck586 and ruin of the system to which she appertained.
Oftentimes it was her custom to climb the weary staircase that wound upward to the cupola, and thence strain her dimmed eyesight seaward and countryward, watching for a British fleet or for the march of a grand procession with the king’s banner floating over it. The passengers in the street below would discern her anxious visage and send up a shout: “When the golden Indian on the province-house shall shoot his arrow, and when the cock on the Old South spire shall crow, then look for a royal governor again!” for this had grown a by-word through the town. And at last, after long, long years, old Esther Dudley knew — or perchance she only dreamed — that a royal governor was on the eve of returning to the province-house to receive the heavy key which Sir William Howe had committed to her charge. Now, it was the fact that intelligence bearing some faint analogy to Esther’s version of it was current among the townspeople. She set the mansion in the best order that her means allowed, and, arraying herself in silks and tarnished gold, stood long before the blurred mirror to admire her own magnificence. As she gazed the gray and withered lady moved her ashen587 lips, murmuring half aloud, talking to shapes that she saw within the mirror, to shadows of her own fantasies, to the household friends of memory, and bidding them rejoice with her and come forth to meet the governor. And while absorbed in this communion Mistress Dudley heard the tramp of many footsteps in the street, and, looking out at the window, beheld what she construed588 as the royal governor’s arrival.
“Oh, happy day! Oh, blessed, blessed hour!” she exclaimed. “Let me but bid him welcome within the portal, and my task in the province-house and on earth is done.” Then, with tottering589 feet which age and tremulous joy caused to tread amiss, she hurried down the grand staircase, her silks sweeping590 and rustling591 as she went; so that the sound was as if a train of special courtiers were thronging592 from the dim mirror.
And Esther Dudley fancied that as soon as the wide door should be flung open all the pomp and splendor of bygone times would pace majestically593 into the province-house and the gilded tapestry594 of the past would be brightened by the sunshine of the present. She turned the key, withdrew it from the lock, unclosed the door and stepped across the threshold. Advancing up the court-yard appeared a person of most dignified mien, with tokens, as Esther interpreted them, of gentle blood, high rank and long-accustomed authority even in his walk and every gesture. He was richly dressed, but wore a gouty shoe, which, however, did not lessen595 the stateliness of his gait. Around and behind him were people in plain civic596 dresses and two or three war-worn veterans — evidently officers of rank — arrayed in a uniform of blue and buff. But Esther Dudley, firm in the belief that had fastened its roots about her heart, beheld only the principal personage, and never doubted that this was the long-looked-for governor to whom she was to surrender up her charge. As he approached she involuntarily sank down on her knees and tremblingly held forth the heavy key.
“Receive my trust! Take it quickly,” cried she, “for methinks Death is striving to snatch away my triumph. But he conies too late. Thank Heaven for this blessed hour! God save King George!”
“That, madam, is a strange prayer to be offered up at such a moment,” replied the unknown guest of the province-house, and, courteously597 removing his hat, he offered his arm to raise the aged woman. “Yet, in reverence for your gray hairs and long-kept faith, Heaven forbid that any here should say you nay. Over the realms which still acknowledge his sceptre, God save King George!”
Esther Dudley started to her feet, and, hastily clutching back the key, gazed with fearful earnestness at the stranger, and dimly and doubtfully, as if suddenly awakened from a dream, her bewildered eyes half recognized his face. Years ago she had known him among the gentry of the province, but the ban of the king had fallen upon him. How, then, came the doomed598 victim here? Proscribed599, excluded from mercy, the monarch’s most dreaded and hated foe600, this New England merchant had stood triumphantly601 against a kingdom’s strength, and his foot now trod upon humbled602 royalty as he ascended the steps of the province-house, the people’s chosen governor of Massachusetts.
“Wretch, wretch that I am!” muttered the old woman, with such a heartbroken expression that the tears gushed603 from the stranger’s eyes. “Have I bidden a traitor welcome? — Come, Death! come quickly!”
“Alas, venerable lady!” said Governor Hancock, lending her his support with all the reverence that a courtier would have shown to a queen, “your life has been prolonged until the world has changed around you. You have treasured up all that time has rendered worthless — the principles, feelings, manners, modes of being and acting which another generation has flung aside — and you are a symbol of the past. And I and these around me — we represent a new race of men, living no longer in the past, scarcely in the present, but projecting our lives forward into the future. Ceasing to model ourselves on ancestral superstitions604, it is our faith and principle to press onward — onward. — Yet,” continued he, turning to his attendants, “let us reverence for the last time the stately and gorgeous prejudices of the tottering past.”
While the republican governor spoke he had continued to support the helpless form of Esther Dudley; her weight grew heavier against his arm, but at last, with a sudden effort to free herself, the ancient woman sank down beside one of the pillars of the portal. The key of the province-house fell from her grasp and clanked against the stone.
“I have been faithful unto death,” murmured she. “God save the king!”
“She hath done her office,” said Hancock, solemnly. “We will follow her reverently605 to the tomb of her ancestors, and then, my fellow-citizens, onward — onward. We are no longer children of the past.”
As the old loyalist concluded his narrative the enthusiasm which had been fitfully flashing within his sunken eyes and quivering across his wrinkled visage faded away, as if all the lingering fire of his soul were extinguished. Just then, too, a lamp upon the mantelpiece threw out a dying gleam, which vanished as speedily as it shot upward, compelling our eyes to grope for one another’s features by the dim glow of the hearth. With such a lingering fire, methought, with such a dying gleam, had the glory of the ancient system vanished from the province-house when the spirit of old Esther Dudley took its flight. And now, again, the clock of the Old South threw its voice of ages on the breeze, knolling the hourly knell of the past, crying out far and wide through the multitudinous city, and filling our ears, as we sat in the dusky chamber, with its reverberating606 depth of tone. In that same mansion — in that very chamber — what a volume of history had been told off into hours by the same voice that was now trembling in the air! Many a governor had heard those midnight accents and longed to exchange his stately cares for slumber453. And, as for mine host and Mr. Bela Tiffany and the old loyalist and me, we had babbled about dreams of the past until we almost fancied that the clock was still striking in a bygone century. Neither of us would have wondered had a hoop-petticoated phantom607 of Esther Dudley tottered608 into the chamber, walking her rounds in the hush of midnight as of yore, and motioned us to quench609 the fading embers of the fire and leave the historic precincts to herself and her kindred shades. But, as no such vision was vouchsafed610, I retired unbidden, and would advise Mr. Tiffany to lay hold of another auditor118, being resolved not to show my face in the Province House for a good while hence — if ever.
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1
protruding
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v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的现在分词 );凸 | |
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edifice
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n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿,教室) | |
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rambling
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adj.[建]凌乱的,杂乱的 | |
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mansion
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n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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penetrated
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adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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secluded
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adj.与世隔绝的;隐退的;偏僻的v.使隔开,使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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surmounted
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战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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gilded
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a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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bent
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n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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spire
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n.(教堂)尖顶,尖塔,高点 | |
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curiously
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adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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wrought
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v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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ascend
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vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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ascends
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v.上升,攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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spacious
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adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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Founder
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n.创始者,缔造者 | |
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loyalty
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n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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thronged
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v.成群,挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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throng
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n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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pane
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n.窗格玻璃,长方块 | |
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dingy
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adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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hue
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n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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ornamental
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adj.装饰的;作装饰用的;n.装饰品;观赏植物 | |
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scripture
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n.经文,圣书,手稿;Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》,《圣经》中的一段 | |
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replenished
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补充( replenish的过去式和过去分词 ); 重新装满 | |
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smack
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vt.拍,打,掴;咂嘴;vi.含有…意味;n.拍 | |
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smacking
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活泼的,发出响声的,精力充沛的 | |
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zest
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n.乐趣;滋味,风味;兴趣 | |
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quaffed
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v.痛饮( quaff的过去式和过去分词 );畅饮;大口大口将…喝干;一饮而尽 | |
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sipping
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v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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sip
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v.小口地喝,抿,呷;n.一小口的量 | |
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skilful
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(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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besought
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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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worthy
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adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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strenuously
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adv.奋发地,费力地 | |
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mere
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adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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tavern
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n.小旅馆,客栈;小酒店 | |
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chamber
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n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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chambers
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n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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subdivided
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再分,细分( subdivide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scanty
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adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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lodger
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n.寄宿人,房客 | |
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grandeur
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n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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ascent
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n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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scent
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n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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ward
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n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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dingier
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adj.暗淡的,乏味的( dingy的比较级 );肮脏的 | |
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48
quaintly
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adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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metropolis
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n.首府;大城市 | |
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50
gage
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n.标准尺寸,规格;量规,量表 [=gauge] | |
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51
beheld
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v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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52
disastrous
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adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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53
besieging
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包围,围困,围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
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54
ERECTED
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adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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55
descend
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vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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56
descending
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n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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57
ponderous
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adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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58
whit
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n.一点,丝毫 | |
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59
thereby
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adv.因此,从而 | |
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60
contemplated
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adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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61
gut
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n.[pl.]胆量;内脏;adj.本能的;vt.取出内脏 | |
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forth
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adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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requiting
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v.报答( requite的现在分词 );酬谢;回报;报复 | |
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dignified
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a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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spoke
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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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sociable
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adj.好交际的,友好的,合群的 | |
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possessed
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adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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professed
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公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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69
lapse
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n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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narrative
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n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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scruple
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n./v.顾忌,迟疑 | |
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scrupled
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v.感到于心不安,有顾忌( scruple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conducive
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adj.有益的,有助的 | |
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gentry
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n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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75
beleaguered
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adj.受到围困[围攻]的;包围的v.围攻( beleaguer的过去式和过去分词);困扰;骚扰 | |
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76
distress
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n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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77
ostentation
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n.夸耀,卖弄 | |
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78
provincial
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adj.省的,地方的;n.外省人,乡下人 | |
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79
knights
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骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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80
mingled
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混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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81
jingling
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叮当声 | |
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82
provocative
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adj.挑衅的,煽动的,刺激的,挑逗的 | |
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83
pilfered
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v.偷窃(小东西),小偷( pilfer的过去式和过去分词 );偷窃(一般指小偷小摸) | |
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84
attire
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v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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85
tattered
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adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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86
worthies
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应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 ); 值得做某事; 可尊敬的; 有(某人或事物)的典型特征 | |
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87
lank
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adj.瘦削的;稀疏的 | |
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88
brandishing
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v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 );炫耀 | |
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89
rusty
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adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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90
longitude
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n.经线,经度 | |
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91
purported
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adj.传说的,谣传的v.声称是…,(装得)像是…的样子( purport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
warriors
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武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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93
formerly
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adv.从前,以前 | |
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94
thither
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adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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95
puritanical
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adj.极端拘谨的;道德严格的 | |
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96
scowl
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vi.(at)生气地皱眉,沉下脸,怒视;n.怒容 | |
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97
ominous
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adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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98
flickering
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adj.闪烁的,摇曳的,一闪一闪的 | |
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99
flicker
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vi./n.闪烁,摇曳,闪现 | |
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100
peal
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n.钟声;v.鸣响 | |
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101
pealed
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v.(使)(钟等)鸣响,(雷等)发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
rumor
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n.谣言,谣传,传说 | |
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103
pageant
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n.壮观的游行;露天历史剧 | |
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104
rend
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vt.把…撕开,割裂;把…揪下来,强行夺取 | |
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105
scruples
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n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 );顾虑,顾忌v.感到于心不安,有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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106
wig
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n.假发 | |
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107
doctorate
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n.(大学授予的)博士学位 | |
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108
enact
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vt.制定(法律);上演,扮演 | |
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109
taunt
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n.辱骂,嘲弄;v.嘲弄 | |
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110
taunts
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嘲弄的言语,嘲笑,奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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111
trophies
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n.(为竞赛获胜者颁发的)奖品( trophy的名词复数 );奖杯;(尤指狩猎或战争中获得的)纪念品;(用于比赛或赛跑名称)奖 | |
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112
overflowing
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n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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113
proceeding
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n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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114
muffled
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adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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115
trumpets
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喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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116
wailing
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v.哭叫,哀号( wail的现在分词 );沱 | |
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117
hush
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int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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118
auditor
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n.审计员,旁听着 | |
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119
auditors
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n.审计员,稽核员( auditor的名词复数 );(大学课程的)旁听生 | |
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120
apprehension
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n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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121
corpse
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n.尸体,死尸 | |
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122
velvet
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n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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123
coffin
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n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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124
omen
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n.征兆,预兆;vt.预示 | |
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125
regiments
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(军队的)团( regiment的名词复数 ); 大量的人或物 | |
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126
lugubrious
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adj.悲哀的,忧郁的 | |
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127
rubicund
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adj.(脸色)红润的 | |
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128
majesty
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n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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129
prelude
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n.序言,前兆,序曲 | |
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130
dispersed
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adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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131
precisely
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adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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132
steward
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n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
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133
halfway
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adj.中途的,不彻底的,部分的;adv.半路地,在中途,在半途 | |
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134
descended
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a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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135
countenance
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n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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136
demeanor
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n.行为;风度 | |
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137
garb
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n.服装,装束 | |
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138
predecessors
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n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 );前辈;(被取代的)原有事物;前身 | |
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139
beholder
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n.观看者,旁观者 | |
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140
behold
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v.看,注视,看到 | |
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141
martyr
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n.烈士,殉难者;vt.杀害,折磨,牺牲 | |
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142
plumed
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饰有羽毛的 | |
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143
rattled
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慌乱的,恼火的 | |
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145
wrath
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n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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146
embroidered
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adj.绣花的 | |
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147
insinuating
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adj.曲意巴结的,暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 );巧妙或迂回地潜入;(使)缓慢进入;慢慢伸入 | |
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148
wring
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n.扭绞;v.拧,绞出,扭 | |
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149
blessing
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n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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150
tyrant
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n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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151
dungeon
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n.地牢,土牢 | |
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152
crafty
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adj.狡猾的,诡诈的 | |
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153
incapable
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adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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154
cringing
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adj.谄媚,奉承 | |
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155
scarlet
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n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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156
tinge
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vt.(较淡)着色于,染色;使带有…气息;n.淡淡色彩,些微的气息 | |
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157
standing
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n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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158
apprehensive
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adj.担心的,恐惧的,善于领会的 | |
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159
mischief
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n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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160
vexed
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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 | |
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161
torment
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n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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162
tormented
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饱受折磨的 | |
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163
harassed
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adj. 疲倦的,厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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164
embroidery
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n.绣花,刺绣;绣制品 | |
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165
contortions
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n.扭歪,弯曲;扭曲,弄歪,歪曲( contortion的名词复数 ) | |
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166
steadfast
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adj.固定的,不变的,不动摇的;忠实的;坚贞不移的 | |
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167
steadfastly
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adv.踏实地,不变地;岿然;坚定不渝 | |
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168
anguish
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n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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169
gasp
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n.喘息,气喘;v.喘息;气吁吁他说 | |
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170
gasped
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v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
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171
indifference
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n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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172
miserable
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adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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173
illuminated
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adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
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174
peculiar
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adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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175
peculiarities
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n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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176
semblance
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n.外貌,外表 | |
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177
spectral
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adj.幽灵的,鬼魂的 | |
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178
portraiture
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n.肖像画法 | |
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179
dread
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vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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180
woe
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n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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181
mimic
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v.模仿,戏弄;n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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182
mien
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n.风采;态度 | |
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183
hysterically
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ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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184
dreary
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adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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185
irresistible
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adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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186
martial
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adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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187
drawn
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v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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188
frayed
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adj.磨损的v.(使布、绳等)磨损,磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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189
protruded
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v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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190
trifling
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adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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191
impelled
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v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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192
shrouded
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v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 );保密 | |
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193
shroud
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n.裹尸布,寿衣;罩,幕;vt.覆盖,隐藏 | |
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194
blenching
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v.(因惊吓而)退缩,惊悸( blench的现在分词 );(使)变白,(使)变苍白 | |
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195
pointed
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adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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196
cape
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n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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197
sufficiently
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adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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198
amazement
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n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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199
recoiled
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v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 );退缩;报应;返回 | |
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200
clenched
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v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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201
afterward
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adv.后来;以后 | |
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202
dismal
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adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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203
knell
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n.丧钟声;v.敲丧钟 | |
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204
artillery
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n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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205
cannon
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n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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206
smote
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v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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207
aged
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adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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208
traitor
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n.叛徒,卖国贼 | |
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209
retired
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adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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210
scattered
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adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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211
cargoes
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n.(船或飞机装载的)货物( cargo的名词复数 );大量,重负 | |
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212
superstition
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n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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213
wondrous
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adj.令人惊奇的,奇妙的;adv.惊人地;异乎寻常地;令人惊叹地 | |
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214
discomfiture
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n.崩溃;大败;挫败;困惑 | |
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215
glide
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n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
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216
feverish
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adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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217
nostrils
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鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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218
emblem
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n.象征,标志;徽章 | |
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219
rattling
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adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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220
mingling
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adj.混合的 | |
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221
picturesque
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adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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222
slate
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n.板岩,石板,石片,石板色,候选人名单;adj.暗蓝灰色的,含板岩的;vt.用石板覆盖,痛打,提名,预订 | |
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223
neatly
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adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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224
desperately
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adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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225
antiquity
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n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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226
awe
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n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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227
densest
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密集的( dense的最高级 ); 密度大的; 愚笨的; (信息量大得)难理解的 | |
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228
legendary
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adj.传奇(中)的,闻名遐迩的;n.传奇(文学) | |
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229
abode
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n.住处,住所 | |
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230
snuggest
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adj.整洁的( snug的最高级 );温暖而舒适的;非常舒适的;紧身的 | |
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231
boisterous
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adj.喧闹的,欢闹的 | |
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232
gale
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n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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233
flare
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v.闪耀,闪烁;n.潮红;突发 | |
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234
onward
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adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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235
edifices
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n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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236
dwellings
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n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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237
dwelling
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n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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238
warehouses
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仓库,货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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239
populous
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adj.人口稠密的,人口众多的 | |
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240
merging
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合并(分类) | |
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241
tiresome
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adj.令人疲劳的,令人厌倦的 | |
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242
compensated
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补偿,报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 ); 给(某人)赔偿(或赔款) | |
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243
glimmering
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n.微光,隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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244
panes
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窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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245
shriek
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v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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246
stratum
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n.地层,社会阶层 | |
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247
draught
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n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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248
solvent
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n.溶剂;adj.有偿付能力的 | |
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249
overflowed
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溢出的 | |
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250
anecdotes
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n.掌故,趣闻,轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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251
anecdote
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n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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252
fable
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n.寓言;童话;神话 | |
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253
conjecture
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n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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254
portrayed
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v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 );描述;描绘;描画 | |
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255
musing
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n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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256
fortress
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n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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257
affix
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n.附件,附录 vt.附贴,盖(章),签署 | |
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258
affixing
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v.附加( affix的现在分词 );粘贴;加以;盖(印章) | |
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259
scrutinizing
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v.仔细检查,详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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260
kinsman
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n.男亲属 | |
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261
entirely
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ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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262
orphan
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n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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263
cramped
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a.狭窄的 | |
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264
conspicuous
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adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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265
attentive
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adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
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266
fables
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n.寓言( fable的名词复数 );神话,传说 | |
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267
demon
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n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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268
demonstration
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n.表明,示范,论证,示威 | |
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269
authentic
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a.真的,真正的;可靠的,可信的,有根据的 | |
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270
calamity
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n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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271
apparition
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n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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272
shameful
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adj.可耻的,不道德的 | |
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273
bloody
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adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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274
twilight
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n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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275
glimmered
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v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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276
hearth
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n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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277
recollected
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adj.冷静的;镇定的;被回忆起的;沉思默想的v.记起,想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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278
remarkable
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adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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279
ragged
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adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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280
conceal
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v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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281
concealed
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a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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282
pompous
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adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
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283
obliterated
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v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 );涂去;擦掉;彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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284
shuddered
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v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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285
shudder
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v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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286
pristine
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adj.原来的,古时的,原始的,纯净的,无垢的 | |
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287
hues
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色彩( hue的名词复数 ); 色调; 信仰; 观点 | |
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288
repeal
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n.废止,撤消;v.废止,撤消 | |
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289
forefathers
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n.祖先,先人;祖先,祖宗( forefather的名词复数 );列祖列宗;前人 | |
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290
democrat
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n.民主主义者,民主人士;民主党党员 | |
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291
misery
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n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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292
wretch
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n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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293
folly
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n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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294
implicit
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a.暗示的,含蓄的,不明晰的,绝对的 | |
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295
credence
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n.信用,祭器台,供桌,凭证 | |
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296
veins
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n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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297
extravagant
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adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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298
subdue
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vt.制服,使顺从,征服;抑制,克制 | |
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299
rebuke
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v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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300
dreaded
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adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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301
decided
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adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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302
tumult
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n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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303
brotherhood
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n.兄弟般的关系,手中情谊 | |
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304
mythology
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n.神话,神话学,神话集 | |
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305
beckoned
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v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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306
founders
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n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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307
wigs
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n.假发,法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
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308
haughtily
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adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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309
superseded
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[医]被代替的,废弃的 | |
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310
apparently
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adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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311
patriot
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n.爱国者,爱国主义者 | |
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312
impatience
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n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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313
attaining
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(通常经过努力)实现( attain的现在分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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314
meddle
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v.干预,干涉,插手 | |
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315
providence
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n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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316
exertions
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n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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317
amend
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vt.修改,修订,改进;n.[pl.]赔罪,赔偿 | |
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318
submission
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n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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319
rabble
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n.乌合之众,暴民;下等人 | |
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320
awakened
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v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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321
recurred
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再发生,复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 ); 治愈 | |
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322
glided
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v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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323
sable
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n.黑貂;adj.黑色的 | |
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324
exclamation
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n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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325
murmur
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n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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326
effigy
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n.肖像 | |
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327
hideous
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adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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328
guilt
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n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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329
hatred
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n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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330
withering
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使人畏缩的,使人害羞的,使人难堪的 | |
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331
defiance
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n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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332
trampled
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踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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333
intrigue
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vt.激起兴趣,迷住;vi.耍阴谋;n.阴谋,密谋 | |
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334
intensify
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vt.加强;变强;加剧 | |
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335
scrawled
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乱涂,潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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336
betokened
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v.预示,表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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337
salvation
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n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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338
stifled
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(使)窒息, (使)窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 ); 镇压,遏制; 堵 | |
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339
renovation
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n.革新,整修 | |
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340
interval
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n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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341
massacre
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n.残杀,大屠杀;v.残杀,集体屠杀 | |
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342
likeness
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n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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343
frenzied
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a.激怒的;疯狂的 | |
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344
miraculous
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adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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345
authenticity
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n.真实性 | |
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346
gathering
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n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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347
babbled
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v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 );作潺潺声(如流水);含糊不清地说话;泄漏秘密 | |
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348
deserted
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adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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349
plunging
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adj.跳进的,突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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350
mantle
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n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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351
gratitude
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adj.感激,感谢 | |
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352
humble
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adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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353
narratives
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记叙文( narrative的名词复数 ); 故事; 叙述; 叙述部分 | |
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354
joint
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adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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355
premises
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n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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356
potent
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adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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357
courteous
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adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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358
benefactors
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n.捐助者,施主( benefactor的名词复数 );恩人 | |
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359
imposing
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adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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360
chapel
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n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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|
361
epoch
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n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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362
attachment
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n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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363
royalty
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n.皇家,皇族 | |
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|
364
heresies
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|
n.异端邪说,异教( heresy的名词复数 ) | |
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|
365
mellower
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成熟的( mellow的比较级 ); (水果)熟透的; (颜色或声音)柔和的; 高兴的 | |
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366
usurpation
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n.篡位;霸占 | |
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367
obstinate
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adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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368
scrambling
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v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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369
destitute
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adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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370
exquisite
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adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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371
bin
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n.箱柜;vt.放入箱内;[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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372
imbibed
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v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 );喝;吸取;吸气 | |
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373
adornment
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n.装饰;装饰品 | |
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374
guardian
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|
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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|
375
extinction
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|
n.熄灭,消亡,消灭,灭绝,绝种 | |
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376
eligible
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|
adj.有条件被选中的;(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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|
377
consort
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v.相伴;结交 | |
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|
378
infinitely
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|
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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|
379
peril
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n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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|
380
primitive
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|
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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381
artifices
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|
n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 );诡计;巧妙办法;虚伪行为 | |
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382
corruptions
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n.堕落( corruption的名词复数 );腐化;腐败;贿赂 | |
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|
383
haughty
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adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
384
hereditary
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|
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
385
sane
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|
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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|
386
rumbled
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|
发出隆隆声,发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 轰鸣着缓慢行进; 发现…的真相; 看穿(阴谋) | |
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|
387
prancing
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|
v.(马)腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
388
dangling
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|
悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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|
389
maiden
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|
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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|
390
reined
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|
勒缰绳使(马)停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 ); 驾驭; 严格控制; 加强管理 | |
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|
391
cavalcade
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|
n.车队等的行列 | |
参考例句: |
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|
392
tolling
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|
[财]来料加工 | |
参考例句: |
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|
393
distinguished
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|
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
394
ushered
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|
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
395
embodied
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|
v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
参考例句: |
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|
396
deferred
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|
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 | |
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|
397
affected
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adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
398
heralds
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|
n.使者( herald的名词复数 );预报者;预兆;传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 );宣布(好或重要) | |
参考例句: |
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|
399
gateway
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|
n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
参考例句: |
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|
400
astonishment
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|
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
参考例句: |
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|
401
disorder
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|
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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|
402
prostrated
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|
v.使俯伏,使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 );(指疾病、天气等)使某人无能为力 | |
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403
prostrate
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|
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
404
reverence
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|
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
参考例句: |
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|
405
cane
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|
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
406
nay
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|
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
参考例句: |
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|
407
cowering
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|
v.畏缩,抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
408
trampling
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|
踩( trample的现在分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
参考例句: |
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|
409
smitten
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|
猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
410
insolent
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|
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
参考例句: |
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411
confinement
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|
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
参考例句: |
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|
412
humiliation
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|
n.羞辱 | |
参考例句: |
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|
413
envelops
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|
v.包围,笼罩,包住( envelop的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
414
obedience
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|
n.服从,顺从 | |
参考例句: |
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|
415
eulogy
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|
n.颂词;颂扬 | |
参考例句: |
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|
416
hoops
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|
n.箍( hoop的名词复数 );(篮球)篮圈;(旧时儿童玩的)大环子;(两端埋在地里的)小铁弓 | |
参考例句: |
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|
417
enveloped
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|
v.包围,笼罩,包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
418
foliage
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|
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
参考例句: |
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419
symbolic
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|
adj.象征性的,符号的,象征主义的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
420
fabled
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|
adj.寓言中的,虚构的 | |
参考例句: |
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421
virtues
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|
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
参考例句: |
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422
delirium
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|
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
参考例句: |
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|
423
vividly
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|
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
参考例句: |
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424
utterance
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|
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
参考例句: |
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|
425
ridicule
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|
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
参考例句: |
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|
426
disdaining
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|
鄙视( disdain的现在分词 ); 不屑于做,不愿意做 | |
参考例句: |
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|
427
enjoyment
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|
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
参考例句: |
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|
428
unnatural
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|
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
429
sarcasm
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|
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
参考例句: |
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|
430
lurking
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|
潜在 | |
参考例句: |
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|
431
perplexed
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|
adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
432
sanity
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|
n.心智健全,神智正常,判断正确 | |
参考例句: |
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|
433
obsequiousness
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|
媚骨 | |
参考例句: |
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|
434
tolerance
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|
n.宽容;容忍,忍受;耐药力;公差 | |
参考例句: |
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|
435
refreshments
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|
n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
参考例句: |
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|
436
champagne
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|
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
参考例句: |
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|
437
tedium
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|
n.单调;烦闷 | |
参考例句: |
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|
438
goblet
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|
n.高脚酒杯 | |
参考例句: |
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|
439
idol
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|
n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
参考例句: |
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|
440
requital
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|
n.酬劳;报复 | |
参考例句: |
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|
441
vessel
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|
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
参考例句: |
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442
consecrated
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|
adj.神圣的,被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣,给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 );奉献 | |
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|
443
knave
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|
n.流氓;(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
参考例句: |
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|
444
decency
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|
n.体面,得体,合宜,正派,庄重 | |
参考例句: |
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|
445
entreaty
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|
n.恳求,哀求 | |
参考例句: |
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|
446
abide
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|
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
参考例句: |
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|
447
premature
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|
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
448
epidemic
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|
n.流行病;盛行;adj.流行性的,流传极广的 | |
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449
wont
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|
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
参考例句: |
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|
450
slay
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|
v.杀死,宰杀,杀戮 | |
参考例句: |
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|
451
virulence
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|
n.毒力,毒性;病毒性;致病力 | |
参考例句: |
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|
452
ravages
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|
劫掠后的残迹,破坏的结果,毁坏后的残迹 | |
参考例句: |
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|
453
slumber
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|
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
参考例句: |
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|
454
scourge
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|
n.灾难,祸害;v.蹂躏 | |
参考例句: |
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|
455
devoted
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|
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
456
prerogative
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|
n.特权 | |
参考例句: |
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|
457
crooked
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|
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
458
labor
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|
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
参考例句: |
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|
459
laboring
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|
n.劳动,操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句: |
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|
460
pestilence
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|
n.瘟疫 | |
参考例句: |
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|
461
mighty
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|
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
462
conqueror
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|
n.征服者,胜利者 | |
参考例句: |
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|
463
contemplating
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|
深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
参考例句: |
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|
464
fangless
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|
Fangless | |
参考例句: |
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|
465
cholera
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|
n.霍乱 | |
参考例句: |
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|
466
relics
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|
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
参考例句: |
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|
467
relinquish
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|
v.放弃,撤回,让与,放手 | |
参考例句: |
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|
468
usurper
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|
n. 篡夺者, 僭取者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
469
hovering
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|
鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
参考例句: |
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|
470
tainted
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|
adj.腐坏的;污染的;沾污的;感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 );使污染;败坏;被污染,腐坏,败坏 | |
参考例句: |
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|
471
luxurious
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|
adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
472
contagion
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|
n.(通过接触的疾病)传染;蔓延 | |
参考例句: |
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|
473
lurked
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|
vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
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|
474
splendor
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|
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
参考例句: |
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|
475
delirious
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|
adj.不省人事的,神智昏迷的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
476
toil
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|
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
477
stiffening
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|
n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
478
bruited
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|
v.传播(传说或谣言)( bruit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
479
raved
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|
v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 );愤怒地说;咆哮;痴心地说 | |
参考例句: |
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|
480
evoked
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|
[医]诱发的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
481
monstrous
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|
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
482
hoisted
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|
把…吊起,升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
483
ascended
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|
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
484
asunder
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|
adj.分离的,化为碎片 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
485
quelling
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|
v.(用武力)制止,结束,镇压( quell的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
486
quell
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|
v.压制,平息,减轻 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
487
frenzy
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|
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
488
caustic
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|
adj.刻薄的,腐蚀性的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
489
tyrants
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|
专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 ); 暴君似的人; (古希腊的)僭主; 严酷的事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
490
noted
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|
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
491
ascending
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|
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
492
delusion
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|
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
493
enchantment
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|
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
参考例句: |
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|
494
anticipations
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预期( anticipation的名词复数 ); 预测; (信托财产收益的)预支; 预期的事物 | |
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495
bosom
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n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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496
potency
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n. 效力,潜能 | |
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|
497
canopied
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adj. 遮有天篷的 | |
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498
murmurs
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n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 );低语声;怨言;嘀咕 | |
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499
avenged
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v.为…复仇,报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 );为…报复 | |
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500
malice
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n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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501
blighted
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adj.枯萎的,摧毁的 | |
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502
abated
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减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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503
uncertainty
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n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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504
muffling
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v.压抑,捂住( muffle的现在分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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505
bestowed
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赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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506
repose
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v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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507
veracity
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n.诚实 | |
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508
scrupulous
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adj.审慎的,小心翼翼的,完全的,纯粹的 | |
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|
509
eyewitness
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n.目击者,见证人 | |
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|
510
specimen
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|
n.样本,标本 | |
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511
entreaties
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n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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|
512
alluded
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|
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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|
513
fluency
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n.流畅,雄辩,善辩 | |
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514
judgment
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n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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515
meridian
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adj.子午线的;全盛期的 | |
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516
withered
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adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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517
clinched
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v.(尤指两人)互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 );解决(争端、交易),达成(协议) | |
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518
kindly
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adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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519
desolate
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adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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520
vaguely
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adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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521
misty
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|
adj.雾蒙蒙的,有雾的 | |
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522
sketch
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|
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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523
pensive
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|
a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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524
embark
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|
vi.乘船,着手,从事,上飞机 | |
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525
testimony
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|
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
参考例句: |
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526
subduing
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|
征服( subdue的现在分词 ); 克制; 制服; 色变暗 | |
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|
527
eminent
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|
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
参考例句: |
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528
bounty
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|
n.慷慨的赠予物,奖金;慷慨,大方;施与 | |
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529
nominal
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|
adj.名义上的;(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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530
pretext
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|
n.借口,托词 | |
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|
531
expended
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|
v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 );使用(钱等)做某事;用光;耗尽 | |
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532
adorning
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|
修饰,装饰物 | |
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533
punctilious
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adj.谨慎的,谨小慎微的 | |
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534
flaring
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|
a.火焰摇曳的,过份艳丽的 | |
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535
hearths
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壁炉前的地板,炉床,壁炉边( hearth的名词复数 ) | |
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536
fabling
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|
v.讲故事,编寓言(fable的现在分词形式) | |
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|
537
sterling
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|
adj.英币的(纯粹的,货真价实的);n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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538
remains
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n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
参考例句: |
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539
totter
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|
v.蹒跚, 摇摇欲坠;n.蹒跚的步子 | |
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540
manly
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|
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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|
541
gush
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|
v.喷,涌;滔滔不绝(说话);n.喷,涌流;迸发 | |
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542
entrusted
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|
v.委托,托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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|
543
majestic
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|
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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544
pertinacious
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adj.顽固的 | |
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|
545
dame
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|
n.女士 | |
参考例句: |
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546
obstinacy
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|
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
参考例句: |
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547
smiting
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|
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的现在分词 ) | |
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|
548
magistrates
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|
地方法官,治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
549
tarnished
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|
(通常指金属)(使)失去光泽,(使)变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 ); 玷污,败坏 | |
参考例句: |
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|
550
blurred
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|
v.(使)变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 );(使)难以区分;模模糊糊;迷离 | |
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551
overthrown
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|
adj. 打翻的,推倒的,倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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552
adorned
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|
[计]被修饰的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
553
isolated
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|
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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|
554
license
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|
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
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|
555
haughtiness
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|
n.傲慢;傲气 | |
参考例句: |
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|
556
acting
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|
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
557
embodying
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|
v.表现( embody的现在分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
参考例句: |
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|
558
reverencing
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|
v.尊敬,崇敬( reverence的现在分词 );敬礼 | |
参考例句: |
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|
559
wrested
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|
(用力)拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 ); 费力取得; (从…)攫取; ( 从… ) 强行取去… | |
参考例句: |
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|
560
slabs
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|
n.厚板,平板,厚片( slab的名词复数 );厚胶片 | |
参考例句: |
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|
561
grandees
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|
n.贵族,大公,显贵者( grandee的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
562
gliding
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|
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
563
vouching
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|
n.(复核付款凭单等)核单v.保证( vouch的现在分词 );担保;确定;确定地说 | |
参考例句: |
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|
564
stanch
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|
v.止住(血等);adj.坚固的;坚定的 | |
参考例句: |
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565
crestfallen
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|
adj. 挫败的,失望的,沮丧的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
566
tribulation
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|
n.苦难,灾难 | |
参考例句: |
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|
567
smacked
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|
拍,打,掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
568
timorously
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|
adv.胆怯地,羞怯地 | |
参考例句: |
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|
569
reviled
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|
v.辱骂,痛斥( revile的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
570
lavished
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|
v.过分给予,滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
571
bribes
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|
n.贿赂( bribe的名词复数 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂v.贿赂( bribe的第三人称单数 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂 | |
参考例句: |
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|
572
tempted
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|
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
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|
573
beguile
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|
vt.欺骗,消遣 | |
参考例句: |
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|
574
verge
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|
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
参考例句: |
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|
575
partially
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|
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句: |
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|
576
victorious
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|
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
577
destined
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|
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
578
triumphant
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|
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
579
invincible
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|
adj.不可征服的,难以制服的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
580
mildewed
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|
adj.发了霉的,陈腐的,长了霉花的v.(使)发霉,(使)长霉( mildew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
581
casement
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|
n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
参考例句: |
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|
582
portend
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|
v.预兆,预示;给…以警告 | |
参考例句: |
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|
583
frightful
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|
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
584
jubilee
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|
n.周年纪念;欢乐 | |
参考例句: |
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|
585
dismally
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|
adv.阴暗地,沉闷地 | |
参考例句: |
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586
wreck
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|
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
参考例句: |
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|
587
ashen
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|
adj.灰的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
588
construed
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|
v.解释(陈述、行为等)( construe的过去式和过去分词 );翻译,作句法分析 | |
参考例句: |
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|
589
tottering
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|
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
参考例句: |
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|
590
sweeping
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|
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
591
rustling
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|
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
592
thronging
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|
v.成群,挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
593
majestically
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|
雄伟地; 庄重地; 威严地; 崇高地 | |
参考例句: |
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|
594
tapestry
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|
n.挂毯,丰富多采的画面 | |
参考例句: |
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|
595
lessen
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|
vt.减少,减轻;缩小 | |
参考例句: |
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|
596
civic
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|
adj.城市的,都市的,市民的,公民的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
597
courteously
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|
adv.有礼貌地,亲切地 | |
参考例句: |
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598
doomed
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|
命定的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
599
proscribed
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|
v.正式宣布(某事物)有危险或被禁止( proscribe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
600
foe
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|
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
参考例句: |
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|
601
triumphantly
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|
ad.得意洋洋地;得胜地;成功地 | |
参考例句: |
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|
602
humbled
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|
adj. 卑下的,谦逊的,粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下,贬低 | |
参考例句: |
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|
603
gushed
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|
v.喷,涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
参考例句: |
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|
604
superstitions
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|
迷信,迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
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|
605
reverently
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|
adv.虔诚地 | |
参考例句: |
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|
606
reverberating
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|
回响,回荡( reverberate的现在分词 ); 使反响,使回荡,使反射 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
607
phantom
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|
n.幻影,虚位,幽灵;adj.错觉的,幻影的,幽灵的 | |
参考例句: |
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|
608
tottered
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|
v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
参考例句: |
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|
609
quench
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|
vt.熄灭,扑灭;压制 | |
参考例句: |
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|
610
vouchsafed
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|
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 );允诺 | |
参考例句: |
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