A Tale from the German of Tieck.1
Emilius was sitting in deep thought at his table, awaiting his friend Roderick. The light was burning before him; the winter evening was cold; and to-day he wished for the presence of his fellow-traveller, though at other times wont2 rather to avoid his society: for on this evening he was about to disclose a secret to him, and beg for his advice. The timid, shy Emilius found in every business and accident of life so many difficulties, such insurmountable hindrances3, that it might seem to have been an ironical4 whim5 of his destiny which brought him and Roderick together, Roderick being in everything the reverse of his friend. Inconstant, flighty, always determined7 by the first impression, and kindling8 in an instant, he engaged in everything, had a plan for every occasion; no undertaking10 was too arduous11 for him, no obstacle could deter6 him. But in the midst of the pursuit he slackened and wearied just as suddenly as at first he had caught fire and sprung forward. Whatever then opposed him, was for him not a spur to urge him onward12, but only led him to abandon what he had so hotly rushed into; so that Roderick was every day thoughtlessly beginning something new, and with no better cause relinquishing13 and idly forgetting what he had begun the day before. Hence, never a day passed but the friends got into a quarrel, which seemed to threaten the death of their friendship; and yet what to all appearance thus severed14 them, was perhaps the very thing that most closely bound them together; each loved the other heartily15; but each found passing satisfaction in being able to discharge the most justly deserved reproaches upon his friend.
Emilius, a rich young man, of a susceptible16 and melancholy17 temperament18, on the death of his parents had become master of his fortune. He had set out on a journey in order thereby21 to complete his education, but had now already spent several months in a large town, for the sake of enjoying the pleasures of the carnival22, about which he never gave himself the least trouble, and of making certain arrangements of importance about his fortune with some relations, to whom as yet he had scarcely paid a visit. On the road he had fallen in with the restless, ever-shifting and veering24 Roderick, who was living at variance25 with his guardians26, and who, to free himself wholly from them and their burdensome admonitions, eagerly grasped at the opportunity held out to him by his new friend of becoming his companion on his travels. During their journey they had often been on the point of separating; but each after every dispute had only felt the more clearly that he could not live without the other. Scarce had they left their carriage in any town, when Roderick had already seen everything remarkable27 in it, to forget it all again on the morrow; while Emilius took a week to acquire a thorough knowledge of the place from his books, lest he should omit seeing anything that was to be seen; and after all, from indolence and indifference28 thought there was hardly anything worth his while to go and look at. Roderick had immediately made a thousand acquaintances, and visited every public place of entertainment; often too he brought his new-made friends to the lonely chamber29 of Emilius, and would then leave him alone with them, as soon as they began to tire him. At other times he would confound the modest Emilius by extravagantly31 praising his merits and his acquirements before intelligent and learned men, and by giving them to understand how much they might learn from his friend about languages, or antiquities32, or the fine arts, although he himself could never find time for listening to him on such subjects, when the conversation happened to turn on them. But if Emilius ever chanced to be in a more active mood, he might almost make sure of his truant33 friend having caught cold the night before at a ball or a sledge-party, and being forced to keep his bed; so that, with the liveliest, most restless, and most communicative of men for his companion, Emilius lived in the greatest solitude34.
To-day he confidently expected him; for Roderick had been forced to give him a solemn promise of spending the evening with him, in order to learn what it was that for weeks had been depressing and agitating35 his thoughtful friend. Meanwhile Emilius wrote down the following lines:
’Tis sweet when spring its choir36 assembles,
And every nightingale is steeping
The trees in his melodious37 weeping,
Till leaf and bloom with rapture39 trembles.
Fair is the net which moonlight weaves;
Fair are the breezes’ gambolings,
As with lime-odours on their wings
They chase each other through the leaves.
Bright is the glory of the rose,
When Love’s rich magic decks the earth,
From countless40 roses Love looks forth41,
Those stars wherewith Love’s heaven glows.
But sweeter, fairer, brighter far
To me that little lamp’s pale gleaming,
When through the narrow casement42 streaming,
It bids me hail my evening star;
As from their braids her locks she flings,
Then twines44 them in a flowery band,
While at each motion of her hand
The white robe to her fair form clings;
Or when she breaks her lute’s deep slumbers45,
And as at morning’s touch up-darting,
The notes, beneath her fingers starting,
Dance o’er the strings46 in playful numbers.
To stop their flight her voice she pours
Full after them; they laugh and fly,
And to my heart for refuge hie;
Her voice pursues them through its doors.
Leave me, ye fierce ones! hence remove!
They bar themselves within, and say,
‘Till this be broken, here we stay,
That thou mayst know what ’tis to love.’
Emilius arose fretfully. It grew darker, and Roderick came not, and he was wishing to tell him of his love for an unknown fair one, who dwelt in the opposite house, and who kept him all day long at home, and waking through many a night. At length footsteps sounded up the stairs; the door opened without anybody knocking at it, and in walked two gay masks with ugly visages, one a Turk, dressed in red and blue silk, the other a Spaniard in pale yellow and pink with many waving feathers on his hat. As Emilius was becoming impatient, Roderick took off his mask, showed his well-known laughing countenance48, and said: ‘Heyday, my good friend, what a drowned puppy of a face! Is this the way to look in carnival time? I and our dear young officer are come to fetch you away. There is a grand ball to-night at the masquerade rooms; and as I know you have forsworn ever going out in any other suit than that which you always wear, of the devil’s own colour, come with us as black as you are, for it is already somewhat late.’
Emilius felt angry, and said: ‘You have, it seems, according to custom, altogether forgotten our agreement. I am extremely sorry,’ he continued, turning to the stranger, ‘that I cannot possibly accompany you; my friend has been over-hasty in promising49 for me; indeed I cannot go out at all, having something of importance to talk to him about.’
The stranger, who was well-bred, and saw what Emilius meant, withdrew; but Roderick, with the utmost indifference, put on his mask again, placed himself before the glass, and said: ‘Verily I am a hideous50 figure, am I not? To say the truth, it is a tasteless, worthless, disgusting device.’
‘That there can be no question about,’ answered Emilius, in high indignation. ‘Making a caricature of yourself, and making a fool of yourself, are among the pleasures you are always driving after at full gallop52.’
‘Because you do not like dancing yourself,’ said the other, ‘and look upon dancing as a mischievous53 invention, not a soul in the world must wear a merry face. How tiresome54 it is, when a person is made up of nothing but whims55!’
‘Doubtless!’ replied his angry friend, ‘and you give me ample opportunity for finding that it is so. I thought after our agreement you would have given me this evening; but——’
‘But it is the carnival, you know,’ pursued the other, ‘and all my acquaintances and certain fair ladies are expecting me at the grand ball to-night. Assure yourself, my good friend, it is mere56 disease in you that makes you so unreasonable57 against all such matters.’
‘Which of us has the fairest claim to disease,’ said Emilius, ‘I will not examine. At least your inconceivable frivolousness58, your hunger and thirst after stop-gaps for every hour you are awake, your wild-goose chase after pleasures that leave the heart empty, seem not to me altogether the healthiest state of the soul. In certain things, at all events, you might make a little allowance for my weakness, if it must once for all pass for such: and there is nothing in the world that so jars through and through me as a ball with its frightful59 music. Somebody once said, that to a deaf person who cannot hear the music, a set of dancers must look like so many patients for a mad-house; but, in my opinion, this dreadful music itself, this twirling and whirling and pirouetting of half a dozen notes, each treading on its own heels, in those accursed tunes60 which ram19 themselves into our memories, yea, I might say, mix themselves up with our very blood, so that one cannot get rid of their taint61 for many a miserable62 day after—this to me is the very trance of madness; and if I could ever bring myself to think dancing endurable, it must be dancing to the tune20 of silence.’
‘Well done, signor Paradox-monger!’ exclaimed the mask. ‘Why, you are so far gone, that you think the most natural, most innocent, and merriest thing in the world unnatural63, ay, and shocking.’
‘I cannot change my feelings,’ said his grave friend. ‘From my very childhood these tunes have made me wretched, and have often well-nigh driven me out of my senses. They are to me the ghosts and spectres and furies in the world of sound, and come thus and buzz round my head, and grin at me with horrid65 laughter.’
‘All nervous irritability66!’ returned the other; ‘just like your extravagant30 abhorrence67 of spiders and many other harmless insects.’
‘Harmless you call them,’ cried Emilius, now quite untuned, ‘because you have no repugnance69 toward them. To one, however, who feels the same disgust and loathing70, the same nameless horror, that I feel, rise up in his soul and shoot through his whole being at the sight of them, these miscreate deformities, such as toads71, spiders, or that most loathsome72 of nature’s excrements, the bat, are not indifferent or insignificant73: their very existence is directly at enmity and wages war with his. In truth, one might smile at the unbelievers whose imagination is too barren for ghosts and fearful spectres, and those births of night which we see in sickness, to take root therein, or who stare and marvel74 at Dante’s descriptions, when the commonest every-day life brings before our eyes such frightful distorted master-pieces among the works of horror. Yet, can we really and faithfully love the beautiful, without being stricken with pain at the sight of such monstrosities?’
‘Wherefore stricken with pain?’ asked Roderick. ‘Why should the great realm of the waters and the seas present us with nothing but those terrors which you have accustomed yourself to find there? Why not rather look on such creatures as strange, entertaining, and ludicrous mummers, and on the whole region in the light of a great masked ball-room? But your whims go still further; for as you love roses with a kind of idolatry, there are many flowers for which you have a no less vehement75 hatred76: yet what harm has the dear good tulip ever done you, or all the other dutiful children of summer that you persecute77? So again you have an aversion to many colours, to many scents78, and to many thoughts; and you take no pains to harden yourself against these weaknesses, but yield to them and sink down into them as into a luxurious79 feather-bed; and I often fear I shall lose you altogether some day, and find nothing but a patchwork80 of whims and prejudices sitting at that table instead of my Emilius.’
Emilius was wrath81 to the bottom of his heart, and answered not a word. He had long given up all design of making his intended confession82; nor did the thoughtless Roderick show the least wish to hear the secret which his melancholy friend had announced to him with such an air of solemnity. He sat carelessly in the arm-chair, playing with his mask, when he suddenly cried: ‘Be so kind, Emilius, as to lend me your large cloak.’
‘What for?’ asked the other.
‘I hear music in the church on the opposite side of the street,’ answered Roderick, ‘and this hour has hitherto escaped me every evening since we have been here. To-day it comes just as if called for. I can hide my dress under your cloak, which will also cover my mask and turban, and when it is over I can go straight to the ball.’
Emilius muttered between his teeth as he looked in the wardrobe for his cloak, then constraining83 himself to an ironical smile, gave it to Roderick, who was already on his legs. ‘There is my Turkish dagger84 which I bought yesterday,’ said the mask, as he wrapped himself up; ‘put it by for me; it is a bad habit carrying about toys of cold steel: one can never tell what ill use may be made of them, should a quarrel arise, or any other knot which it is easier to cut than to untie85. We meet again to-morrow; farewell; a pleasant evening to you.’ He waited for no reply, but hastened down-stairs.
When Emilius was alone, he tried to forget his anger, and to fix his attention on the laughable side of his friend’s behaviour. After a while his eyes rested upon the shining, finely-wrought86 dagger, and he said: ‘What must be the feelings of a man who could thrust this sharp iron into the breast of an enemy! but oh, what must be those of one who could hurt a beloved object with it! He locked it up, then gently folded back the shutters87 of his window, and looked across the narrow street. But no light was there; all was dark in the opposite house; the dear form that dwelt in it, and that used about this time to show herself at her household occupations, seemed to be absent. ‘Perhaps she is at the ball,’ thought Emilius, little as it suited her retired88 way of life.
Suddenly, however, a light entered; the little girl whom his beloved unknown had about her, and with whom, during the day and evening, she busied herself in various ways, carried a candle through the room, and closed the window-shutters. An opening remained light, large enough for over-looking a part of the little chamber from the spot where Emilius stood; and there the happy youth would often bide89 till after midnight, fixed90 as though he had been charmed there. He was full of gladness when he saw her teaching the child to read, or instructing her in sewing and knitting. Upon inquiry91 he had learnt that the little girl was a poor orphan92 whom his fair maiden93 had charitably taken into the house to educate her. Emilius’s friends could not conceive why he lived in this narrow street, in this comfortless lodging94, why he was so little to be seen in society, or how he employed himself. Without employment, in solitude he was happy: only he felt angry with himself and his own timidity and shyness, which kept him from venturing to seek a nearer acquaintance with this fair being, notwithstanding the friendliness96 with which on many occasions she had greeted and thanked him. He knew not that she would often bend over him eyes no less love-sick than his own; nor boded97 what wishes were forming in her heart, of what an effort, of what a sacrifice she felt herself capable, so she might but attain98 to the possession of his love.
After walking a few times up and down the room, when the light had departed with the child, he suddenly resolved upon going to the ball, though it was so against his inclination99 and his nature; for it struck him that his Unknown might have made an exception to her quiet mode of life, in order for once to enjoy the world, and its gaieties. The streets were brilliantly lighted up, the snow crackled under his feet, carriages rolled by, and masks in every variety of dress whistled and chirped100 as they passed him. From many a house there sounded the dancing-music he so abhorred101, and he could not bring himself to go the nearest way towards the ball-room, whither people from every direction were streaming and thronging103. He walked round the old church, gazed at its lofty tower rising solemnly into the dark sky, and felt gladdened by the stillness and loneliness of the remote square. Within the recess104 of a large door-way, the varied105 sculptures of which he had always contemplated106 with pleasure, recollecting107, while so engaged, the olden times and the arts which adorned109 them, he now again paused, to give himself up for a few moments to his thoughts. He had not stood long, before a figure drew his attention, which kept restlessly walking to and fro, and seemed to be waiting for somebody. By the light of a lamp that was burning before an image of the Virgin110, he clearly distinguished111 its features as well as its strange garb112. It was an old woman of the uttermost hideousness113, which struck the eye the more from being brought out by its extravagant contrast with a scarlet114 bodice embroidered115 with gold; the gown she wore was dark, and the cap on her head shone likewise with gold. Emilius fancied at first it must be some tasteless mask that had strayed there by mistake; but he was soon convinced by the clear light that the old, brown, wrinkled face was one of Nature’s ploughing, and no mimic116 exaggeration. Many minutes had not passed when there appeared two men, wrapped up in cloaks, who seemed to approach the spot with cautions footsteps, often looking about them, as if to observe whether anybody was following. The old woman walked up to them. ‘Have you got the candles?’ asked she hastily, and with a gruff voice. ‘Here they are,’ said one of the men; ‘you know the price; let the matter be settled forthwith.’ The old woman seemed to be giving him money, which he counted over beneath his cloak. ‘I rely upon you,’ she again began, ‘that they are made exactly according to the prescription118, at the right time and place, so that the work cannot fail.’ ‘Feel safe as to that,’ returned the man, and walked rapidly away. The other, who remained behind, was a youth: he took the old woman by the hand, and said: ‘Can it then be, Alexia, that such rites119 and forms of words, as those old stories, in which I never could put faith, tell us, can fetter120 the free will of man, and make love and hatred grow in the heart?’ ‘So it is,’ answered the scarlet woman; ‘but one and one must make two, and many a one must be added thereto, before such things come to pass. It is not these candles alone, moulded beneath the midnight darkness of the new moon, and drenched121 with human blood, it is not the muttering magical words and invocations alone, that can give you the mastery over the soul of another; much more than this belongs to such works; but it is all known to the initiated122.’ ‘I rely on you then,’ said the stranger. ‘To-morrow after midnight I am at your service,’ returned the old woman. ‘You shall not be the first person that ever was dissatisfied with the tidings I brought him. To-night, as you have heard, I have some one else in hand, one whose senses and understanding our art shall twist about whichever way we choose, as easily as I twist this hair out of my head.’ These last words she uttered with a half grin: they now separated, and withdrew in different directions.
Emilius came from the dark niche123 shuddering124, and raised his looks upon the image of the Virgin with the Child. ‘Before thine eyes, thou mild and blessed one,’ said he, half aloud, ‘are these miscreants125 daring to hold their market, and trafficking in their hellish drugs. But as thou embracest thy Child with thy love, even so doth the unseen Love hold us all in its protecting arms, and we feel their touch, and our poor hearts beat in joy and in trembling toward a greater heart that will never forsake127 us.’
Clouds were wandering along over the pinnacles128 of the tower and the steep roof of the church; the everlasting129 stars looked down from amongst them, sparkling with mild serenity130; and Emilius turned his thoughts resolutely131 away from these nightly horrors, and thought upon the beauty of his Unknown. He again entered the living streets, and bent132 his steps toward the brightly illuminated133 ball-room, whence voices, and the rattling134 of carriages, and now and then, between the pauses, the clamorous135 music came sounding to his ears.
In the hall he was instantly lost amid the streaming throng102; dancers sprang round him, masks shot by him to and fro, kettle-drums and trumpets136 deafened138 his ears, and it was unto him as though human life were nothing but a dream. He walked along the lines; his eye alone was watchful139, seeking for those beloved eyes and that fair head with its brown locks, for the sight of which he yearned140 to-day even more intensely than at other times; and yet he inwardly reproached the adored being for enduring to plunge141 into and lose itself in such a stormy sea of confusion and folly142. ‘No,’ said he to himself, ‘no heart that loves can lay itself open to this waste hubbub143 of noise, in which every longing144 and every tear of love is scoffed145 and mocked at by the pealing147 laughter of wild trumpets. The whispering of trees, the murmuring of fountains, harp-tones, and gentle song gushing149 forth from an overflowing150 bosom151, are the sounds in which love abides152. But this is the very thundering and shouting of hell in the trance of its despair.’
He found not what he was seeking; for the belief that her beloved face might perchance be lying hid behind some odious38 mask was what he could not possibly bring himself to. Thrice already had he ranged up and down the hall, and had vainly passed in array every sitting and unmasked female, when the Spaniard joined him and said: ‘I am glad that after all you are come. You seem to be looking for your friend.’
Emilius had quite forgotten him: he said, however, in some confusion: ‘Indeed I wonder at not having met him here; his mask is easily known.’
‘Can you guess what the strange fellow is about?’ answered the young officer. ‘He did not dance, or even remain half an hour in the ball-room; for he soon met with his friend Anderson, who is just come from the country. Their conversation fell upon literature. As Anderson had not yet seen the new poem, Roderick would not rest till they had opened one of the back rooms for him; and there he now is, sitting with his companion beside a solitary153 taper154, and declaiming the whole poem to him, beginning with the invocation to the Muse155.’
‘It is just like him,’ said Emilius; ‘he is always the child of the moment. I have done all in my power, not even shunning156 some amicable157 quarrels, to break him of this habit of always living extempore, and playing away his whole being in impromptus158, card after card, as it happens to turn up, without once looking through his hand. But these follies159 have taken such deep root in his heart, he would sooner part with his best friend than with them. That very same poem, of which he is so fond that he always carries a copy of it in his pocket, he was desirous of reading to me, and I had even urgently entreated160 him to do so; but we were scarcely over the first description of the moon, when, just as I was resigning myself to an enjoyment161 of its beauties, he suddenly jumped up, ran off, came back with the cook’s apron162 round his waist, tore down the bell-rope in ringing to have the fire lighted, and insisted on dressing163 me some beef-steaks, for which I had not the least appetite, and of which he fancies himself the best cook in Europe, though, if he is lucky, he spoils them only nine times out of ten.’
The Spaniard laughed, and asked: ‘Has he never been in love?’
‘In his way,’ replied Emilius very gravely; ‘as if he were making game both of love and of himself, with a dozen women at a time, and, if you would believe his words, raving164 after every one of them; but ere a week passes over his head they are all sponged out of it together, and not even a blot165 of them remains166.’
They parted in the crowd, and Emilius walked toward the remote apartment, whence already from afar he heard his friend’s loud recitative. ‘Ah, so you are here too,’ cried Roderick, as he entered; ‘that is just what it should be. I have got to the very passage at which we broke down the other day; seat yourself, and you may listen to the rest.’
‘I am not in a humour for it now,’ said Emilius; ‘besides, the room and the hour do not seem to me altogether fitted for such an employment.’
‘And why not?’ answered Roderick. ‘Time and place are made for us, and not we for time and place. Is not good poetry as good at one place as at another? Or would you prefer dancing? there is scarcity167 of men; and with the help of nothing more than a few hours’ jumping and a pair of tired legs, you may lay strong siege to the hearts of as many grateful beauties as you please.’
‘Good-bye!’ cried the other, already in the door-way; ‘I am going home.’
Roderick called after him: ‘Only one word! I set off with this gentleman at daybreak to-morrow, to spend a few days in the country, but will look in upon you to take leave before we start. Should you be asleep, as is most likely, do not take the trouble of waking; for in a couple of days I shall be with you again.—The strangest being on earth!’ he continued, turning to his new friend, ‘so moping and fretful and gloomy, that he turns all his pleasures sour; or rather there is no such thing as pleasure for him. Instead of walking about with his fellow-creatures in broad daylight and enjoying himself, he gets down to the bottom of the well of his thoughts, for the sake of now and then having a glimpse of a star. Everything must be in the superlative for him; everything must be pure and noble and celestial169; his heart must be always heaving and throbbing171, even when he is standing95 before a puppet-show. He never laughs or cries, but can only smile and weep; and there is mighty172 little difference between his weeping and his smiling. When anything, be it what you will, falls short of his anticipations173 and preconceptions, which are always flying up out of reach and sight, he puts on a tragical174 face, and complains that it is a base and soulless world. At this moment, I doubt not, he is exacting175, that under the masks of a Pantaloon and a Pulcinello there should be a heart glowing with unearthly desires and ideal aspirations176, and that Harlequin should out moralise Hamlet upon the nothingness of sublunary things; and should it not be so, the dew will rise into his eyes, and he will turn his back on the whole scene with desponding contempt.’
‘He must be melancholic177 then?’ asked his hearer.
‘Not that exactly,’ answered Roderick. ‘He has only been spoilt by his over-fond parents, and by himself. He has accustomed himself to let his heart ebb178 and flow as regularly as the sea, and if this motion ever chances to intermit, he cries out miracle! and would offer a prize to the genius that can satisfactorily explain so marvellous a phenomenon. He is the best fellow under the sun; but all my painstaking179 to break him of this perverseness180 is utterly181 vain and thrown away; and if I would not earn sorry thanks for my good intentions, I must even let him follow his own course.’
‘He seems to need a physician,’ remarked Anderson.
‘It is one of his whims,’ said Roderick, ‘to entertain a supreme182 contempt for the whole medical art. He will have it that every disease is something different and distinct in every patient, that it can be brought under no class, and that it is absurd to think of healing it, either by attention to ancient practice or by what is called theory. Indeed he would much rather apply to an old woman, and make use of sympathetic cures. On the same principle, he despises all foresight183, on whatever occasion, as well as everything like regularity184, moderation, and common sense. The last above all he holds in especial abhorrence, as the antipodes and arch-enemy of all enthusiasm. From his very childhood he framed for himself an ideal of a noble character; and his highest aim is to render himself what he considers such, that is, a being who shows his superiority to all things earthy by his contempt for gold. Merely in order that he may not be suspected of being parsimonious185, or giving unwillingly186, or ever talking about money, he tosses it about him right and left by handfuls; with all his large income is for ever poor and distressed187, and becomes the fool of everybody not endowed with precisely188 the same kind of magnanimity, which for himself he is determined that he will have. To be his friend is the undertaking of all undertakings189; for he is so irritable190, one need only cough or eat with one’s knife, or even pick one’s teeth, to offend him mortally.’
‘Was he never in love?’ asked his country friend.
‘Whom should he love? whom could he love?’ answered Roderick. ‘He scorns all the daughters of earth; and were he ever to suspect that his beloved had not an angelical contempt for dress, or liked dancing as well as star-gazing, it would break his heart; still more appalling191 would it be, if she were ever so unfortunate as to sneeze.’
Meanwhile Emilius was again standing amid the throng; but suddenly there came over him that uneasiness, that shivering, which had already so often seized his heart when among a crowd in a state of similar excitement; it chased him out of the ball-room and house, down along the deserted192 streets; nor, till he reached his lonely chamber, did he recover himself and the quiet possession of his senses. The night-light was already kindled193; he sent his servant to bed; everything in the opposite house was silent and dark; and he sat down to pour forth in verse the feelings which had been aroused by the ball.
Within the heart ’tis still;
Sleep each wild thought encages;
Now stirs a wicked will,
Would see how madness rages.
And cries, Wild Spirit, awake!
Loud cymbals194 catch the cry
And back its echoes shake;
And shouting peals195 of laughter,
The trumpet137 rushes after,
And cries, Wild Spirit, awake!
Amidst them flute196 tones fly,
Like arrows keen and numberless;
And with bloodhound yell
Pipes the onset197 swell198;
And violins and violoncellos,
Creeking, clattering199,
Shrieking201 and shattering;
And horns whence thunder bellows202;
To leave the victim slumberless,
And drag forth prisoned madness,
And cruelly murder all quiet and innocent gladness.
What will be the end of this commotion203?
Where the shore to this turmoiling ocean?
What seeks the tossing throng,
As it wheels and whirls along?
On! on! the lustres
Like hell-stars bicker204:
Let us twine43 in closer clusters.
On! on! ever thicker and quicker!
How the silly things throb170, throb amain!
Hence, all quiet!
Hither, riot!
Peal146 more proudly,
Squeal205 more loudly,
Ye cymbals, ye trumpets! Be-dull all pain,
Till it laugh again.
Thou becomest to me, beauty’s daughter;
Smiles ripple206 over thy lips,
And o’er thine eyes blue water;
O let me breathe on thee,
Ere parted hence we flee.
Ere aught that light eclipse.
I know that beauty’s flowers soon wither207;
Those lips within whose rosy208 cells
Thy spirit warbles its sweet spells,
Death’s clammy kiss ere long will press together.
I know, that face so fair and full
Is but a masquerading skull209;
But hail to thee, skull so fair and so fresh!
Why should I weep and whine210 and wail211,
That what blooms now must soon grow pale,
That worms must feed on that sweet flesh?
Let me laugh but to-day and to-morrow,
And I care not for sorrow,
While thus on the waves of the dance by each other we sail!
Now thou art mine
And I am thine:
And what though pain and sorrow wait
To seize thee at the gate,
And sob212 and tear and groan213 and sigh
Stand ranged in state
On thee to fly;
Blithely214 let us look and cheerily
On death, that grins so drearily215.
What would grief with us, or anguish216?
They are foes217 that we know how to vanquish218.
I press thine answering fingers,
Thy look upon me lingers,
Or the fringe of thy garment will waft219 me a kiss:
Thou rollest on in light;
I fall back into night;
Even despair is bliss220.
From this delight,
From this wild laughter’s surge,
Perchance there may emerge
Foul221 jealousy222 and scorn and spite.
But this our glory! and pride!
When thee I despise,
I turn but mine eyes,
And the fair one beside thee will welcome my gaze;
And she is my bride;
Oh, happy, happy days!
Or shall it be her neighbour,
Whose eyes like a sabre
Flash and pierce,
Their glance is so fierce?
Thus capering223 and prancing225,
All together go dancing
Adown life’s giddy cave;
Nor living nor loving,
But dizzily roving
Through dreams to a grave.
There below ’tis yet worse;
Its flowers and its clay
Roof a gloomier day,
Hide a still deeper curse.
Ring then, ye cymbals, enliven this dream!
Ye horns, shout a fiercer, more vulture-like scream!
And jump, caper224, leap, prance226, dance yourselves out of breath!
For your life is all art;
Love has given you no heart:
Therefore shout till ye plunge into bottomless death.
He had ended and was standing at the window. Then came she into the opposite chamber, lovely, as he had never yet seen her; her brown hair floated freely and played in wanton ringlets about the whitest of necks; she was but lightly clad, and it seemed as though she was about to finish some household task at this late hour of the night before going to bed; for she placed two lights in two corners of the room, set to rights the green baize on the table, and again retired. Emilius was still sunk in his sweet dreams, and gazing on the image which his beloved had left on his mind, when to his horror the fearful, the scarlet old woman walked through the chamber; the gold on her head and breast glared ghastlily as it threw back the light. She had vanished again. Was he to believe his eyes? Was it not some blinding deception227 of the night, some spectre that his own feverish228 imagination had conjured229 up before him? But no! she returned still more hideous than before, with a long gray-and-black mane flying wildly and ruggedly230 about her breast and back. The fair maiden followed her, pale, frozen up; her lovely bosom was without a covering; but the whole form was like a marble statue. Betwixt them they led the little sweet child, weeping and clinging entreatingly231 to the fair maiden, who looked not down upon it. The child clasped and lifted up its little beseeching232 hands, and stroked the pale neck and cheeks of the marble beauty. But she held it fast by the hair, and in the other hand a silver basin. Then the old woman gave a growl233, and pulled out a long knife, and drew it across the white neck of the child. Here something wound forth from behind them, which they seemed not to perceive; or it must have produced in them the same deep horror as in Emilius. The ghastly neck of a serpent curled forth, scale after scale, lengthening234 and ever lengthening out of the darkness, and stooped down between them over the child, whose lifeless limbs hung from the old woman’s arms; its black tongue licked up the spirting red blood, and a green sparkling eye shot over into Emilius’s eye, and brain, and heart, so that he fell at the same instant to the ground.
He was senseless when found by Roderick some hours after.
A party of friends was sitting, on the brightest summer morning, in a green arbour, assembled round an excellent breakfast. Laughter and jests passed round, and many a time did the glasses kiss with a merry health to the youthful couple, and a wish that they might be the happiest of the happy. The bride and bridegroom were not present; the fair one being still busied about her dress, while the young husband was sauntering alone in a distant avenue, musing235 upon his happiness.
‘What a pity,’ said Anderson, ‘that we are to have no music. All our ladies are beclouded at the thought, and never in their whole lives longed for a dance so much as to-day, when to have one is quite out of the question. It is far too painful to his feelings.’
‘I can tell you a secret though,’ said a young officer; ‘which is, that we are to have a dance after all, and a rare madcap and riotous236 one it will he. Everything is already arranged; the musicians are come secretly, and quartered out of sight. Roderick has managed it all; for he says, one ought not to let him have his own way, or to humour his strange prejudices over-much, especially on such a day as this. Besides, he is already grown far more like a human being, and is much more sociable237 than he used to be; so that I think even he will not dislike this alteration238. Indeed, the whole wedding has been brought about all of a sudden, in a way that nobody could have expected.’
‘His whole life,’ said Anderson, ‘is no less singular than his character. You must all remember how, being engaged on his travels, he arrived last autumn in our city, fixed himself there for the winter, lived like a melancholy man, scarcely ever leaving his room, and never gave himself the least trouble about our theatre or any other amusement. He almost quarrelled with Roderick, his most intimate friend, for trying to divert him, and not pampering239 him in all his moping humours. In fact, this exaggerated irritability and moodiness240 must have been a disease that was gathering241 in his body; for, as you know, he was seized four months since with a most violent nervous fever, so that we were all forced to give him up for lost. After his fancies had raved242 themselves out, on returning to his senses, he had almost entirely243 lost his memory; his childhood, indeed, and his early youth were still present to his mind, but he could not recollect108 anything that had occurred during his travels, or immediately before his illness. He was forced to begin anew his acquaintance with all his friends, even with Roderick; and only by little and little has it grown lighter244 with him; but slowly has the past with all that had befallen him come again, though still in dim colours, over his memory. He had been removed into his uncle’s house, that the better care might be taken of him, and he was like a child, letting them do with him whatever they chose. The first time he went out to enjoy the warmth of spring in the park, he saw a girl sitting thoughtfully by the road-side. She looked up; her eye met his; and, as it were seized with an unaccountable yearning245, he bade the carriage stop, got out, sat down by her, took hold of her hands, and poured himself forth in a full stream of tears. His friends were again alarmed for his understanding; but he grew tranquil246, lively and conversable, got introduced to the girl’s parents, and at the very first besought247 her hand; which, as her parents did not refuse their consent, she granted him. Thenceforward he was happy, and a new life sprang up within him; every day he became healthier and more cheerful. A week ago he visited me at this country-seat of mine, and was above measure delighted with it; indeed so much so that he would not rest till he had made me sell it to him. I might easily have turned his passionate248 wish to my own good account, and to his injury; for, whenever he sets his heart on a thing, he will have it, and that forthwith. He immediately made his arrangements, and had furniture brought hither that he may spend the summer months here; and in this way it has come to pass that we are all now assembled together to celebrate our friend’s marriage at this villa249, which a few days since belonged to me.’
The house was large, and situated250 in a very lovely country. One side looked down upon a river, and beyond it upon pleasant hills, clad and girt round with shrubs251 and trees of various kinds; immediately before it lay a beautiful flower-garden. Here the orange and lemon trees were ranged in a large open hall, from which small doors led to the store-rooms and cellars, and pantries. On the other side spread the green plain of a meadow, which was immediately bordered by a large park; here the two long wings of the house formed a spacious252 court; and three broad, open galleries, supported by rows of pillars standing above each other, connected all the apartments in the building, which gave it on this side an interesting and singular character; for figures were continually moving along these arcades253 in the discharge of their various household tasks; new forms kept stepping forth between the pillars and out of every room, which reappeared soon after above or below, to be lost behind some other doors; the company too would often assemble there for tea or for play; and thus, when seen from below, the whole had the look of a theatre, before which everybody would gladly pause awhile, expecting, as his fancies wandered, that something strange or pleasing would soon be taking place above.
The party of young people were just rising, when the full-dressed bride came through the garden and walked up to them. She was clad in violet-coloured velvet254; a sparkling necklace lay cradled on her white neck; the costly255 lace just allowed her swelling256 bosom to glimmer257 through; her brown hair was tinged258 yet more beautifully by its wreath of myrtles and white roses. She addressed each in turn with a kind greeting, and the young men were astonished at her surpassing beauty. She had been gathering flowers in the garden, and was now returning into the house, to see after the preparations for the dinner. The tables had been placed in the lower open gallery, and shone dazzlingly with their white coverings and their load of sparkling crystal; rich clusters of many-coloured flowers rose from the graceful259 necks of alabaster260 vases; green garlands, starred with white blossoms, twined round the columns; and it was a lovely sight to behold261 the bride gliding262 along with gentle motion between the tables and the pillars, amid the light of the flowers, overlooking the whole with a searching glance, then vanishing, and re-appearing a moment afterwards higher up to pass into her chamber.
‘She is the loveliest and most enchanting263 creature I ever saw,’ cried Anderson; ‘our friend is indeed the happiest of men.’
‘Even her paleness,’ said the officer, taking up the word, ‘heightens her beauty. Her brown eyes sparkle only more intensely above those white cheeks, and beneath those dark locks; and the singular, almost burning, redness of her lips gives a truly magical appearance to her face.’
‘The air of silent melancholy that surrounds her,’ said Anderson, ‘sheds a lofty majesty264 over her whole form.’
The bridegroom joined them, and inquired after Roderick. They had all missed him some time since, and could not conceive where he could be tarrying; and they all set out in search of him. ‘He is below in the hall,’ said at length a young man whom they happened to ask, ‘in the midst of the coachmen, footmen, and grooms265, showing off tricks at cards, which they cannot grow tired of staring at.’ They went in, and interrupted the noisy admiration266 of the servants, without, however, disturbing Roderick, who quietly pursued his conjuring267 exhibition. When he had finished, he walked with the others into the garden, and said, ‘I do it only to strengthen the fellows in their faith: for these puzzles give a hard blow to their groomships’ free-thinking inclinations268, and help to make them true believers.’
‘I see,’ said the bridegroom, ‘my all-sufficing friend, among his other talents, does not think that of a mountebank269 beneath his cultivation270.’
‘We live in a strange time,’ replied the other. ‘Who knows whether mountebanks may not come to rule the roost in their turn. One ought to despise nothing nowadays: the veriest straw of talent may be that which is to break the camel’s back.’
When the two friends found themselves alone, Emilius again turned down the dark avenue, and said, ‘Why am I in such a gloomy mood on this the happiest day of my life? But I assure you, Roderick, little as you will believe it, I am not made for this moving about among such a mob of human beings; for this keeping my attention on the qui vive for every letter of the alphabet, so that neither A nor Z may go without all fitting respect; for this making a bow to her tenth, and shaking hands with my twentieth; for this rendering271 of formal homage272 to her parents; for this handing a flower from my nosegay of compliments to every lady that crosses my eye; for this waiting to receive the tide of newcomers as wave after wave rushes over me, and then turning to give orders that their servants and horses may have each a full trough and pail set before them.’
‘That is a watch that goes of its own accord,’ answered Roderick. ‘Only look at your house, it was just built for such an occasion; and your head-butler, with his right hand taking up at the same time that his left is setting down, and one leg running north while the other seems to be making for south, was begotten273 and born for no other end than to put confusion in order. He would even set my brains to rights if he could get at them; were the whole city here he would find room for all; and he will make your hospitality the proverb of fifty miles round. Leave all such things to him and to your lovely bride; and where will you find so sweet a lightener of this world’s cares?’
‘This morning before sunrise,’ said Emilius, ‘I was walking through the wood; my thoughts were solemnly tuned68, and I felt to the bottom of my soul that my life was now receiving its determinate character, that it was become a serious thing, and that this passion had created for me a home and a calling. I passed along by that arbour there, and heard sounds: it was my beloved in close conversation. “Has it not turned out now as I told you?” said a strange voice; “just as I knew it must turn out. You have got your wish, so cheer up and be merry.” I would not go near them; afterwards I walked toward the arbour, but they had both already left it. Since then I keep thinking and thinking, what can these words mean?’
Roderick answered: ‘Perhaps she may have been in love with you for some time without your knowing it; you are only so much the happier.’
A late nightingale here upraised her song, and seemed to be wishing the lover health and bliss. Emilius became more thoughtful. ‘Come down with me, to cheer up your spirits,’ said Roderick, ‘down to the village, where you will find another couple; for you must not fancy that yours is the only wedding on which to-day’s sun is to shine. A young clown, finding his time wear heavily in the house with an ugly old maid, for want of something better to do, did what makes the booby now think himself bound in honour to transform her into his wife. By this time they must both be already dressed, so let us not miss the sight; for doubtless, it will be a most interesting wedding.’
The melancholy man let himself be dragged along by his lively chattering274 friend, and they soon came to the cottage. The procession was just sallying forth, to go to the church. The young countryman was in his usual linen275 frock; all his finery consisted in a pair of leather breeches, which he had polished till they shone like a field of dandelions; he was of simple mien276, and appeared somewhat confused. The bride was sun-burnt, with but a few farewell leaves of youth still hanging about her; she was coarsely and poorly, but cleanly dressed; some red and blue silk ribbons, already a good deal faded; but what chiefly disfigured her was, that her hair, stiffened277 with lard, flour, and pins, had been swept back from her forehead, and piled up at the top of her head in a mound278, on the summit of which lay the bridal chaplet. She smiled and seemed glad at heart, but was shamefaced and downcast. Next came the aged9 parents; the father too was only a servant about the farm, and the hovel, the furniture, and the clothing, all bore witness that their poverty was extreme. A dirty, squinting279 musician followed the train, who kept grinning and screaming, and scratching his fiddle280, which was patched together of wood and pasteboard, and instead of strings had three bits of pack-thread. The procession halted when his honour, their new master, came up to them. Some mischief-loving servants, young lads and girls, tittered and laughed, and jeered281 the bridal couple, especially the ladies’ maids, who thought themselves far handsomer, and saw themselves infinitely283 better clad, and wondered how people could be so vulgar. A shuddering came over Emilius; he looked round for Roderick, but the latter had already run away from him again. An impertinent coxcomb284, with a head pilloried285 in his high starched286 neck-cloth, a servant to one of the visitors, eager to show his wit, pressed up to Emilius, giggling287, and cried: ‘Now, your honour, what says your honour to this grand couple? They can neither of them guess where they are to find bread for to-morrow, and yet they mean to give a ball this afternoon, and that famous performer there is already engaged.’ ‘No bread!’ said Emilius; ‘can such things be?’ ‘Their wretchedness,’ continued the chatterbox, ‘is known to the whole neighbourhood; but the fellow says he bears the creature the same good-will, although she is such a sorry bit of clay. Ay, verily, as the song says, love can make black white! The couple of baggages have not even a bed, and must pass their wedding night on the straw. They have just been round to every house begging a pint288 of small beer, with which they mean to get drunk; a royal treat for a wedding day, your honour!’ Everybody round about laughed loudly, and the unhappy, despised pair cast down their eyes. Emilius indignantly pushed the chatterer away. ‘Here, take this!’ he cried, and threw a hundred ducats, which he had received that morning, into the hands of the amazed bridegroom. The betrothed289 couple and their parents wept aloud, threw themselves clumsily on their knees, and kissed his hands and the skirts of his coat. He tried to make his escape. ‘Let that keep hunger out of your doors as long as it lasts!’ he exclaimed, quite stunned290 by his feelings. ‘Oh!’ they all screamed, ‘oh, your honour! we shall be rich and happy till the day of our deaths, and longer too, if we live longer.’
He knew not how he got away from them; but he found himself alone, and hastened with unsteady steps into the wood. Here he sought out the thickest, loneliest spot, and threw himself down on a grassy291 knoll292, no longer keeping back the bursting stream of his tears. ‘I am sick of life,’ he sobbed293; ‘I cannot be glad and happy, I will not. Make haste and receive me, thou dear kind earth, and hide me in thy cool, refreshing294 arms from the wild beasts that tread over thee and call themselves men. Oh, God in heaven! how have I deserved that I should rest upon down and wear silk, that the grape should pour forth her most precious blood for me, and that all should throng around me and offer me their homage and love? This poor wretch64 is better and worthier295 than I, and misery296 is his nurse, and mockery and venomous scorn are the only sounds that hail his wedding. Every delicacy297 that is placed before me, every draught298 out of my costly goblets299, my lying on soft beds, my wearing gold and rich garments, will be unto me like so many sins, now that I have beheld300 how the world hunts down many thousand thousand wretches301, who are hungering after the dry bread that I throw away, and who never know what a good meal is. Oh, now I can fully47 understand your feelings, ye holy pious302, whom the world despises and scorns and scoffs303 at, who scatter304 abroad your all, even unto the raiment of your poverty, and did gird sack-cloth about your loins, and did resolve as beggars to endure the gibes305 and the kicks wherewith brutal306 insolence307 and swilling308 voluptuousness309 drive away misery from their tables, that by so doing ye might thoroughly310 purge311 yourselves from the foul sin of wealth.’
The world, with all its forms of being, hung in a mist before his eyes; he determined to look upon the destitute312 as his brethren, and to depart far away from the communion of the happy. They had already been waiting for him a long time in the hall, to perform the ceremony; the bride had become uneasy; her parents had gone in search of him through the garden and park; at length he returned, lighter for having wept away his cares, and the solemn knot was tied.
The company then walked from the lower hall toward the open gallery, to seat themselves at table. The bride and bridegroom led the way, and the rest followed in their train. Roderick offered his arm to a young girl who was gay and talkative. ‘Why does a bride always cry, and look so sad and serious during the ceremony,’ said she, as they mounted the steps.
‘Because it is the first moment in which she feels intensely all the weight and meaning and mystery of life,’ answered Roderick.
‘But our bride,’ continued the girl, ‘far surpasses in gravity all I have ever yet seen. Indeed, she almost always looks melancholy, and one can never catch her in a downright hearty313 laugh.’
‘This does more honour to her heart,’ answered Roderick, himself, contrary to custom, feeling somewhat seriously disposed. ‘You know not, perhaps, that the bride a few years ago took a lovely little orphan girl into the house, to educate her. All her time was devoted314 to the child, and the love of this gentle being was her sweetest reward. The girl was become seven years old, when she was lost during a walk through the town, and in spite of all the means that have been employed, nobody could ever find out what became of her. Our noble-minded hostess has taken this misfortune so much to heart that she has been preyed315 upon ever since by a silent melancholy, nor can anything win her away from her longing after her little play-fellow.’
‘A most interesting adventure, indeed,’ said the lady. ‘One might see a whole romance in three volumes grow out of this seed. It will be a strange sight, and it will not be for nothing, when this lost star reappears. What a pretty poem it would make! Don’t you think so, sir?’
The party arranged themselves at table. The bride and bridegroom sat in the centre, and looked out upon the gay landscape. They talked and drank healths, and the most cheerful humour reigned316; the bride’s parents were quite happy; the bridegroom alone was reserved and thoughtful, eat but little, and took no part in the conversation. He started when some musical sounds rolled down from above, but grew calm again on finding it was nothing but the soft notes of a bugle317, which wandered along with a pleasant murmur148 over the shrubs and through the park, till they died away on the distant hills. Roderick had stationed the musicians in the gallery overhead, and Emilius was satisfied with this arrangement. Toward the end of the dinner he called his butler, and turning to his bride, said, ‘My love, let poverty also have a share of our superfluities.’ He then ordered him to send several bottles of wine, some pastry318, and other dishes in abundant portions, to the poor couple, so that with them also this day might be a day of rejoicing, unto which in after-times they might look back with delight. ‘See, my friend,’ cried Roderick, ‘how beautifully all things in this world hang together. My idle trick of busying myself about other people’s concerns, and my chattering, though you are for ever finding fault with them, have after all been the occasion of this good deed.’ Several persons began making pretty speeches to their host on his compassion319 and kind heart, and the young lady next to Roderick lisped about romantic feelings and sentimental320 magnanimity. ‘O, hold your tongues,’ cried Emilius indignantly. ‘This is no good action; it is no action at all; it is nothing. When swallows and linnets feed themselves with the crumbs321 that are thrown away from the waste of this meal, and carry them to their young ones in their nests, shall not I remember a poor brother who needs my help? If I durst follow my heart, ye would laugh and jeer282 at me, just as ye have laughed and jeered at many others who have gone forth into the wilderness322, that they might hear no more of this world and its generosity323.’
Everybody was silent, and Roderick, perceiving the most vehement displeasure in his friend’s glowing eyes, feared he might forget himself still more in his present ungracious mood, and tried to give the conversation a sudden turn upon other subjects. But Emilius was becoming restless and absent; his eyes were continually wandering toward the upper gallery, where the servants who lived in the top story had many things to do.
‘Who is that ugly old woman,’ he at length asked, ‘that is so busy there, going backwards324 and forwards, in her gray cloak?’ ‘She is one of my attendants,’ said his bride; ‘she is to overlook and manage my waiting-maids and the other girls.’ ‘How can you bear to have anything so hideous always at your elbow?’ replied Emilius. ‘Let her alone,’ answered the young lady; ‘God meant the ugly to live as well as the handsome: and she is such a good, honest creature, she may be of great use to us.’
On rising from table, everybody pressed round the new husband, again wished him joy, and urgently begged that he would consent to their having a ball. The bride too said, breathing a gentle kiss on his forehead: ‘You will not deny your wife’s first request, my beloved; we have all been looking forward with delight to this moment. It is so long since I danced last, and you have never yet seen me dance. Have you no curiosity how I shall acquit325 myself in this new character? My mother tells me I look better than at any other time.’
‘I never saw you thus cheerful,’ said Emilius; ‘I will be no disturber of your joys: do just what you please; only let me bargain for nobody asking me to make myself ridiculous by any clumsy capers326.’
‘Oh, if you are a bad dancer,’ she answered, laughing, ‘you may feel quite safe; everybody will readily consent to your sitting still.’ The bride then retired to put on her ball-dress.
‘She does not know,’ said Emilius to Roderick, with whom he withdrew, ‘that I can pass from the next room into hers through a secret door; I will surprise her while she is dressing.’
When Emilius had left them, and many of the ladies were also gone to make such changes in their attire327 as were necessary for the ball, Roderick took the young men aside, and led the way to his own room. ‘It is wearing toward evening,’ said he, ‘and will soon be dark; so make haste, every one of you, and mask yourselves, that we may render this night glorious in the annals of merriment and madness. Give your fancies free range in choosing your characters: the wilder and uglier the better. Try every combination of shaggy mane, and squinting eye, and mouth like a gaping328 volcano; build mountains upon your shoulders, or fatten329 yourselves into Falstaffs; and as a whet117 to your inventions, I hereby promise a kiss from the bride to the figure that would be the likeliest to make her miscarry. A wedding is such a strange event in one’s life; the bride and bridegroom are so suddenly plunged330, as it were by magic, head over heels into a new, unaccustomed element, that it is impossible to infuse too much of madness and folly into this feast, in order to keep pace with the whirlpool that is bearing a brace126 of human beings from the state in which they were two, into the state in which they become one, and to let all things round about them be fit accompaniments for the dizzy dream on the wings of which they are floating toward a new life. So let us rave1 away the night, making all sail before the breeze; and a fig51 for such as look twice on the grave sour faces that would have you behave rationally.’
‘Don’t be afraid,’ said the young officer; ‘we have brought from town with us a large chest full of masks and mad carnival dresses, such as would make even you stare.’
‘But see here,’ returned Roderick, ‘what a gem23 I have got from my tailor, who was just going to cut up this peerless robe into strips. He bought it of an old crone, who must doubtless have worn it on gala days when she went to Lucifer’s drawing-room on the Blocksberg. Look at this scarlet bodice, with its gold tassels331 and fringe, at this cap besmeared with the last fee the hag got from Beelzebub or his imps168: it will give me a right worshipful air. To match such jewels, there is this green velvet petticoat with its saffron-coloured trimming, and this mask would melt even Medusa to a grin. Thus accoutred I mean to lead the chorus of Graces, myself their mother-queen, toward the bed-chamber. Make all the haste you can; and we will then go in procession to fetch the bride.’
The bugles332 were still playing; the company were walking about the garden, or sitting before the house. The sun had gone down behind thick, murky333 clouds, and the country was lying in the gray dusk, when a parting gleam suddenly burst forth athwart the cloudy veil, and flooded every spot around, but especially the building, and its galleries, and pillars, and wreaths of flowers, as it were with red blood. At this moment the parents of the bride and the other spectators beheld a train of the wildest appearances move toward the upper corridor. Roderick led the way as the scarlet old woman, and was followed by hump-backs, mountain-paunches, massy wigs334, clowns, punches, skeleton-like pantaloons, female figures embanked by enormous hoops335 and over-canopied with three feet of horsehair, powder and pomatum, and by every disgusting shape that can be conceived, as though a nightmare were unrolling her stores. They jumped, and twirled, and tottered336, and stumbled, and straddled, and strutted337, and swaggered along the gallery, and then vanished behind one of the doors. But few of the beholders had been able to laugh: so utterly were they amazed by the strange sight. Suddenly a piercing shriek200 burst from one of the rooms, and there rushed forth into the blood-red glow of the sunset the pale bride, in a short white frock, round which wreaths of flowers were waving, with her lovely bosom all uncovered, and her rich locks streaming through the air. As though mad, with rolling eyes and distorted face, she darted338 along the gallery, and, blinded by terror, could find neither door nor staircase; and immediately after rushed Emilius in chase of her, with the sparkling Turkish dagger in his high, upraised hand. Now she was at the end of the passage; she could go no further; he reached her. His masked friends and the gray old woman were running after him. But he had already furiously pierced her bosom, and cut through her white neck; her blood spouted339 forth into the radiance of the setting sun. The old woman had clasped round him to tear him back; he struggled with her, and hurled340 himself together with her over the railing, and they both fell, almost lifeless, down at the feet of the relations who had been staring in dumb horror at the bloody341 scene. Above and below, or hastening down the stairs and along the galleries, were seen the hideous masks, standing or running about in various clusters, like fiends of hell.
Roderick took his dying friend in his arms. He had found him in his wife’s room playing with the dagger. She was almost dressed when he entered. At the sight of the hated red bodice his memory had rekindled342; the horrible vision of the night had risen upon his mind; and gnashing his teeth he had sprung after his trembling flying bride, to avenge343 that murder and all those devilish doings. The old woman, ere she expired, confessed the crime that had been wrought; and the gladness and mirth of the whole house were suddenly changed into sorrow and lamentation344 and dismay.
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1
rave
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vi.胡言乱语;热衷谈论;n.热情赞扬 | |
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2
wont
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adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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3
hindrances
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阻碍者( hindrance的名词复数 ); 障碍物; 受到妨碍的状态 | |
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4
ironical
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adj.讽刺的,冷嘲的 | |
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5
whim
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n.一时的兴致,突然的念头;奇想,幻想 | |
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6
deter
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vt.阻止,使不敢,吓住 | |
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7
determined
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adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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8
kindling
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n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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9
aged
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adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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10
undertaking
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n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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11
arduous
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adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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12
onward
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adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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13
relinquishing
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交出,让给( relinquish的现在分词 ); 放弃 | |
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14
severed
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v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
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15
heartily
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adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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16
susceptible
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adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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17
melancholy
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n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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18
temperament
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n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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19
ram
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(random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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20
tune
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n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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21
thereby
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adv.因此,从而 | |
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22
carnival
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n.嘉年华会,狂欢,狂欢节,巡回表演 | |
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23
gem
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n.宝石,珠宝;受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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24
veering
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n.改变的;犹豫的;顺时针方向转向;特指使船尾转向上风来改变航向v.(尤指交通工具)改变方向或路线( veer的现在分词 );(指谈话内容、人的行为或观点)突然改变;(指风) (在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向)逐渐转向;风向顺时针转 | |
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25
variance
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n.矛盾,不同 | |
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26
guardians
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监护人( guardian的名词复数 ); 保护者,维护者 | |
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27
remarkable
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adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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28
indifference
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n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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29
chamber
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n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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30
extravagant
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adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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31
extravagantly
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adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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32
antiquities
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n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 );古迹;古人们;古代的风俗习惯 | |
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33
truant
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n.懒惰鬼,旷课者;adj.偷懒的,旷课的,游荡的;v.偷懒,旷课 | |
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34
solitude
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n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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35
agitating
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搅动( agitate的现在分词 ); 激怒; 使焦虑不安; (尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而)激烈争论 | |
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36
choir
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n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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37
melodious
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adj.旋律美妙的,调子优美的,音乐性的 | |
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38
odious
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adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
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39
rapture
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n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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40
countless
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adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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41
forth
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adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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42
casement
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n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
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43
twine
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v.搓,织,编饰;(使)缠绕 | |
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44
twines
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n.盘绕( twine的名词复数 );麻线;捻;缠绕在一起的东西 | |
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45
slumbers
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睡眠,安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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46
strings
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n.弦 | |
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47
fully
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adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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48
countenance
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n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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49
promising
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adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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50
hideous
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adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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51
fig
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n.无花果(树) | |
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52
gallop
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v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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53
mischievous
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adj.调皮的,恶作剧的,有害的,伤人的 | |
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54
tiresome
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adj.令人疲劳的,令人厌倦的 | |
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55
WHIMS
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虚妄,禅病 | |
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56
mere
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adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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57
unreasonable
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adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
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58
frivolousness
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n.不重要,不必要 | |
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59
frightful
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adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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60
tunes
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n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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61
taint
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n.污点;感染;腐坏;v.使感染;污染 | |
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62
miserable
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adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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63
unnatural
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adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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64
wretch
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n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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65
horrid
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adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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66
irritability
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n.易怒 | |
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67
abhorrence
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n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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68
tuned
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adj.调谐的,已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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69
repugnance
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n.嫌恶 | |
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70
loathing
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n.厌恶,憎恨v.憎恨,厌恶( loathe的现在分词);极不喜欢 | |
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71
toads
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n.蟾蜍,癞蛤蟆( toad的名词复数 ) | |
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72
loathsome
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adj.讨厌的,令人厌恶的 | |
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73
insignificant
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adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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74
marvel
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vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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75
vehement
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adj.感情强烈的;热烈的;(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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76
hatred
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n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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77
persecute
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vt.迫害,虐待;纠缠,骚扰 | |
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78
scents
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n.香水( scent的名词复数 );气味;(动物的)臭迹;(尤指狗的)嗅觉 | |
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79
luxurious
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adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
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80
patchwork
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n.混杂物;拼缝物 | |
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81
wrath
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n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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82
confession
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n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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83
constraining
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强迫( constrain的现在分词 ); 强使; 限制; 约束 | |
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84
dagger
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n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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85
untie
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vt.解开,松开;解放 | |
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86
wrought
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v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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87
shutters
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百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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88
retired
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adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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89
bide
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v.忍耐;等候;住 | |
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90
fixed
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adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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91
inquiry
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n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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92
orphan
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n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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93
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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94
lodging
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n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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95
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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96
friendliness
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n.友谊,亲切,亲密 | |
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97
boded
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v.预示,预告,预言( bode的过去式和过去分词 );等待,停留( bide的过去分词 );居住;(过去式用bided)等待 | |
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98
attain
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vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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99
inclination
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n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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100
chirped
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鸟叫,虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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101
abhorred
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v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 );(厌恶地)回避;拒绝;淘汰 | |
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102
throng
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n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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103
thronging
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v.成群,挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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104
recess
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n.短期休息,壁凹(墙上装架子,柜子等凹处) | |
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105
varied
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adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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106
contemplated
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adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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107
recollecting
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v.记起,想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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108
recollect
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v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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109
adorned
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[计]被修饰的 | |
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110
virgin
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n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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111
distinguished
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adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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112
garb
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n.服装,装束 | |
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113
hideousness
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114
scarlet
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n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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115
embroidered
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adj.绣花的 | |
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116
mimic
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v.模仿,戏弄;n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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117
whet
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v.磨快,刺激 | |
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118
prescription
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n.处方,开药;指示,规定 | |
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119
rites
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仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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120
fetter
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n./vt.脚镣,束缚 | |
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121
drenched
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adj.湿透的;充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 );在某人(某物)上大量使用(某液体) | |
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122
initiated
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n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始,创始,启蒙,介绍加入 | |
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123
niche
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n.壁龛;合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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124
shuddering
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v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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125
miscreants
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n.恶棍,歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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126
brace
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n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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127
forsake
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vt.遗弃,抛弃;舍弃,放弃 | |
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128
pinnacles
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顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 ); 顶点; 尖顶; 小尖塔 | |
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129
everlasting
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adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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130
serenity
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n.宁静,沉着,晴朗 | |
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131
resolutely
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adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
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132
bent
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n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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133
illuminated
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adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
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134
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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135
clamorous
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adj.吵闹的,喧哗的 | |
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136
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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137
trumpet
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n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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138
deafened
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使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 ); 使隔音 | |
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139
watchful
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adj.注意的,警惕的 | |
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140
yearned
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渴望,切盼,向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
plunge
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v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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142
folly
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n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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143
hubbub
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n.嘈杂;骚乱 | |
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144
longing
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n.(for)渴望 | |
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145
scoffed
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嘲笑,嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146
peal
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n.钟声;v.鸣响 | |
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147
pealing
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v.(使)(钟等)鸣响,(雷等)发出隆隆声( peal的现在分词 ) | |
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148
murmur
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n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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149
gushing
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adj.迸出的;涌出的;喷出的;过分热情的v.喷,涌( gush的现在分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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150
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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151
bosom
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n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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152
abides
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容忍( abide的第三人称单数 ); 等候; 逗留; 停留 | |
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153
solitary
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adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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154
taper
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n.小蜡烛,尖细,渐弱;adj.尖细的;v.逐渐变小 | |
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155
muse
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n.缪斯(希腊神话中的女神),创作灵感 | |
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156
shunning
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v.避开,回避,避免( shun的现在分词 ) | |
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157
amicable
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adj.和平的,友好的;友善的 | |
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158
impromptus
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n.即兴曲( impromptu的名词复数 ) | |
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159
follies
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罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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160
entreated
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恳求,乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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161
enjoyment
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n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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162
apron
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n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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163
dressing
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n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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164
raving
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adj.说胡话的;疯狂的,怒吼的;非常漂亮的;令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话;疯话adv.胡言乱语地;疯狂地 | |
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165
blot
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vt.弄脏(用吸墨纸)吸干;n.污点,污渍 | |
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166
remains
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n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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167
scarcity
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n.缺乏,不足,萧条 | |
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168
imps
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n.(故事中的)小恶魔( imp的名词复数 );小魔鬼;小淘气;顽童 | |
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169
celestial
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adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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170
throb
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v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
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171
throbbing
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a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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172
mighty
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adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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173
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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174
tragical
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adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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175
exacting
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adj.苛求的,要求严格的 | |
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176
aspirations
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强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
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177
melancholic
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忧郁症患者 | |
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178
ebb
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vi.衰退,减退;n.处于低潮,处于衰退状态 | |
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179
painstaking
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adj.苦干的;艰苦的,费力的,刻苦的 | |
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180
perverseness
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n. 乖张, 倔强, 顽固 | |
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181
utterly
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adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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182
supreme
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adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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183
foresight
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n.先见之明,深谋远虑 | |
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184
regularity
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n.规律性,规则性;匀称,整齐 | |
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185
parsimonious
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adj.吝啬的,质量低劣的 | |
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186
unwillingly
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adv.不情愿地 | |
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187
distressed
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痛苦的 | |
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188
precisely
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adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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189
undertakings
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企业( undertaking的名词复数 ); 保证; 殡仪业; 任务 | |
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190
irritable
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adj.急躁的;过敏的;易怒的 | |
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191
appalling
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adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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192
deserted
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adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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193
kindled
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(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
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194
cymbals
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pl.铙钹 | |
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195
peals
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n.(声音大而持续或重复的)洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 );隆隆声;洪亮的钟声;钟乐v.(使)(钟等)鸣响,(雷等)发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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196
flute
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n.长笛;v.吹笛 | |
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197
onset
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n.进攻,袭击,开始,突然开始 | |
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198
swell
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vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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199
clattering
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发出咔哒声(clatter的现在分词形式) | |
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200
shriek
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v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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201
shrieking
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v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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202
bellows
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n.风箱;发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的名词复数 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的第三人称单数 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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203
commotion
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n.骚动,动乱 | |
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204
bicker
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vi.(为小事)吵嘴,争吵 | |
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205
squeal
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v.发出长而尖的声音;n.长而尖的声音 | |
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206
ripple
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n.涟波,涟漪,波纹,粗钢梳;vt.使...起涟漪,使起波纹; vi.呈波浪状,起伏前进 | |
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207
wither
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vt.使凋谢,使衰退,(用眼神气势等)使畏缩;vi.枯萎,衰退,消亡 | |
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208
rosy
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adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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209
skull
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n.头骨;颅骨 | |
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210
whine
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v.哀号,号哭;n.哀鸣 | |
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211
wail
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vt./vi.大声哀号,恸哭;呼啸,尖啸 | |
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212
sob
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n.空间轨道的轰炸机;呜咽,哭泣 | |
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213
groan
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vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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214
blithely
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adv.欢乐地,快活地,无挂虑地 | |
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215
drearily
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沉寂地,厌倦地,可怕地 | |
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216
anguish
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n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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217
foes
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敌人,仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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218
vanquish
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v.征服,战胜;克服;抑制 | |
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219
waft
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v.飘浮,飘荡;n.一股;一阵微风;飘荡 | |
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220
bliss
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n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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221
foul
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adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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222
jealousy
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n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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223
capering
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v.跳跃,雀跃( caper的现在分词 );蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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224
caper
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v.雀跃,欢蹦;n.雀跃,跳跃;续随子,刺山柑花蕾;嬉戏 | |
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225
prancing
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v.(马)腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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226
prance
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v.(马)腾跃,(人)神气活现地走 | |
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227
deception
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n.欺骗,欺诈;骗局,诡计 | |
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228
feverish
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adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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229
conjured
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用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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230
ruggedly
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险峻地; 粗暴地; (面容)多皱纹地; 粗线条地 | |
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231
entreatingly
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哀求地,乞求地 | |
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232
beseeching
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adj.恳求似的v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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233
growl
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v.(狗等)嗥叫,(炮等)轰鸣;n.嗥叫,轰鸣 | |
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234
lengthening
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(时间或空间)延长,伸长( lengthen的现在分词 ); 加长 | |
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235
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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236
riotous
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adj.骚乱的;狂欢的 | |
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237
sociable
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adj.好交际的,友好的,合群的 | |
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238
alteration
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n.变更,改变;蚀变 | |
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239
pampering
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v.纵容,宠,娇养( pamper的现在分词 ) | |
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240
moodiness
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n.喜怒无常;喜怒无常,闷闷不乐;情绪 | |
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241
gathering
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n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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242
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 | |
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243
entirely
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ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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244
lighter
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n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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245
yearning
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a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
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246
tranquil
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adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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247
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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248
passionate
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adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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249
villa
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n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
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250
situated
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adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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251
shrubs
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灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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252
spacious
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adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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253
arcades
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n.商场( arcade的名词复数 );拱形走道(两旁有商店或娱乐设施);连拱廊;拱形建筑物 | |
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254
velvet
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n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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255
costly
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adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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256
swelling
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n.肿胀 | |
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257
glimmer
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v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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258
tinged
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v.(使)发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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259
graceful
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adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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260
alabaster
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adj.雪白的;n.雪花石膏;条纹大理石 | |
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261
behold
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v.看,注视,看到 | |
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262
gliding
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v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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263
enchanting
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a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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264
majesty
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n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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265
grooms
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n.新郎( groom的名词复数 );马夫v.照料或梳洗(马等)( groom的第三人称单数 );使做好准备;训练;(给动物)擦洗 | |
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266
admiration
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n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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267
conjuring
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n.魔术 | |
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268
inclinations
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倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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269
mountebank
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n.江湖郎中;骗子 | |
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270
cultivation
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n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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271
rendering
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n.表现,描写 | |
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272
homage
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n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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273
begotten
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v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 );产生,引起 | |
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274
chattering
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n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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275
linen
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n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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276
mien
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n.风采;态度 | |
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277
stiffened
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加强的 | |
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278
mound
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n.土墩,堤,小山;v.筑堤,用土堆防卫 | |
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279
squinting
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斜视( squint的现在分词 ); 眯着眼睛; 瞟; 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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280
fiddle
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n.小提琴;vi.拉提琴;不停拨弄,乱动 | |
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281
jeered
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v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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282
jeer
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vi.嘲弄,揶揄;vt.奚落;n.嘲笑,讥评 | |
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283
infinitely
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adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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284
coxcomb
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n.花花公子 | |
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285
pilloried
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v.使受公众嘲笑( pillory的过去式和过去分词 );将…示众;给…上颈手枷;处…以枷刑 | |
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286
starched
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adj.浆硬的,硬挺的,拘泥刻板的v.把(衣服、床单等)浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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287
giggling
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v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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288
pint
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n.品脱 | |
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289
betrothed
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n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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290
stunned
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adj. 震惊的,惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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291
grassy
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adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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292
knoll
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n.小山,小丘 | |
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293
sobbed
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哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
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294
refreshing
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adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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295
worthier
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应得某事物( worthy的比较级 ); 值得做某事; 可尊敬的; 有(某人或事物)的典型特征 | |
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296
misery
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n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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297
delicacy
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n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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298
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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299
goblets
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n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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300
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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301
wretches
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n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 );可怜的人;恶棍;坏蛋 | |
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302
pious
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adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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303
scoffs
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嘲笑,嘲弄( scoff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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304
scatter
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vt.撒,驱散,散开;散布/播;vi.分散,消散 | |
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305
gibes
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vi.嘲笑,嘲弄(gibe的第三人称单数形式) | |
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306
brutal
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adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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307
insolence
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n.傲慢;无礼;厚颜;傲慢的态度 | |
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308
swilling
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v.冲洗( swill的现在分词 );猛喝;大口喝;(使)液体流动 | |
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309
voluptuousness
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n.风骚,体态丰满 | |
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310
thoroughly
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adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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311
purge
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n.整肃,清除,泻药,净化;vt.净化,清除,摆脱;vi.清除,通便,腹泻,变得清洁 | |
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312
destitute
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adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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313
hearty
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adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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314
devoted
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adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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315
preyed
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v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 );掠食;折磨;(人)靠欺诈为生 | |
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316
reigned
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vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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317
bugle
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n.军号,号角,喇叭;v.吹号,吹号召集 | |
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318
pastry
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n.油酥面团,酥皮糕点 | |
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319
compassion
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n.同情,怜悯 | |
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320
sentimental
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adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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321
crumbs
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int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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322
wilderness
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n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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323
generosity
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n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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324
backwards
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adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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325
acquit
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vt.宣判无罪;(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
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326
capers
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n.开玩笑( caper的名词复数 );刺山柑v.跳跃,雀跃( caper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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327
attire
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v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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328
gaping
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adj.口的;张口的;敞口的;多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 );张开,张大 | |
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329
fatten
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v.使肥,变肥 | |
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330
plunged
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v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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331
tassels
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n.穗( tassel的名词复数 );流苏状物;(植物的)穗;玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗, (玉米)长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 );使抽穗, (为了使作物茁壮生长)摘去穗状雄花;用流苏装饰 | |
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332
bugles
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妙脆角,一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食; 号角( bugle的名词复数 ); 喇叭; 匍匐筋骨草; (装饰女服用的)柱状玻璃(或塑料)小珠 | |
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333
murky
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adj.黑暗的,朦胧的;adv.阴暗地,混浊地;n.阴暗;昏暗 | |
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334
wigs
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n.假发,法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
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335
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 | |
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336
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 | |
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337
strutted
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趾高气扬地走,高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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338
darted
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v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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339
spouted
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adj.装有嘴的v.(指液体)喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 );滔滔不绝地讲;喋喋不休地说;喷水 | |
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340
hurled
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v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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341
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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342
rekindled
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v.使再燃( rekindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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343
avenge
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v.为...复仇,为...报仇 | |
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344
lamentation
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n.悲叹,哀悼 | |
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