And Rake gazed with worship at the symmetrical limbs of the champion of the “First Life,” and plunged5 into speculation7 on the democratic tendencies of the age, as clearly contradicted by all the evidences of the flat and furrow8, while Forest King drank a dozen go-downs of water, and was rewarded for the patience with which he had subdued9 his inclination10 to kick, fret11, spring, and break away throughout the dressing by a full feed thrown into his crib, which Rake watched him, with adoring gaze, eat to the very last grain.
“You precious one!” soliloquized that philosopher, who loved the horse with a sort of passion since his victory over the Shires. “You’ve won for the gentlemen, my lovely — for your own cracks, my boy!”
And Rake, rendered almost melancholy12 by his thoughts, went out of the box to get into saddle and ride off on an errand of his master’s to the Zu–Zu at her tiny hunting-lodge, where the snow-white ponies13 made her stud, and where she gave enchanting14 little hunting-dinners, at which she sang equally enchanting little hunting-songs, and arrayed herself, in the Fontainebleau hunting costume, gold-hilted knife and all, and spent Cecil’s winnings for him with a rapidity that threatened to leave very few of them for the London season. She was very pretty, sweetly pretty; with hair that wanted no gold powder, the clearest, sauciest15 eyes, and the handsomest mouth in the world; but of grammar she had not a notion, of her aspirates she had never a recollection, of conversation she had not an idea; of slang she had, to be sure, a repertoire16, but to this was her command of language limited. She dressed perfectly17, but she was a vulgar little soul; drank everything, from Bass’ ale to rum-punch, and from cherry-brandy to absinthe; thought it the height of wit to stifle18 you with cayenne slid into your vanilla19 ice, and the climax20 of repartee21 to cram22 your hat full of peach stones and lobster23 shells; was thoroughly24 avaricious25, thoroughly insatiate, thoroughly heartless, pillaged26 with both hands, and then never had enough; had a coarse good nature when it cost her nothing, and was “as jolly as a grig,” according to her phraseology, so long as she could stew27 her pigeons in champagne28, drink wines and liqueurs that were beyond price, take the most dashing trap in the Park up to Flirtation29 Corner, and laugh and sing and eat Richmond dinners, and show herself at the Opera with Bertie or some other “swell” attached to her, in the very box next to a Duchess.
The Zu–Zu was perfectly happy; and as for the pathetic pictures that novelists and moralists draw, of vice30 sighing amid turtle and truffles for childish innocence31 in the cottage at home where honeysuckles blossomed and brown brooks32 made melody, and passionately34 grieving on the purple cushions of a barouche for the time of straw pallets and untroubled sleep, why — the Zu–Zu would have vaulted36 herself on the box-seat of a drag, and told you “to stow all that trash”; her childish recollections were of a stifling37 lean-to with the odor of pigsty38 and straw-yard, pork for a feast once a week, starvation all the other six days, kicks, slaps, wrangling39, and a general atmosphere of beer and wash-tubs; she hated her past, and loved her cigar on the drag. The Zu–Zu is fact; the moralists’ pictures are moonshine.
The Zu–Zu is an openly acknowledged fact, moreover, daily becoming more prominent in the world, more brilliant, more frankly40 recognized, and more omnipotent41. Whether this will ultimately prove for the better or the worse, it would be a bold man who should dare say; there is at least one thing left to desire in it — i. e., that the synonym42 of “Aspasia,” which serves so often to designate in journalistic literature these Free Lances of life, were more suitable in artistic43 and intellectual similarity, and that, when the Zu–Zu and her sisterhood plunge6 their white arms elbow-deep into so many fortunes, and rule the world right and left as they do, they could also sound their H’s properly, and knew a little orthography45, if they could not be changed into such queens of grace, of intellect, of sovereign mind and splendid wit as were their prototypes when she whose name they debase held her rule in the City of the Violet Crown, and gathered about her Phidias the divine, haughty46 and eloquent47 Antipho, the gay Crates48, the subtle Protagorus, Cratinus so acrid49 and yet so jovial50, Damon of the silver lyre, and the great poets who are poets for all time. Author and artist, noble and soldier, court the Zu–Zu order now; but it must be confessed that the Hellenic idols51 were of a more exalted52 type than are the Hyde Park goddesses!
However, the Zu–Zu was the rage, and spent Bertie’s money, when he got any, just as her willful sovereignty fancied, and Rake rode on now with his master’s note, bearing no very good will to her; for Rake had very strong prejudices, and none stronger than against these fair pillagers who went about seeking whom they should devour53, and laughing at the wholesale54 ruin they wrought55 while the sentimentalists babbled56 in “Social Science” of “pearls lost” and “innocence betrayed.”
“A girl that used to eat tripe57 and red herring in a six-pair pack, and dance for a shilling a night in gauze, coming it so grand that she’ll only eat asparagus in March, and drink the best Brands with her truffles! Why, she ain’t worth sixpence thrown away on her, unless it’s worth while to hear how hard she can swear at you!” averred58 Rake, in his eloquence59; and he was undoubtedly60 right for that matter; but then — the Zu–Zu was the rage, and if ever she should be sold up, great ladies would crowd to her sale and buy with eager curiosity at high prices her most trumpery61 pots of pomatum, her most flimsy gew-gaws of marqueterie!
Rake had seen a good deal of men and manners, and, in his own opinion at least, was “up to every dodge62 on the cross” that this iniquitous63 world could unfold. A bright, lithe64, animated65, vigorous, yellow-haired, and sturdy fellow; seemingly with a dash of the Celt in him that made him vivacious66 and peppery; Mr. Rake polished his wits quite as much as he polished the tops, and considered himself a philosopher. Of whose son he was he had not the remotest idea; his earliest recollections were of the tender mercies of the workhouse; but even that chill foster-mother, the parish, had not damaged the liveliness of his temper or the independence of his opinions, and as soon as he was fifteen Rake had run away and joined a circus; distinguishing himself there by his genius for standing67 on his head and tying his limbs into a porter’s knot.
From the circus he migrated successively into the shape of a comic singer, a tapster, a navvy, a bill-sticker, a guacho in Mexico (working his passage out), a fireman in New York, a ventriloquist in Maryland, a vaquero in Spanish California, a lemonade seller in San Francisco, a revolutionist in the Argentine (without the most distant idea what he fought for), a boatman on the bay of Mapiri, a blacksmith in Santarem, a trapper in the Wilderness68, and finally, working his passage home again, took the Queen’s shilling in Dublin, and was drafted into a light-cavalry69 regiment70. With the — th he served half a dozen years in India; a rough-rider, a splendid fellow in a charge or a pursuit, with an astonishing power over horses, and the clearest back-handed sweep of a saber that ever cut down a knot of natives; but — insubordinate. Do his duty whenever fighting was in question, he did most zealously71; but to kick over the traces at other times was a temptation that at last became too strong for that lawless lover of liberty.
From the moment that he joined the regiment a certain Corporal Warne and he had conceived an antipathy72 to one another, which Rake had to control as he might, and which the Corporal was not above indulging in every petty piece of tyranny that his rank allowed him to exercise. On active service Rake was, by instinct, too good a soldier not to manage to keep the curb73 on himself tolerably well though he was always regarded in his troop rather as a hound that will “riot” is regarded in the pack; but when the — th came back to Brighton and to barracks, the evil spirit of rebellion began to get a little hotter in him under th Corporal’s “Idees Napoliennes” of justifiable75 persecution76. Warne indisputably provoked his man in a cold, iron, strictly77 lawful78 sort of manner, moreover, all the more irritating to a temper like Rake’s.
“Hanged if I care how the officers come it over me; they’re gentlemen, and it don’t try a fellow,” would Rake say in confidential79 moments over purl and a penn’orth of bird’s-eye, his experience in the Argentine Republic having left him with strongly aristocratic prejudices; “but when it comes to a duffer like that, that knows no better than me, what ain’t a bit better than me, and what is as clumsy a duffer about a horse’s plates as ever I knew, and would almost let a young ’un buck81 him out of his saddle — why, then I do cut up rough, I ain’t denying it; and I don’t see what there is in his Stripes to give him such a license82 to be aggravating83.”
With which Rake would blow the froth off his pewter with a puff84 of concentrated wrath85, and an oath against his non-commissioned officers that might have let some light in upon the advocates for “promotion from the ranks,” had they been there to take the lesson. At last, in the leisure of Brighton, the storm broke. Rake had a Scotch86 hound that was the pride of his life; his beer-money often going instead to buy dainties for the dog, who became one of the channels through which Warne could annoy and thwart87 him. The dog did no harm, being a fine, well-bred deerhound; but it pleased the Corporal to consider that it did, simply because it belonged to Rake, whose popularity in the corps88, owing to his good nature, his good spirits, and his innumerable tales of American experience and amorous89 adventures, increased the jealous dislike which his knack90 with an unbroken colt and his abundant stable science had first raised in his superior.
One day in the chargers’ stables the hound ran out of a loose box with a rush to get at Rake, and upset a pailful of warm mash91. The Corporal, who was standing by in harness, hit him over the head with a heavy whip he had in his hand; infuriated by the pain, the dog flew at him, tearing his overalls92 with a fierce crunch93 of his teeth. “Take the brute94 off, and string him up with a halter; I’ve put up with him too long!” cried Warne to a couple of privates working near in their stable dress. Before the words were out of his mouth Rake threw himself on him with a bound like lightning, and, wrenching95 the whip out of his hands, struck him a slashing96, stinging blow across his face.
“Hang my hound, you cur! If you touch a hair of him, I’ll double-thong you within an inch of your life!”
And assuredly he would have kept his word, had he not been made a prisoner and marched off to the guardroom.
Rake learned the stern necessity of the law, which, for the sake of morale97, must make the soldiers, whose blood is wanted to be like fire on the field, patient, pulseless, and enduring of every provocation98, cruelty, and insolence99 in the camp and barrack, as though they were statues of stone — a needful law, a wise law, an indispensable law, doubtless, but a very hard law to be obeyed by a man full of life and all life’s passions.
At the court-martial on his mutinous100 conduct, which followed, many witnesses brought evidence, on being pressed, to the unpopularity of Warne in the regiment and to his harshness and his tyranny to Rake. Many men spoke101 out what had been chained down in their thoughts for years; and, in consideration of the provocation received, the prisoner, who was much liked by the officers, was condemned102 to six months’ imprisonment103 for his insubordination and blow to his superior officer, without being tied up to the triangles. At the court-martial, Cecil, who chanced to be in Brighton after Goodwood, was present one day with some other Guardsmen; and the look of Rake, with his cheerfulness under difficulties, his love for the hound, and his bright, sunburnt, shrewd, humorous countenance104, took his fancy.
“Beauty” was the essence of good nature. Indolent himself, he hated to see anything or anybody worried; lazy, gentle, wayward, and spoilt by his own world, he was still never so selfish and philosophic105 as he pretended but what he would do a kindness, if one came in his way; it is not a very great virtue106, perhaps, but it is a rare one.
“Poor devil! Struck the other because he wouldn’t have his dog hanged. Well, on my word, I should have done the same in his place, if I could have got up the pace for so much exertion,” murmured Cecil to his cheroot, careless of the demoralizing tendency of his remarks for the army in general. Had it occurred in the Guards, and he had “sat” on the case, Rake would have had one very lenient107 judge.
As it was, Bertie actually went the lengths of thinking seriously about the matter; he liked Rake’s devotion to his dumb friend, and he heard of his intense popularity in his troop; he wished to save, if he could, so fine a fellow from the risks of his turbulent passion and from the stern fetters108 of a trying discipline; hence, when Rake found himself condemned to his cell, he had a message sent him by Bertie’s groom109 that, when his term of punishment should be over, Mr. Cecil would buy his discharge from the service and engage him as extra body-servant, having had a good account of his capabilities110; he had taken the hound to his own kennels111.
Now, the fellow had been thoroughly devil-may-care throughout the whole course of the proceedings112, had heard his sentence with sublime113 impudence114, and had chaffed his sentinels with an utterly115 reckless nonchalance116; but somehow or other, when that message reached him, a vivid sense that he was a condemned and disgraced man suddenly flooded in on him; a passionate33 gratitude117 seized him to the young aristocrat80 who had thought of him in his destitution118 and condemnation119, who had even thought of his dog; and Rake the philosophic and undauntable, could have found it in his heart to kneel down in the dust and kiss the stirrup-leather when he held it for his new master, so strong was the loyalty120 he bore from that moment to Bertie.
Martinets were scandalized at a Life–Guardsman taking as his private valet a man who had been guilty of such conduct in the Light Cavalry; but Cecil never troubled his head about what people said; and so invaluable121 did Rake speedily become to him that he had kept him about his person wherever he went from then until now, two years after.
Rake loved his master with a fidelity122 very rare in these days; he loved his horses, his dogs, everything that was his, down to his very rifle and boots; slaved for him cheerfully, and was as proud of the deer he stalked, of the brace123 he bagged, of his winnings when the Household played the Zingari, or his victory when his yacht won the Cherbourg Cup, as though those successes had been Rake’s own.
“My dear Seraph,” said Cecil himself once, on this point, to the Marquis, “if you want generosity124, fidelity, and all the rest of the cardinal125 what-d’ye-call-‘ems — sins, ain’t it? — go to a noble-hearted Scamp; he’ll stick to you till he kills himself. If you want to be cheated, get a Respectable Immaculate; he’ll swindle you piously126, and decamp with your Doncaster Vase.”
And Rake, who assuredly had been an out-and-out scamp, made good Bertie’s creed127; he “stuck to him” devoutly128, and no terrier was ever more alive to an otter74 than he was to the Guardsman’s interests. It was that very vigilance which made him, as he rode back from the Zu–Zu’s in the twilight129, notice what would have escaped any save one who had been practiced as a trapper in the red Canadian woods; namely, the head of a man, almost hidden among the heavy, though leafless, brushwood and the yellow gorse of a spinney which lay on his left in Royallieu Park. Rake’s eyes were telescopic and microscopic130; moreover, they had been trained to know such little signs as a marsh131 from a hen harrier in full flight, by the length of wing and tail, and a widgeon or a coot from a mallard or a teal, by the depth each swam out of the water. Gray and foggy as it was, and high as was the gorse, Rake recognized his born-foe Willon.
“What’s he up to there?” thought Rake, surveying the place, which was wild, solitary132, and an unlikely place enough for a head groom to be found in. “If he ain’t a rascal133, I never seen one; it’s my belief he cheats the stable thick and thin, and gets on Mr. Cecil’s mounts to a good tune44 — aye, and would nobble ’em as soon as not, if it just suited his book. That blessed King hates the man; how he lashes134 his heels at him!”
It was certainly possible that Willon might be passing an idle hour in potting rabbits, or be otherwise innocently engaged enough; but the sight of him, there among the gorse, was a sight of suspicion to Rake. Instantaneous thoughts darted135 through his mind of tethering his horse, and making a reconnaissance, safely and unseen, with the science of stalking brute or man that he had learned of his friends the Sioux. But second thoughts showed him that was impossible. The horse he was on was a mere136 colt, just breaking in, who had barely had so much as a “dumb jockey” on his back; and stand for a second, the colt would not.
“At any rate, I’ll unearth137 him,” thought Rake, with his latent animosity to the head groom and his vigilant138 loyalty to Cecil overruling any scruple139 as to his right to overlook his foe’s movements; and with a gallop140 that was muffled141 on the heathered turf he dashed straight at the covert142, unperceived till he was within ten paces. Willon started and looked up hastily; he was talking to a square-built man very quietly dressed in shepherd’s plaid, chiefly remarkable143 by a red-hued beard and whiskers.
The groom turned pale, and laughed nervously144 as Rake pulled up with a jerk.
“You on that young ’un again? Take care you don’t get bucked145 out o’ saddle in the shape of a cocked-hat.”
“I ain’t afraid of going to grass, if you are!” retorted Rake scornfully; boldness was not his enemy’s strong point. “Who’s your pal35, old fellow?”
“A cousin o’ mine, out o’ Yorkshire,” vouchsafed146 Mr. Willon, looking anything but easy, while the cousin aforesaid nodded sulkily on the introduction.
“Ah! looks like a Yorkshire tyke,” muttered Rake, with a volume of meaning condensed in these innocent words. “A nice, dry, cheerful sort of place to meet your cousin in, too; uncommon147 lively; hope it’ll raise his spirits to see all his cousins a-grinning there; his spirits don’t seem much in sorts now,” continued the ruthless inquisitor, with a glance at the “keeper’s tree” by which they stood, in the middle of dank undergrowth, whose branches were adorned148 with dead cats, curs, owls149, kestrels, stoats, weasels, and martens. To what issue the passage of arms might have come it is impossible to say, for at that moment the colt took matters into his own hands, and bolted with a rush that even Rake could not pull in till he had had a mile-long “pipe-opener.”
“Something up there,” thought that sagacious rough-rider; “if that red-haired chap ain’t a rum lot, I’ll eat him. I’ve seen his face, too, somewhere; where the deuce was it? Cousin; yes, cousins in Queer Street, I dare say! Why should he go and meet his ‘cousin’ out in the fog there, when, if you took twenty cousins home to the servants’ hall, nobody’d ever say anything? If that Willon ain’t as deep as Old Harry150 ——”
And Rake rode into the stable-yard, thoughtful and intensely suspicious of the rendezvous151 under the keeper’s tree in the out-lying coverts152. He would have been more so had he guessed that Ben Davis’ red beard and demure153 attire154, with other as efficient disguises, had prevented even his own keen eyes from penetrating155 the identity of Willon’s “Cousin” with the welsher he had seen thrust off the course the day before by his master.
点击收听单词发音
1 celebrity | |
n.名人,名流;著名,名声,名望 | |
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2 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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3 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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4 luster | |
n.光辉;光泽,光亮;荣誉 | |
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5 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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6 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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7 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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8 furrow | |
n.沟;垄沟;轨迹;车辙;皱纹 | |
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9 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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10 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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11 fret | |
v.(使)烦恼;(使)焦急;(使)腐蚀,(使)磨损 | |
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12 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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13 ponies | |
矮种马,小型马( pony的名词复数 ); £25 25 英镑 | |
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14 enchanting | |
a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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15 sauciest | |
adj.粗鲁的( saucy的最高级 );粗俗的;不雅的;开色情玩笑的 | |
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16 repertoire | |
n.(准备好演出的)节目,保留剧目;(计算机的)指令表,指令系统, <美>(某个人的)全部技能;清单,指令表 | |
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17 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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18 stifle | |
vt.使窒息;闷死;扼杀;抑止,阻止 | |
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19 vanilla | |
n.香子兰,香草 | |
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20 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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21 repartee | |
n.机敏的应答 | |
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22 cram | |
v.填塞,塞满,临时抱佛脚,为考试而学习 | |
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23 lobster | |
n.龙虾,龙虾肉 | |
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24 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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25 avaricious | |
adj.贪婪的,贪心的 | |
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26 pillaged | |
v.抢劫,掠夺( pillage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27 stew | |
n.炖汤,焖,烦恼;v.炖汤,焖,忧虑 | |
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28 champagne | |
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
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29 flirtation | |
n.调情,调戏,挑逗 | |
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30 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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31 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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32 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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33 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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34 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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35 pal | |
n.朋友,伙伴,同志;vi.结为友 | |
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36 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
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37 stifling | |
a.令人窒息的 | |
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38 pigsty | |
n.猪圈,脏房间 | |
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39 wrangling | |
v.争吵,争论,口角( wrangle的现在分词 ) | |
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40 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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41 omnipotent | |
adj.全能的,万能的 | |
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42 synonym | |
n.同义词,换喻词 | |
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43 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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44 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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45 orthography | |
n.拼字法,拼字式 | |
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46 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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47 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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48 crates | |
n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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49 acrid | |
adj.辛辣的,尖刻的,刻薄的 | |
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50 jovial | |
adj.快乐的,好交际的 | |
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51 idols | |
偶像( idol的名词复数 ); 受崇拜的人或物; 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物; 神像 | |
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52 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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53 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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54 wholesale | |
n.批发;adv.以批发方式;vt.批发,成批出售 | |
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55 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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56 babbled | |
v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 );作潺潺声(如流水);含糊不清地说话;泄漏秘密 | |
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57 tripe | |
n.废话,肚子, 内脏 | |
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58 averred | |
v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 );证实;证明…属实;作为事实提出 | |
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59 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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60 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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61 trumpery | |
n.无价值的杂物;adj.(物品)中看不中用的 | |
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62 dodge | |
v.闪开,躲开,避开;n.妙计,诡计 | |
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63 iniquitous | |
adj.不公正的;邪恶的;高得出奇的 | |
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64 lithe | |
adj.(指人、身体)柔软的,易弯的 | |
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65 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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66 vivacious | |
adj.活泼的,快活的 | |
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67 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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68 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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69 cavalry | |
n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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70 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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71 zealously | |
adv.热心地;热情地;积极地;狂热地 | |
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72 antipathy | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
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73 curb | |
n.场外证券市场,场外交易;vt.制止,抑制 | |
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74 otter | |
n.水獭 | |
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75 justifiable | |
adj.有理由的,无可非议的 | |
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76 persecution | |
n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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77 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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78 lawful | |
adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
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79 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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80 aristocrat | |
n.贵族,有贵族气派的人,上层人物 | |
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81 buck | |
n.雄鹿,雄兔;v.马离地跳跃 | |
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82 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
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83 aggravating | |
adj.恼人的,讨厌的 | |
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84 puff | |
n.一口(气);一阵(风);v.喷气,喘气 | |
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85 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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86 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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87 thwart | |
v.阻挠,妨碍,反对;adj.横(断的) | |
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88 corps | |
n.(通信等兵种的)部队;(同类作的)一组 | |
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89 amorous | |
adj.多情的;有关爱情的 | |
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90 knack | |
n.诀窍,做事情的灵巧的,便利的方法 | |
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91 mash | |
n.麦芽浆,糊状物,土豆泥;v.把…捣成糊状,挑逗,调情 | |
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92 overalls | |
n.(复)工装裤;长罩衣 | |
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93 crunch | |
n.关键时刻;艰难局面;v.发出碎裂声 | |
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94 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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95 wrenching | |
n.修截苗根,苗木铲根(铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土)v.(猛力地)扭( wrench的现在分词 );扭伤;使感到痛苦;使悲痛 | |
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96 slashing | |
adj.尖锐的;苛刻的;鲜明的;乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 );鞭打;割破;削减 | |
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97 morale | |
n.道德准则,士气,斗志 | |
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98 provocation | |
n.激怒,刺激,挑拨,挑衅的事物,激怒的原因 | |
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99 insolence | |
n.傲慢;无礼;厚颜;傲慢的态度 | |
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100 mutinous | |
adj.叛变的,反抗的;adv.反抗地,叛变地;n.反抗,叛变 | |
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101 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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102 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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103 imprisonment | |
n.关押,监禁,坐牢 | |
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104 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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105 philosophic | |
adj.哲学的,贤明的 | |
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106 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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107 lenient | |
adj.宽大的,仁慈的 | |
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108 fetters | |
n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 );束缚v.给…上脚镣,束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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109 groom | |
vt.给(马、狗等)梳毛,照料,使...整洁 | |
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110 capabilities | |
n.能力( capability的名词复数 );可能;容量;[复数]潜在能力 | |
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111 kennels | |
n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处,养狗场;狗窝( kennel的名词复数 );养狗场 | |
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112 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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113 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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114 impudence | |
n.厚颜无耻;冒失;无礼 | |
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115 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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116 nonchalance | |
n.冷淡,漠不关心 | |
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117 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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118 destitution | |
n.穷困,缺乏,贫穷 | |
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119 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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120 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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121 invaluable | |
adj.无价的,非常宝贵的,极为贵重的 | |
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122 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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123 brace | |
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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124 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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125 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
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126 piously | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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127 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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128 devoutly | |
adv.虔诚地,虔敬地,衷心地 | |
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129 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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130 microscopic | |
adj.微小的,细微的,极小的,显微的 | |
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131 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
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132 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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133 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
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134 lashes | |
n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 );鞭子;突然猛烈的一击;急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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135 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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136 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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137 unearth | |
v.发掘,掘出,从洞中赶出 | |
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138 vigilant | |
adj.警觉的,警戒的,警惕的 | |
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139 scruple | |
n./v.顾忌,迟疑 | |
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140 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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141 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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142 covert | |
adj.隐藏的;暗地里的 | |
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143 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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144 nervously | |
adv.神情激动地,不安地 | |
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145 bucked | |
adj.快v.(马等)猛然弓背跃起( buck的过去式和过去分词 );抵制;猛然震荡;马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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146 vouchsafed | |
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 );允诺 | |
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147 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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148 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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149 owls | |
n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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150 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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151 rendezvous | |
n.约会,约会地点,汇合点;vi.汇合,集合;vt.使汇合,使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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152 coverts | |
n.隐蔽的,不公开的,秘密的( covert的名词复数 );复羽 | |
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153 demure | |
adj.严肃的;端庄的 | |
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154 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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155 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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