There went a tradition that Madame Beck’s house had in old days been a convent. That in years gone by — how long gone by I cannot tell, but I think some centuries — before the city had over-spread this quarter, and when it was tilled ground and avenue, and such deep and leafy seclusion4 as ought to embosom a religious house-that something had happened on this site which, rousing fear and inflicting5 horror, had left to the place the inheritance of a ghost-story. A vague tale went of a black and white nun6, sometimes, on some night or nights of the year, seen in some part of this vicinage. The ghost must have been built out some ages ago, for there were houses all round now; but certain convent-relics7, in the shape of old and huge fruit-trees, yet consecrated8 the spot; and, at the foot of one — a Methuselah of a pear-tree, dead, all but a few boughs10 which still faithfully renewed their perfumed snow in spring, and their honey-sweet pendants in autumn — you saw, in scraping away the mossy earth between the half-bared roots, a glimpse of slab11, smooth, hard, and black. The legend went, unconfirmed and unaccredited, but still propagated, that this was the portal of a vault12, imprisoning13 deep beneath that ground, on whose surface grass grew and flowers bloomed, the bones of a girl whom a monkish14 conclave15 of the drear middle ages had here buried alive for some sin against her vow16. Her shadow it was that tremblers had feared, through long generations after her poor frame was dust; her black robe and white veil that, for timid eyes, moonlight and shade had mocked, as they fluctuated in the night-wind through the garden-thicket.
Independently of romantic rubbish, however, that old garden had its charms. On summer mornings I used to rise early, to enjoy them alone; on summer evenings, to linger solitary17, to keep tryste with the rising moon, or taste one kiss of the evening breeze, or fancy rather than feel the freshness of dew descending18. The turf was verdant19, the gravelled walks were white; sun-bright nasturtiums clustered beautiful about the roots of the doddered orchard20 giants. There was a large berceau, above which spread the shade of an acacia; there was a smaller, more sequestered21 bower22, nestled in the vines which ran all along a high and grey wall, and gathered their tendrils in a knot of beauty, and hung their clusters in loving profusion23 about the favoured spot where jasmine and ivy24 met and married them.
Doubtless at high noon, in the broad, vulgar middle of the day, when Madame Beck’s large school turned out rampant25, and externes and pensionnaires were spread abroad, vying26 with the denizens27 of the boys’ college close at hand, in the brazen28 exercise of their lungs and limbs — doubtless then the garden was a trite29, trodden-down place enough. But at sunset or the hour of salut, when the externes were gone home, and the boarders quiet at their studies; pleasant was it then to stray down the peaceful alleys31, and hear the bells of St. Jean Baptiste peal33 out with their sweet, soft, exalted34 sound.
I was walking thus one evening, and had been detained farther within the verge35 of twilight36 than usual, by the still-deepening calm, the mellow37 coolness, the fragrant38 breathing with which flowers no sunshine could win now answered the persuasion39 of the dew. I saw by a light in the oratory40 window that the Catholic household were then gathered to evening prayer — a rite30, from attendance on which, I now and then, as a Protestant, exempted41 myself.
“One moment longer,” whispered solitude42 and the summer moon, “stay with us: all is truly quiet now; for another quarter of an hour your presence will not be missed: the day’s heat and bustle43 have tired you; enjoy these precious minutes.”
The windowless backs of houses built in this garden, and in particular the whole of one side, was skirted by the rear of a long line of premises44 — being the boarding-houses of the neighbouring college. This rear, however, was all blank stone, with the exception of certain attic45 loopholes high up, opening from the sleeping-rooms of the women-servants, and also one casement46 in a lower story said to mark the chamber47 or study of a master. But, though thus secure, an alley32, which ran parallel with the very high wall on that side the garden, was forbidden to be entered by the pupils. It was called indeed “l’allée défendue,” and any girl setting foot there would have rendered herself liable to as severe a penalty as the mild rules of Madame Beck’s establishment permitted. Teachers might indeed go there with impunity48; but as the walk was narrow, and the neglected shrubs49 were grown very thick and close on each side, weaving overhead a roof of branch and leaf which the sun’s rays penetrated50 but in rare chequers, this alley was seldom entered even during day, and after dusk was carefully shunned51.
From the first I was tempted52 to make an exception to this rule of avoidance: the seclusion, the very gloom of the walk attracted me. For a long time the fear of seeming singular scared me away; but by degrees, as people became accustomed to me and my habits, and to such shades of peculiarity53 as were engrained in my nature — shades, certainly not striking enough to interest, and perhaps not prominent enough to offend, but born in and with me, and no more to be parted with than my identity — by slow degrees I became a frequenter of this strait and narrow path. I made myself gardener of some tintless flowers that grew between its closely-ranked shrubs; I cleared away the relics of past autumns, choking up a rustic55 seat at the far end. Borrowing of Goton, the cuisinière, a pail of water and a scrubbing-brush, I made this seat clean. Madame saw me at work and smiled approbation56: whether sincerely or not I don’t know; but she seemed sincere.
“Voyez-vous,” cried she, “comme elle est propre, cette demoiselle Lucie? Vous aimez done cette allée, Meess?” “Yes,” I said, “it is quiet and shady.”
“C’est juste,” cried she with an air of bonté; and she kindly57 recommended me to confine myself to it as much as I chose, saying, that as I was not charged with the surveillance, I need not trouble myself to walk with the pupils: only I might permit her children to come there, to talk English with me.
On the night in question, I was sitting on the hidden seat reclaimed58 from fungi59 and mould, listening to what seemed the far-off sounds of the city. Far off, in truth, they were not: this school was in the city’s centre; hence, it was but five minutes’ walk to the park, scarce ten to buildings of palatial60 splendour. Quite near were wide streets brightly lit, teeming61 at this moment with life: carriages were rolling through them to balls or to the opera. The same hour which tolled62 curfew for our convent, which extinguished each lamp, and dropped the curtain round each couch, rang for the gay city about us the summons to festal enjoyment63. Of this contrast I thought not, however: gay instincts my nature had few; ball or opera I had never seen; and though often I had heard them described, and even wished to see them, it was not the wish of one who hopes to partake a pleasure if she could only reach it — who feels fitted to shine in some bright distant sphere, could she but thither64 win her way; it was no yearning65 to attain66, no hunger to taste; only the calm desire to look on a new thing.
A moon was in the sky, not a full moon, but a young crescent. I saw her through a space in the boughs overhead. She and the stars, visible beside her, were no strangers where all else was strange: my childhood knew them. I had seen that golden sign with the dark globe in its curve leaning back on azure67, beside an old thorn at the top of an old field, in Old England, in long past days, just as it now leaned back beside a stately spire68 in this continental69 capital.
Oh, my childhood! I had feelings: passive as I lived, little as I spoke70, cold as I looked, when I thought of past days, I could feel. About the present, it was better to be stoical; about the future — such a future as mine — to be dead. And in catalepsy and a dead trance, I studiously held the quick of my nature.
At that time, I well remember whatever could excite — certain accidents of the weather, for instance, were almost dreaded71 by me, because they woke the being I was always lulling72, and stirred up a craving73 cry I could not satisfy. One night a thunder-storm broke; a sort of hurricane shook us in our beds: the Catholics rose in panic and prayed to their saints. As for me, the tempest took hold of me with tyranny: I was roughly roused and obliged to live. I got up and dressed myself, and creeping outside the casement close by my bed, sat on its ledge74, with my feet on the roof of a lower adjoining building. It was wet, it was wild, it was pitch-dark. Within the dormitory they gathered round the night-lamp in consternation75, praying loud. I could not go in: too resistless was the delight of staying with the wild hour, black and full of thunder, pealing76 out such an ode as language never delivered to man — too terribly glorious, the spectacle of clouds, split and pierced by white and blinding bolts.
I did long, achingly, then and for four and twenty hours afterwards, for something to fetch me out of my present existence, and lead me upwards77 and onwards. This longing78, and all of a similar kind, it was necessary to knock on the head; which I did, figuratively, after the manner of Jael to Sisera, driving a nail through their temples. Unlike Sisera, they did not die: they were but transiently stunned79, and at intervals80 would turn on the nail with a rebellious81 wrench82: then did the temples bleed, and the brain thrill to its core.
To-night, I was not so mutinous83, nor so miserable84. My Sisera lay quiet in the tent, slumbering85; and if his pain ached through his slumbers86, something like an angel — the ideal — knelt near, dropping balm on the soothed87 temples, holding before the sealed eyes a magic glass, of which the sweet, solemn visions were repeated in dreams, and shedding a reflex from her moonlight wings and robe over the transfixed sleeper88, over the tent threshold, over all the landscape lying without. Jael, the stern woman; sat apart, relenting somewhat over her captive; but more prone89 to dwell on the faithful expectation of Heber coming home. By which words I mean that the cool peace and dewy sweetness of the night filled me with a mood of hope: not hope on any definite point, but a general sense of encouragement and heart-ease.
Should not such a mood, so sweet, so tranquil90, so unwonted, have been the harbinger of good? Alas91, no good came of it! I Presently the rude Real burst coarsely in — all evil grovelling92 and repellent as she too often is.
Amid the intense stillness of that pile of stone overlooking the walk, the trees, the high wall, I heard a sound; a casement [all the windows here are casements93, opening on hinges] creaked. Ere I had time to look up and mark where, in which story, or by whom unclosed, a tree overhead shook, as if struck by a missile; some object dropped prone at my feet.
Nine was striking by St. Jean Baptiste’s clock; day was fading, but it was not dark: the crescent moon aided little, but the deep gilding94 of that point in heaven where the sun beamed last, and the crystalline clearness of a wide space above, sustained the summer twilight; even in my dark walk I could, by approaching an opening, have managed to read print of a small type. Easy was it to see then that the missile was a box, a small box of white and coloured ivory; its loose lid opened in my hand; violets lay within, violets smothering95 a closely folded bit of pink paper, a note, superscribed, “Pour la robe grise.” I wore indeed a dress of French grey.
Good. Was this a billet-doux? A thing I had heard of, but hitherto had not had the honour of seeing or handling. Was it this sort of commodity I held between my finger and thumb at this moment?
Scarcely: I did not dream it for a moment. Suitor or admirer my very thoughts had not conceived. All the teachers had dreams of some lover; one (but she was naturally of a credulous96 turn) believed in a future husband. All the pupils above fourteen knew of some prospective97 bridegroom; two or three were already affianced by their parents, and had been so from childhood: but into the realm of feelings and hopes which such prospects98 open, my speculations99, far less my presumptions100, had never once had warrant to intrude101. If the other teachers went into town, or took a walk on the boulevards, or only attended mass, they were very certain (according to the accounts brought back) to meet with some individual of the “opposite sex,” whose rapt, earnest gaze assured them of their power to strike and to attract. I can’t say that my experience tallied102 with theirs, in this respect. I went to church and I took walks, and am very well convinced that nobody minded me. There was not a girl or woman in the Rue Fossette who could not, and did not testify to having received an admiring beam from our young doctor’s blue eyes at one time or other. I am obliged, however humbling103 it may sound, to except myself: as far as I was concerned, those blue eyes were guiltless, and calm as the sky, to whose tint54 theirs seemed akin104. So it came to pass that I heard the others talk, wondered often at their gaiety, security, and self-satisfaction, but did not trouble myself to look up and gaze along the path they seemed so certain of treading. This then was no billet-doux; and it was in settled conviction to the contrary that I quietly opened it. Thus it ran — I translate:—
“Angel of my dreams! A thousand, thousand thanks for the promise kept: scarcely did I venture to hope its fulfilment. I believed you, indeed, to be half in jest; and then you seemed to think the enterprise beset105 with such danger — the hour so untimely, the alley so strictly106 secluded107 — often, you said, haunted by that dragon, the English teacher — une véritable bégueule Britannique à ce que vous dites — espèce de monstre, brusque et rude comme un vieux caporal de grenadiers, et revêche comme une religieuse” (the reader will excuse my modesty108 in allowing this flattering sketch109 of my amiable110 self to retain the slight veil of the original tongue). “You are aware,” went on this precious effusion, “that little Gustave, on account of his illness, has been removed to a master’s chamber — that favoured chamber, whose lattice overlooks your prison-ground. There, I, the best uncle in the world, am admitted to visit him. How tremblingly I approached the window and glanced into your Eden — an Eden for me, though a desert for you! — how I feared to behold111 vacancy112, or the dragon aforesaid! How my heart palpitated with delight when, through apertures113 in the envious115 boughs, I at once caught the gleam of your graceful116 straw-hat, and the waving of your grey dress — dress that I should recognise amongst a thousand. But why, my angel, will you not look up? Cruel, to deny me one ray of those adorable eyes! — how a single glance would have revived me! I write this in fiery117 haste; while the physician examines Gustave, I snatch an opportunity to enclose it in a small casket, together with a bouquet118 of flowers, the sweetest that blow — yet less sweet than thee, my Peri — my all-charming! ever thine-thou well knowest whom!”
“I wish I did know whom,” was my comment; and the wish bore even closer reference to the person addressed in this choice document, than to the writer thereof. Perhaps it was from the fiancé of one of the engaged pupils; and, in that case, there was no great harm done or intended — only a small irregularity. Several of the girls, the majority, indeed, had brothers or cousins at the neighbouring college. But “la robe grise, le chapeau de paille,” here surely was a clue — a very confusing one. The straw-hat was an ordinary garden head-screen, common to a score besides myself. The grey dress hardly gave more definite indication. Madame Beck herself ordinarily wore a grey dress just now; another teacher, and three of the pensionnaires, had had grey dresses purchased of the same shade and fabric119 as mine: it was a sort of every-day wear which happened at that time to be in vogue120.
Meanwhile, as I pondered, I knew I must go in. Lights, moving in the dormitory, announced that prayers were over, and the pupils going to bed. Another half-hour and all doors would be locked — all lights extinguished. The front door yet stood open, to admit into the heated house the coolness of the summer night; from the portress’s cabinet close by shone a lamp, showing the long vestibule with the two-leaved drawing-room doors on one side, the great street-door closing the vista121.
All at once, quick rang the bell — quick, but not loud — a cautious tinkle122 — a sort of warning metal whisper. Rosine darted123 from her cabinet and ran to open. The person she admitted stood with her two minutes in parley124: there seemed a demur125, a delay. Rosine came to the garden door, lamp in hand; she stood on the steps, lifting her lamp, looking round vaguely126.
“Quel conte!” she cried, with a coquettish laugh. “Personne n’y a été.”
“Let me pass,” pleaded a voice I knew: “I ask but five minutes;” and a familiar shape, tall and grand (as we of the Rue Fossette all thought it), issued from the house, and strode down amongst the beds and walks. It was sacrilege — the intrusion of a man into that spot, at that hour; but he knew himself privileged, and perhaps he trusted to the friendly night. He wandered down the alleys, looking on this side and on that — he was lost in the shrubs, trampling127 flowers and breaking branches in his search — he penetrated at last the “forbidden walk.” There I met him, like some ghost, I suppose.
“Dr. John! it is found.”
He did not ask by whom, for with his quick eye he perceived that I held it in my hand.
“Do not betray her,” he said, looking at me as if I were indeed a dragon.
“Were I ever so disposed to treachery, I cannot betray what I do not know,” was my answer. “Read the note, and you will see how little it reveals.”
“Perhaps you have read it,” I thought to myself; and yet I could not believe he wrote it: that could hardly be his style: besides, I was fool enough to think there would be a degree of hardship in his calling me such names. His own look vindicated128 him; he grew hot, and coloured as he read.
“This is indeed too much: this is cruel, this is humiliating,” were the words that fell from him.
I thought it was cruel, when I saw his countenance129 so moved. No matter whether he was to blame or not; somebody, it seemed to me, must be more to blame.
“What shall you do about it?” he inquired of me. “Shall you tell Madame Beck what you have found, and cause a stir — an esclandre?”
I thought I ought to tell, and said so; adding that I did not believe there would be either stir or esclandre: Madame was much too prudent130 to make a noise about an affair of that sort connected with her establishment.
He stood looking down and meditating131. He was both too proud and too honourable132 to entreat133 my secresy on a point which duty evidently commanded me to communicate. I wished to do right, yet loathed134 to grieve or injure him. Just then Rosine glanced out through the open door; she could not see us, though between the trees I could plainly see her: her dress was grey, like mine. This circumstance, taken in connection with prior transactions, suggested to me that perhaps the case, however deplorable, was one in which I was under no obligation whatever to concern myself. Accordingly, I said — “If you can assure me that none of Madame Beck’s pupils are implicated135 in this business, I shall be very happy to stand aloof136 from all interference. Take the casket, the bouquet, and the billet; for my part, I gladly forget the whole affair.”
“Look there!” he whispered suddenly, as his hand closed on what I offered, and at the same time he pointed137 through the boughs.
I looked. Behold Madame, in shawl, wrapping-gown, and slippers138, softly descending the steps, and stealing like a cat round the garden: in two minutes she would have been upon Dr. John. If she were like a cat, however, he, quite as much, resembled a leopard139: nothing could be lighter140 than his tread when he chose. He watched, and as she turned a corner, he took the garden at two noiseless bounds. She reappeared, and he was gone. Rosine helped him, instantly interposing the door between him and his huntress. I, too, might have got, away, but I preferred to meet Madame openly.
Though it was my frequent and well-known custom to spend twilight in the garden, yet, never till now, had I remained so late. Full sure was I that Madame had missed — was come in search of me, and designed now to pounce141 on the defaulter unawares. I expected a reprimand. No. Madame was all goodness. She tendered not even a remonstrance142; she testified no shade of surprise. With that consummate143 tact144 of hers, in which I believe she was never surpassed by living thing, she even professed145 merely to have issued forth146 to taste “la brise du soir.”
“Quelle belle147 nuit!” cried she, looking up at the stars — the moon was now gone down behind the broad tower of Jean Baptiste. “Qu’il fait bon? que l’air est frais!”
And, instead of sending me in, she detained me to take a few turns with her down the principal alley. When at last we both re-entered, she leaned affably on my shoulder by way of support in mounting the front-door steps; at parting, her cheek was presented to my lips, and “Bon soir, my bonne amie; dormez bien!” was her kindly adieu for the night.
I caught myself smiling as I lay awake and thoughtful on my couch — smiling at Madame. The unction, the suavity148 of her behaviour offered, for one who knew her, a sure token that suspicion of some kind was busy in her brain. From some aperture114 or summit of observation, through parted bough9 or open window, she had doubtless caught a glimpse, remote or near, deceptive149 or instructive, of that night’s transactions. Finely accomplished150 as she was in the art of surveillance, it was next to impossible that a casket could be thrown into her garden, or an interloper could cross her walks to seek it, without that she, in shaken branch, passing shade, unwonted footfall, or stilly murmur151 (and though Dr. John had spoken very low in the few words he dropped me, yet the hum of his man’s voice pervaded152, I thought, the whole conventual ground)— without, I say, that she should have caught intimation of things extraordinary transpiring153 on her premises. What things, she might by no means see, or at that time be able to discover; but a delicious little ravelled plot lay tempting154 her to disentanglement; and in the midst, folded round and round in cobwebs, had she not secured “Meess Lucie” clumsily involved, like the foolish fly she was?
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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inflicting
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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imprisoning
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| v.下狱，监禁( imprison的现在分词 ) | |
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monkish
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| adj.僧侣的，修道士的，禁欲的 | |
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conclave
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| n.秘密会议，红衣主教团 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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vying
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| adj.竞争的；比赛的 | |
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denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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trite
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| adj.陈腐的 | |
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rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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exempted
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| 使免除[豁免]( exempt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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43
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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44
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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45
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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46
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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47
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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48
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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49
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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50
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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51
shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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53
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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54
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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55
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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56
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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57
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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58
reclaimed
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| adj.再生的；翻造的；收复的；回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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59
fungi
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| n.真菌，霉菌 | |
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60
palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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61
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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62
tolled
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| 鸣钟（toll的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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63
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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64
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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65
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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66
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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67
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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68
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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69
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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70
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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71
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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72
lulling
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的现在分词形式） | |
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73
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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74
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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75
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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76
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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77
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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78
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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79
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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80
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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81
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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82
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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83
mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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84
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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85
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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86
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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87
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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88
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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89
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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90
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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91
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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92
grovelling
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| adj.卑下的，奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 )；趴 | |
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93
casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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94
gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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95
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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96
credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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97
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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98
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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99
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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100
presumptions
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| n.假定( presumption的名词复数 )；认定；推定；放肆 | |
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101
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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102
tallied
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| v.计算，清点( tally的过去式和过去分词 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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103
humbling
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| adj.令人羞辱的v.使谦恭( humble的现在分词 )；轻松打败（尤指强大的对手）；低声下气 | |
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104
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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105
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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106
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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107
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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108
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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109
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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110
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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111
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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112
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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113
apertures
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| n.孔( aperture的名词复数 )；隙缝；（照相机的）光圈；孔径 | |
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114
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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115
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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116
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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117
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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118
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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119
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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120
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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121
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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122
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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123
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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124
parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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125
demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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126
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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127
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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128
vindicated
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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129
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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130
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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131
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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132
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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133
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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134
loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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135
implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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136
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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137
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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138
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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139
leopard
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| n.豹 | |
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140
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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141
pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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142
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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143
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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144
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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145
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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146
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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147
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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148
suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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149
deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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150
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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151
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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152
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153
transpiring
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的现在分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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154
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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