Madame Beck herself, if forced to the enterprise, would “skurry” through, retrenching3 her skirts, and carefully coasting the formidable estrade, like a ship dreading4 breakers. As to Rosine, the portress — on whom, every half-hour, devolved the fearful duty of fetching pupils out of the very heart of one or other of the divisions to take their music-lessons in the oratory5, the great or little saloon, the salle-à-manger, or some other piano-station — she would, upon her second or third attempt, frequently become almost tongue-tied from excess of consternation6 — a sentiment inspired by the unspeakable looks levelled at her through a pair of dart-dealing spectacles.
One morning I was sitting in the carré, at work upon a piece of embroidery7 which one of the pupils had commenced but delayed to finish, and while my fingers wrought8 at the frame, my ears regaled themselves with listening to the crescendos and cadences9 of a voice haranguing10 in the neighbouring classe, in tones that waxed momentarily more unquiet, more ominously11 varied12. There was a good strong partition-wall between me and the gathering14 storm, as well as a facile means of flight through the glass-door to the court, in case it swept this way; so I am afraid I derived15 more amusement than alarm from these thickening symptoms. Poor Rosine was not safe: four times that blessed morning had she made the passage of peril16; and now, for the fifth time, it became her dangerous duty to snatch, as it were, a brand from the burning — a pupil from under M. Paul’s nose.
“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” cried she. “Que vais-je devenir? Monsieur va me tuer, je suis s?re; car il est d’une colère!”
Nerved by the courage of desperation, she opened the door.
“Mademoiselle La Malle au piano!” was her cry.
Ere she could make good her retreat, or quite close the door, this voice uttered itself:—
“Dès ce moment! — la classe est défendue. La première qui ouvrira cette porte, ou passera par13 cette division, sera pendue — fut-ce Madame Beck elle-même!”
Ten minutes had not succeeded the promulgation17 of this decree when Rosine’s French pantoufles were again heard shuffling18 along the corridor.
“Mademoiselle,” said she, “I would not for a five-franc piece go into that classe again just now: Monsieur’s lunettes are really terrible; and here is a commissionaire come with a message from the Athénée. I have told Madame Beck I dare not deliver it, and she says I am to charge you with it.”
“Me? No, that is rather too bad! It is not in my line of duty. Come, come, Rosine! bear your own burden. Be brave — charge once more!”
“I, Mademoiselle? — impossible! Five times I have crossed him this day. Madame must really hire a gendarme19 for this service. Ouf! Je n’en puis plus!”
“Bah! you are only a coward. What is the message?”
“Precisely of the kind with which Monsieur least likes to be pestered20: an urgent summons to go directly to the Athénée, as there is an official visitor — inspector21 — I know not what — arrived, and Monsieur must meet him: you know how he hates a must.”
Yes, I knew well enough. The restive22 little man detested24 spur or curb25: against whatever was urgent or obligatory26, he was sure to revolt. However, I accepted the responsibility — not, certainly, without fear, but fear blent with other sentiments, curiosity, amongst them. I opened the door, I entered, I closed it behind me as quickly and quietly as a rather unsteady hand would permit; for to be slow or bustling27, to rattle28 a latch29, or leave a door gaping30 wide, were aggravations of crime often more disastrous31 in result than the main crime itself. There I stood then, and there he sat; his humour was visibly bad — almost at its worst; he had been giving a lesson in arithmetic — for he gave lessons on any and every subject that struck his fancy — and arithmetic being a dry subject, invariably disagreed with him: not a pupil but trembled when he spoke32 of figures. He sat, bent33 above his desk: to look up at the sound of an entrance, at the occurrence of a direct breach34 of his will and law, was an effort he could not for the moment bring himself to make. It was quite as well: I thus gained time to walk up the long classe; and it suited my idiosyncracy far better to encounter the near burst of anger like his, than to bear its menace at a distance.
At his estrade I paused, just in front; of course I was not worthy35 of immediate36 attention: he proceeded with his lesson. Disdain37 would not do: he must hear and he must answer my message.
Not being quite tall enough to lift my head over his desk, elevated upon the estrade, and thus suffering eclipse in my present position, I ventured to peep round, with the design, at first, of merely getting a better view of his face, which had struck me when I entered as bearing a close and picturesque39 resemblance to that of a black and sallow tiger. Twice did I enjoy this side-view with impunity40, advancing and receding41 unseen; the third time my eye had scarce dawned beyond the obscuration of the desk, when it was caught and transfixed through its very pupil — transfixed by the “lunettes.” Rosine was right; these utensils43 had in them a blank and immutable44 terror, beyond the mobile wrath45 of the wearer’s own unglazed eyes.
I now found the advantage of proximity46: these short-sighted “lunettes” were useless for the inspection47 of a criminal under Monsieur’s nose; accordingly, he doffed48 them, and he and I stood on more equal terms.
I am glad I was not really much afraid of him — that, indeed, close in his presence, I felt no terror at all; for upon his demanding cord and gibbet to execute the sentence recently pronounced, I was able to furnish him with a needleful of embroidering49 thread with such accommodating civility as could not but allay50 some portion at least of his surplus irritation51. Of course I did not parade this courtesy before public view: I merely handed the thread round the angle of the desk, and attached it, ready noosed52, to the barred back of the Professor’s chair.
“Que me voulez-vous?” said he in a growl53 of which the music was wholly confined to his chest and throat, for he kept his teeth clenched54; and seemed registering to himself an inward vow55 that nothing earthly should wring56 from him a smile.
My answer commenced uncompromisingly: “Monsieur,” I said, “je veux l’impossible, des choses inou?es;” and thinking it best not to mince57 matters, but to administer the “douche” with decision, in a low but quick voice, I delivered the Athenian message, floridly exaggerating its urgency.
Of course, he would not hear a word of it. “He would not go; he would not leave his present class, let all the officials of Villette send for him. He would not put himself an inch out of his way at the bidding of king, cabinet, and chambers58 together.”
I knew, however, that he must go; that, talk as he would, both his duty and interest commanded an immediate and literal compliance59 with the summons: I stood, therefore, waiting in silence, as if he had not yet spoken. He asked what more I wanted.
“Only Monsieur’s answer to deliver to the commissionaire.”
He waved an impatient negative.
I ventured to stretch my hand to the bonnet60-grec which lay in grim repose61 on the window-sill. He followed this daring movement with his eye, no doubt in mixed pity and amazement62 at its presumption63.
“Ah!” he muttered, “if it came to that — if Miss Lucy meddled64 with his bonnet-grec — she might just put it on herself, turn gar?on for the occasion, and benevolently65 go to the Athénée in his stead.”
With great respect, I laid the bonnet on the desk, where its tassel66 seemed to give me an awful nod.
“I’ll write a note of apology — that will do!” said he, still bent on evasion67.
Knowing well it would not do, I gently pushed the bonnet towards his hand. Thus impelled68, it slid down the polished slope of the varnished69 and unbaized desk, carried before it the light steel-framed “lunettes,” and, fearful to relate, they fell to the estrade. A score of times ere now had I seen them fall and receive no damage — this time, as Lucy Snowe’s hapless luck would have it, they so fell that each clear pebble70 became a shivered and shapeless star.
Now, indeed, dismay seized me — dismay and regret. I knew the value of these “lunettes”: M. Paul’s sight was peculiar71, not easily fitted, and these glasses suited him. I had heard him call them his treasures: as I picked them up, cracked and worthless, my hand trembled. Frightened through all my nerves I was to see the mischief72 I had done, but I think I was even more sorry than afraid. For some seconds I dared not look the bereaved73 Professor in the face; he was the first to speak.
“Là!” said he: “me voilà veuf de mes lunettes! I think Mademoiselle Lucy will now confess that the cord and gallows74 are amply earned; she trembles in anticipation75 of her doom76. Ah, traitress! traitress! You are resolved to have me quite blind and helpless in your hands!”
I lifted my eyes: his face, instead of being irate77, lowering, and furrowed78, was overflowing79 with the smile, coloured with the bloom I had seen brightening it that evening at the Hotel Crécy. He was not angry — not even grieved. For the real injury he showed himself full of clemency80; under the real provocation81, patient as a saint. This event, which seemed so untoward82 — which I thought had ruined at once my chance of successful persuasion83 — proved my best help. Difficult of management so long as I had done him no harm, he became graciously pliant84 as soon as I stood in his presence a conscious and contrite85 offender86.
Still gently railing at me as “une forte87 femme — une Anglaise terrible — une petite casse-tout”— he declared that he dared not but obey one who had given such an instance of her dangerous prowess; it was absolutely like the “grand Empereur smashing the vase to inspire dismay.” So, at last, crowning himself with his bonnet-grec, and taking his ruined “lunettes” from my hand with a clasp of kind pardon and encouragement, he made his bow, and went off to the Athénée in first-rate humour and spirits.
After all this amiability88, the reader will be sorry for my sake to hear that I was quarrelling with M. Paul again before night; yet so it was, and I could not help it.
It was his occasional custom — and a very laudable, acceptable custom, too — to arrive of an evening, always à l’improviste, unannounced, burst in on the silent hour of study, establish a sudden despotism over us and our occupations, cause books to be put away, work-bags to be brought out, and, drawing forth89 a single thick volume, or a handful of pamphlets, substitute for the besotted “lecture pieuse,” drawled by a sleepy pupil, some tragedy made grand by grand reading, ardent90 by fiery91 action — some drama, whereof, for my part, I rarely studied the intrinsic merit; for M. Emanuel made it a vessel92 for an outpouring, and filled it with his native verve and passion like a cup with a vital brewage. Or else he would flash through our conventual darkness a reflex of a brighter world, show us a glimpse of the current literature of the day, read us passages from some enchanting93 tale, or the last witty94 feuilleton which had awakened95 laughter in the saloons of Paris; taking care always to expunge96, with the severest hand, whether from tragedy, melodrama97, tale, or essay, whatever passage, phrase, or word, could be deemed unsuited to an audience of “jeunes filles.” I noticed more than once, that where retrenchment98 without substitute would have left unmeaning vacancy99, or introduced weakness, he could, and did, improvise100 whole paragraphs, no less vigorous than irreproachable101; the dialogue — the description — he engrafted was often far better than that he pruned102 away.
Well, on the evening in question, we were sitting silent as nuns103 in a “retreat,” the pupils studying, the teachers working. I remember my work; it was a slight matter of fancy, and it rather interested me; it had a purpose; I was not doing it merely to kill time; I meant it when finished as a gift; and the occasion of presentation being near, haste was requisite104, and my fingers were busy.
We heard the sharp bell-peal which we all knew; then the rapid step familiar to each ear: the words “Voilà Monsieur!” had scarcely broken simultaneously105 from every lip, when the two-leaved door split (as split it always did for his admission — such a slow word as “open” is inefficient106 to describe his movements), and he stood in the midst of us.
There were two study tables, both long and flanked with benches; over the centre of each hung a lamp; beneath this lamp, on either side the table, sat a teacher; the girls were arranged to the right hand and the left; the eldest107 and most studious nearest the lamps or tropics; the idlers and little ones towards the north and south poles. Monsieur’s habit was politely to hand a chair to some teacher, generally Zélie St. Pierre, the senior mistress; then to take her vacated seat; and thus avail himself of the full beam of Cancer or Capricorn, which, owing to his near sight, he needed.
As usual, Zélie rose with alacrity108, smiling to the whole extent of her mouth, and the full display of her upper and under rows of teeth — that strange smile which passes from ear to ear, and is marked only by a sharp thin curve, which fails to spread over the countenance109, and neither dimples the cheek nor lights the eye. I suppose Monsieur did not see her, or he had taken a whim110 that he would not notice her, for he was as capricious as women are said to be; then his “lunettes” (he had got another pair) served him as an excuse for all sorts of little oversights111 and shortcomings. Whatever might be his reason, he passed by Zélie, came to the other side of the table, and before I could start up to clear the way, whispered, “Ne bougez pas,” and established himself between me and Miss Fanshawe, who always would be my neighbour, and have her elbow in my side, however often I declared to her, “Ginevra, I wish you were at Jericho.”
It was easy to say, “Ne bougez pas;” but how could I help it? I must make him room, and I must request the pupils to recede112 that I might recede. It was very well for Ginevra to be gummed to me, “keeping herself warm,” as she said, on the winter evenings, and harassing113 my very heart with her fidgetings and pokings, obliging me, indeed, sometimes to put an artful pin in my girdle by way of protection against her elbow; but I suppose M. Emanuel was not to be subjected to the same kind of treatment, so I swept away my working materials, to clear space for his book, and withdrew myself to make room for his person; not, however, leaving more than a yard of interval114, just what any reasonable man would have regarded as a convenient, respectful allowance of bench. But M. Emanuel never was reasonable; flint and tinder that he was! he struck and took fire directly.
“Vous ne voulez pas de moi pour voisin,” he growled115: “vous vous donnez des airs de caste; vous me traitez en paria;” he scowled116. “Soit! je vais arranger la chose!” And he set to work.
“Levez vous toutes, Mesdemoiselles!” cried he.
The girls rose. He made them all file off to the other table. He then placed me at one extremity117 of the long bench, and having duly and carefully brought me my work-basket, silk, scissors, all my implements118, he fixed42 himself quite at the other end.
At this arrangement, highly absurd as it was, not a soul in the room dared to laugh; luckless for the giggler119 would have been the giggle120. As for me, I took it with entire coolness. There I sat, isolated121 and cut off from human intercourse122; I sat and minded my work, and was quiet, and not at all unhappy.
“Est ce assez de distance?” he demanded.
“Monsieur en est l’arbitre,” said I.
“Vous savez bien que non. C’est vous qui avez crée ce vide immense: moi je n’y ai pas mis la main.”
And with this assertion he commenced the reading.
For his misfortune he had chosen a French translation of what he called “un drame de Williams Shackspire; le faux dieu,” he further announced, “de ces sots pa?ens, les Anglais.” How far otherwise he would have characterized him had his temper not been upset, I scarcely need intimate.
Of course, the translation being French, was very inefficient; nor did I make any particular effort to conceal123 the contempt which some of its forlorn lapses124 were calculated to excite. Not that it behoved or beseemed me to say anything: but one can occasionally look the opinion it is forbidden to embody125 in words. Monsieur’s lunettes being on the alert, he gleaned126 up every stray look; I don’t think he lost one: the consequence was, his eyes soon discarded a screen, that their blaze might sparkle free, and he waxed hotter at the north pole to which he had voluntarily exiled himself, than, considering the general temperature of the room, it would have been reasonable to become under the vertical127 ray of Cancer itself.
The reading over, it appeared problematic whether he would depart with his anger unexpressed, or whether he would give it vent38. Suppression was not much in his habits; but still, what had been done to him definite enough to afford matter for overt128 reproof129? I had not uttered a sound, and could not justly be deemed amenable130 to reprimand or penalty for having permitted a slightly freer action than usual to the muscles about my eyes and mouth.
The supper, consisting of bread, and milk diluted131 with tepid132 water, was brought in. In respectful consideration of the Professor’s presence, the rolls and glasses were allowed to stand instead of being immediately handed round.
“Take your supper, ladies,” said he, seeming to be occupied in making marginal notes to his “Williams Shackspire.” They took it. I also accepted a roll and glass, but being now more than ever interested in my work, I kept my seat of punishment, and wrought while I munched133 my bread and sipped134 my beverage135, the whole with easy sang-froid; with a certain snugness136 of composure, indeed, scarcely in my habits, and pleasantly novel to my feelings. It seemed as if the presence of a nature so restless, chafing137, thorny138 as that of M. Paul absorbed all feverish139 and unsettling influences like a magnet, and left me none but such as were placid140 and harmonious141.
He rose. “Will he go away without saying another word?” Yes; he turned to the door.
No: he re-turned on his steps; but only, perhaps, to take his pencil-case, which had been left on the table.
He took it — shut the pencil in and out, broke its point against the wood, re-cut and pocketed it, and . . . walked promptly142 up to me.
The girls and teachers, gathered round the other table, were talking pretty freely: they always talked at meals; and, from the constant habit of speaking fast and loud at such times, did not now subdue143 their voices much.
M. Paul came and stood behind me. He asked at what I was working; and I said I was making a watchguard.
He asked, “For whom?” And I answered, “For a gentleman — one of my friends.”
M. Paul stooped down and proceeded — as novel-writers say, and, as was literally144 true in his case — to “hiss” into my ear some poignant145 words.
He said that, of all the women he knew, I was the one who could make herself the most consummately146 unpleasant: I was she with whom it was least possible to live on friendly terms. I had a “caractère intraitable,” and perverse147 to a miracle. How I managed it, or what possessed148 me, he, for his part, did not know; but with whatever pacific and amicable149 intentions a person accosted150 me — crac! I turned concord151 to discord152, good-will to enmity. He was sure, he — M. Paul — wished me well enough; he had never done me any harm that he knew of; he might, at least, he supposed, claim a right to be regarded as a neutral acquaintance, guiltless of hostile sentiments: yet, how I behaved to him! With what pungent153 vivacities — what an impetus154 of mutiny — what a “fougue” of injustice155!
Here I could not avoid opening my eyes somewhat wide, and even slipping in a slight interjectional observation: “Vivacities? Impetus? Fougue? I didn’t know. . . . ”
“Chut! à l’instant! There! there I went — vive comme la poudre!” He was sorry — he was very sorry: for my sake he grieved over the hapless peculiarity156. This “emportement,” this “chaleur”— generous, perhaps, but excessive — would yet, he feared, do me a mischief. It was a pity: I was not — he believed, in his soul — wholly without good qualities: and would I but hear reason, and be more sedate157, more sober, less “en l’air,” less “coquette,” less taken by show, less prone158 to set an undue159 value on outside excellence160 — to make much of the attentions of people remarkable161 chiefly for so many feet of stature162, “des couleurs de poupée,” “un nez plus ou moins bien fait,” and an enormous amount of fatuity163 — I might yet prove an useful, perhaps an exemplary character. But, as it was — And here, the little man’s voice was for a minute choked.
I would have looked up at him, or held out my hand, or said a soothing164 word; but I was afraid, if I stirred, I should either laugh or cry; so odd, in all this, was the mixture of the touching165 and the absurd.
I thought he had nearly done: but no; he sat down that he might go on at his ease.
“While he, M. Paul, was on these painful topics, he would dare my anger for the sake of my good, and would venture to refer to a change he had noticed in my dress. He was free to confess that when he first knew me — or, rather, was in the habit of catching166 a passing glimpse of me from time to time — I satisfied him on this point: the gravity, the austere167 simplicity168, obvious in this particular, were such as to inspire the highest hopes for my best interests. What fatal influence had impelled me lately to introduce flowers under the brim of my bonnet, to wear ‘des cols brodés,’ and even to appear on one occasion in a scarlet169 gown — he might indeed conjecture170, but, for the present, would not openly declare.”
Again I interrupted, and this time not without an accent at once indignant and horror-struck.
“Scarlet, Monsieur Paul? It was not scarlet! It was pink, and pale pink to: and further subdued171 by black lace.”
“Pink or scarlet, yellow or crimson172, pea-green or sky-blue, it was all one: these were all flaunting173, giddy colours; and as to the lace I talked of, that was but a ‘colifichet de plus.’” And he sighed over my degeneracy. “He could not, he was sorry to say, be so particular on this theme as he could wish: not possessing the exact names of these ‘babioles,’ he might run into small verbal errors which would not fail to lay him open to my sarcasm174, and excite my unhappily sudden and passionate175 disposition176. He would merely say, in general terms — and in these general terms he knew he was correct — that my costume had of late assumed ‘des fa?ons mondaines,’ which it wounded him to see.”
What “fa?ons mondaines” he discovered in my present winter merino and plain white collar, I own it puzzled me to guess: and when I asked him, he said it was all made with too much attention to effect — and besides, “had I not a bow of ribbon at my neck?”
“And if you condemn177 a bow of ribbon for a lady, Monsieur, you would necessarily disapprove178 of a thing like this for a gentleman?”— holding up my bright little chainlet of silk and gold. His sole reply was a groan179 — I suppose over my levity180.
After sitting some minutes in silence, and watching the progress of the chain, at which I now wrought more assiduously than ever, he inquired: “Whether what he had just said would have the effect of making me entirely181 detest23 him?”
I hardly remember what answer I made, or how it came about; I don’t think I spoke at all, but I know we managed to bid good-night on friendly terms: and, even after M. Paul had reached the door, he turned back just to explain, “that he would not be understood to speak in entire condemnation182 of the scarlet dress” (“Pink! pink!” I threw in); “that he had no intention to deny it the merit of looking rather well” (the fact was, M. Emanuel’s taste in colours decidedly leaned to the brilliant); “only he wished to counsel me, whenever, I wore it, to do so in the same spirit as if its material were ‘bure,’ and its hue183 ‘gris de poussière.’”
“And the flowers under my bonnet, Monsieur?” I asked. “They are very little ones —?”
“Keep them little, then,” said he. “Permit them not to become full-blown.”
“And the bow, Monsieur — the bit of ribbon?”
“Va pour le ruban!” was the propitious184 answer.
And so we settled it.
“Well done, Lucy Snowe!” cried I to myself; “you have come in for a pretty lecture — brought on yourself a ‘rude savant,’ and all through your wicked fondness for worldly vanities! Who would have thought it? You deemed yourself a melancholy185 sober-sides enough! Miss Fanshawe there regards you as a second Diogenes. M. de Bassompierre, the other day, politely turned the conversation when it ran on the wild gifts of the actress Vashti, because, as he kindly186 said, ‘Miss Snowe looked uncomfortable.’ Dr. John Bretton knows you only as ‘quiet Lucy’—‘a creature inoffensive as a shadow;’ he has said, and you have heard him say it: ‘Lucy’s disadvantages spring from over-gravity in tastes and manner — want of colour in character and costume.’ Such are your own and your friends’ impressions; and behold187! there starts up a little man, differing diametrically from all these, roundly charging you with being too airy and cheery — too volatile188 and versatile189 — too flowery and coloury. This harsh little man — this pitiless censor190 — gathers up all your poor scattered191 sins of vanity, your luckless chiffon of rose-colour, your small fringe of a wreath, your small scrap192 of ribbon, your silly bit of lace, and calls you to account for the lot, and for each item. You are well habituated to be passed by as a shadow in Life’s sunshine: it its a new thing to see one testily193 lifting his hand to screen his eyes, because you tease him with an obtrusive194 ray.”
点击收听单词发音
1 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
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2 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
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3 retrenching | |
v.紧缩开支( retrench的现在分词 );削减(费用);节省 | |
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4 dreading | |
v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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5 oratory | |
n.演讲术;词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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6 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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7 embroidery | |
n.绣花,刺绣;绣制品 | |
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8 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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9 cadences | |
n.(声音的)抑扬顿挫( cadence的名词复数 );节奏;韵律;调子 | |
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10 haranguing | |
v.高谈阔论( harangue的现在分词 ) | |
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11 ominously | |
adv.恶兆地,不吉利地;预示地 | |
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12 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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13 par | |
n.标准,票面价值,平均数量;adj.票面的,平常的,标准的 | |
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14 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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15 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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16 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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17 promulgation | |
n.颁布 | |
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18 shuffling | |
adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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19 gendarme | |
n.宪兵 | |
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20 pestered | |
使烦恼,纠缠( pester的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21 inspector | |
n.检查员,监察员,视察员 | |
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22 restive | |
adj.不安宁的,不安静的 | |
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23 detest | |
vt.痛恨,憎恶 | |
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24 detested | |
v.憎恶,嫌恶,痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25 curb | |
n.场外证券市场,场外交易;vt.制止,抑制 | |
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26 obligatory | |
adj.强制性的,义务的,必须的 | |
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27 bustling | |
adj.喧闹的 | |
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28 rattle | |
v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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29 latch | |
n.门闩,窗闩;弹簧锁 | |
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30 gaping | |
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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31 disastrous | |
adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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32 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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33 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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34 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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35 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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36 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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37 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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38 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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39 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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40 impunity | |
n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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41 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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42 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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43 utensils | |
器具,用具,器皿( utensil的名词复数 ); 器物 | |
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44 immutable | |
adj.不可改变的,永恒的 | |
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45 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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46 proximity | |
n.接近,邻近 | |
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47 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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48 doffed | |
v.脱去,(尤指)脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49 embroidering | |
v.(在织物上)绣花( embroider的现在分词 );刺绣;对…加以渲染(或修饰);给…添枝加叶 | |
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50 allay | |
v.消除,减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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51 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
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52 noosed | |
v.绞索,套索( noose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53 growl | |
v.(狗等)嗥叫,(炮等)轰鸣;n.嗥叫,轰鸣 | |
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54 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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56 wring | |
n.扭绞;v.拧,绞出,扭 | |
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57 mince | |
n.切碎物;v.切碎,矫揉做作地说 | |
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58 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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59 compliance | |
n.顺从;服从;附和;屈从 | |
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60 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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61 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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62 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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63 presumption | |
n.推测,可能性,冒昧,放肆,[法律]推定 | |
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64 meddled | |
v.干涉,干预(他人事务)( meddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65 benevolently | |
adv.仁慈地,行善地 | |
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66 tassel | |
n.流苏,穗;v.抽穗, (玉米)长穗须 | |
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67 evasion | |
n.逃避,偷漏(税) | |
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68 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69 varnished | |
浸渍过的,涂漆的 | |
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70 pebble | |
n.卵石,小圆石 | |
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71 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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72 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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73 bereaved | |
adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去(希望、生命等)( bereave的过去式和过去分词);(尤指死亡)使丧失(亲人、朋友等);使孤寂;抢走(财物) | |
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74 gallows | |
n.绞刑架,绞台 | |
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75 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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76 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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77 irate | |
adj.发怒的,生气 | |
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78 furrowed | |
v.犁田,开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79 overflowing | |
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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80 clemency | |
n.温和,仁慈,宽厚 | |
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81 provocation | |
n.激怒,刺激,挑拨,挑衅的事物,激怒的原因 | |
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82 untoward | |
adj.不利的,不幸的,困难重重的 | |
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83 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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84 pliant | |
adj.顺从的;可弯曲的 | |
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85 contrite | |
adj.悔悟了的,后悔的,痛悔的 | |
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86 offender | |
n.冒犯者,违反者,犯罪者 | |
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87 forte | |
n.长处,擅长;adj.(音乐)强音的 | |
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88 amiability | |
n.和蔼可亲的,亲切的,友善的 | |
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89 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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90 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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91 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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92 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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93 enchanting | |
a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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94 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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95 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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96 expunge | |
v.除去,删掉 | |
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97 melodrama | |
n.音乐剧;情节剧 | |
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98 retrenchment | |
n.节省,删除 | |
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99 vacancy | |
n.(旅馆的)空位,空房,(职务的)空缺 | |
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100 improvise | |
v.即兴创作;临时准备,临时凑成 | |
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101 irreproachable | |
adj.不可指责的,无过失的 | |
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102 pruned | |
v.修剪(树木等)( prune的过去式和过去分词 );精简某事物,除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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103 nuns | |
n.(通常指基督教的)修女, (佛教的)尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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104 requisite | |
adj.需要的,必不可少的;n.必需品 | |
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105 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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106 inefficient | |
adj.效率低的,无效的 | |
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107 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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108 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
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109 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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110 whim | |
n.一时的兴致,突然的念头;奇想,幻想 | |
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111 oversights | |
n.疏忽( oversight的名词复数 );忽略;失察;负责 | |
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112 recede | |
vi.退(去),渐渐远去;向后倾斜,缩进 | |
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113 harassing | |
v.侵扰,骚扰( harass的现在分词 );不断攻击(敌人) | |
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114 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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115 growled | |
v.(动物)发狺狺声, (雷)作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 );低声咆哮着说 | |
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116 scowled | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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118 implements | |
n.工具( implement的名词复数 );家具;手段;[法律]履行(契约等)v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 );执行;贯彻;使生效 | |
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119 giggler | |
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120 giggle | |
n.痴笑,咯咯地笑;v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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121 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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122 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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123 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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124 lapses | |
n.失误,过失( lapse的名词复数 );小毛病;行为失检;偏离正道v.退步( lapse的第三人称单数 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
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125 embody | |
vt.具体表达,使具体化;包含,收录 | |
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126 gleaned | |
v.一点点地收集(资料、事实)( glean的过去式和过去分词 );(收割后)拾穗 | |
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127 vertical | |
adj.垂直的,顶点的,纵向的;n.垂直物,垂直的位置 | |
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128 overt | |
adj.公开的,明显的,公然的 | |
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129 reproof | |
n.斥责,责备 | |
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130 amenable | |
adj.经得起检验的;顺从的;对负有义务的 | |
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131 diluted | |
无力的,冲淡的 | |
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132 tepid | |
adj.微温的,温热的,不太热心的 | |
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133 munched | |
v.用力咀嚼(某物),大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134 sipped | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135 beverage | |
n.(水,酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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136 snugness | |
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137 chafing | |
n.皮肤发炎v.擦热(尤指皮肤)( chafe的现在分词 );擦痛;发怒;惹怒 | |
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138 thorny | |
adj.多刺的,棘手的 | |
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139 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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140 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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141 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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142 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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143 subdue | |
vt.制服,使顺从,征服;抑制,克制 | |
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144 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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145 poignant | |
adj.令人痛苦的,辛酸的,惨痛的 | |
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146 consummately | |
adv.完成地,至上地 | |
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147 perverse | |
adj.刚愎的;坚持错误的,行为反常的 | |
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148 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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149 amicable | |
adj.和平的,友好的;友善的 | |
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150 accosted | |
v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 );跟…搭讪;(乞丐等)上前向…乞讨;(妓女等)勾搭 | |
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151 concord | |
n.和谐;协调 | |
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152 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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153 pungent | |
adj.(气味、味道)刺激性的,辛辣的;尖锐的 | |
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154 impetus | |
n.推动,促进,刺激;推动力 | |
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155 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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156 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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157 sedate | |
adj.沉着的,镇静的,安静的 | |
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158 prone | |
adj.(to)易于…的,很可能…的;俯卧的 | |
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159 undue | |
adj.过分的;不适当的;未到期的 | |
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160 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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161 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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162 stature | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
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163 fatuity | |
n.愚蠢,愚昧 | |
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164 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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165 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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166 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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167 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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168 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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169 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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170 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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171 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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172 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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173 flaunting | |
adj.招摇的,扬扬得意的,夸耀的v.炫耀,夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 );有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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174 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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175 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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176 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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177 condemn | |
vt.谴责,指责;宣判(罪犯),判刑 | |
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178 disapprove | |
v.不赞成,不同意,不批准 | |
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179 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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180 levity | |
n.轻率,轻浮,不稳定,多变 | |
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181 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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182 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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183 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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184 propitious | |
adj.吉利的;顺利的 | |
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185 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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186 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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187 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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188 volatile | |
adj.反复无常的,挥发性的,稍纵即逝的,脾气火爆的;n.挥发性物质 | |
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189 versatile | |
adj.通用的,万用的;多才多艺的,多方面的 | |
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190 censor | |
n./vt.审查,审查员;删改 | |
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191 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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192 scrap | |
n.碎片;废料;v.废弃,报废 | |
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193 testily | |
adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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194 obtrusive | |
adj.显眼的;冒失的 | |
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