‘I must go back,’ he said to Waverley,‘to my cove3; will you walk down the glen wi’ me?’ They went out together, and followed a narrow and entangled4 foot-path, which the occasional passage of anglers or wood-cutters had traced by the side of the stream. On their way the Baron explained to Waverley that he would be under no danger in remaining a day or two at Tully-Veolan, and even in being seen walking about, if he used the precaution of pretending that he was looking at the estate as agent or surveyor for an English gentleman who designed to be purchaser. With this view he recommended to him to visit the Bailie, who still lived at the factor’s house, called Little Veolan, about a mile from the village, though he was to remove at next term. Stanley’s passport would be an answer to the officer who commanded the military; and as to any of the country people who might recognise Waverley, the Baron assured him he was in no danger of being betrayed by them.
‘I believe,’ said the old man, ‘half the people of the barony know that their poor auld5 laird is somewhere hereabout; for I see they do not suffer a single bairn to come here a bird-nesting; a practice whilk, when I was in full possession of my power as baron, I was unable totally to inhibit6. Nay7, I often find bits of things in my way, that the poor bodies, God help them! leave there, because they think they may be useful to me. I hope they will get a wiser master, and as kind a one as I was.’
A natural sigh closed the sentence; but the quiet equanimity8 with which the Baron endured his misfortunes had something in it venerable and even sublime9. There was no fruitless repining, no turbid10 melancholy11; he bore his lot, and the hardships which it involved, with a good-humored, though serious composure, and used no violent language against the prevailing12 party.
‘I did what I thought my duty,’ said the good old man, ‘and questionless they are doing what they think theirs. It grieves me sometimes to look upon these blackened walls of the house of my ancestors; but doubtless officers cannot always keep the soldier’s hand from depredation14 and spuilzie, and Gustavus Adolphus himself, as ye may read in Colonel Munro his “Expedition with the Worthy15 Scotch16 Regiment17 called Mackay’s Regiment” did often permit it. Indeed I have myself seen as sad sights as Tully-Veolan now is when I served with the Marechal Duke of Berwick. To be sure we may say with Virgilius Maro, Fuimus Troes — and there’s the end of an auld sang. But houses and families and men have a’ stood lang eneugh when they have stood till they fall with honour; and now I hae gotten a house that is not unlike a domus ultima’ — they were now standing18 below a steep rock. ‘We poor Jacobites,’ continued the Baron, looking up, ‘are now like the conies in Holy Scripture19 (which the great traveller Pococke calleth Jerboa), a feeble people, that make our abode20 in the rocks. So, fare you well, my good lad, till we meet at Janet’s in the even; for I must get into my Patmos, which is no easy matter for my auld stiff limbs.’
With that he began to ascend21 the rock, striding, with the help of his hands, from one precarious22 footstep to another, till he got about half-way up, where two or three bushes concealed23 the mouth of a hole, resembling an oven, into which the Baron insinuated24, first his head and shoulders, and then, by slow gradation, the rest of his l ong body; his legs and feet finally disappearing, coiled up like a huge snake entering his retreat, or a long pedigree introduced with care and difficulty into the narrow pigeon-hole of an old cabinet. Waverley had the curiosity to clamber up and look in upon him in his den25, as the lurking-place might well be termed. Upon the whole, he looked not unlike that ingenious puzzle called ‘a reel in a bottle,’ the marvel26 of children (and of some grown people too, myself for one), who can neither comprehend the mysteryhowit has got in or how it is to be taken out. The cave was very narrow, too low in the roof to admit of his standing, or almost of his sitting up, though he made some awkward attempts at the latter posture27. His sole amusement was the perusal28 of his old friend Titus Livius, varied29 by occasionally scratching Latin proverbs and texts of Scripture with his knife on the roof and walls of his fortalice, which were of sandstone. As the cave was dry, and filled with clean straw and withered30 fern, ‘it made,’ as he said, coiling himself up with an air of snugness31 and comfort which contrasted strangely with his situation, ‘unless when the wind was due north, a very passable gite for an old soldier.’ Neither, as he observed, was he without sentries32 for the purpose of reconnoitring. Davie and his mother were constantly on the watch to discover and avert33 danger; and it was singular what instances of address seemed dictated34 by the instinctive35 attachment36 of the poor simpleton when his patron’s safety was concerned.
With Janet, Edward now sought an interview. He had recognised her at first sight as the old woman who had nursed him during his sickness after his delivery from Gifted Gilfillan. The hut also, although a little repaired and somewhat better furnished, was certainly the place of his confinement37; and he now recollected38 on the common moor39 of Tully-Veolan the trunk of a large decayed tree, called the try sting-tree, which he had no doubt was the same at which the Highlanders rendezvoused40 on that memorable41 night. All this he had combined in his imagination the night before; but reasons which may probably occur to the reader prevented him from catechising Janet in the presence of the Baron.
He now commenced the task in good earnest; and the first question was, Who was the young lady that visited the hut during his illness? Janet paused for a little; and then observed, that to keep the secret now would neither do good nor ill to anybody.
‘ It was just a leddy that hasna her equal in the world — Miss Rose Bradwardine!’
‘Then Miss Rose was probably also the author of my deliverance,’ inferred Waverley, delighted at the confirmation42 of an idea which local circumstances had already induced him to entertain.
‘I wot weel, Mr. Wauverley, and that was she e’en; but sair, sair angry and affronted43 wad she hae been, puir thing, if she had thought ye had been ever to ken13 a word about the matter; for she gar’d me speak aye Gaelic when ye was in hearing, to mak ye trow we were in the Hielands. I can speak it weil eneugh, for my mother was a Hieland woman.’
A few more questions now brought out the whole mystery respecting Waverley’s deliverance from the bondage44 in which he left Cairnvreckan. Never did music sound sweeter to an amateur than the drowsy45 tautology46 with which old Janet detailed47 every circumstance thrilled upon the ears of Waverley. But my reader is not a lover and I must spare his patience, by attempting to condense within reasonable compass the narrative48 which old Janet spread through a harangue49 of nearly two hours.
When Waverley communicated to Fergus the letter he had received from Rose Bradwardine by Davie Gellatley, giving an account of Tully-Veolan being occupied by a small party of soldiers, that circumstance had struck upon the busy and active mind of the Chieftain. Eager to distress50 and narrow the posts of the enemy, desirous to prevent their establishing a garrison51 so near him, and willing also to oblige the Baron — for he often had the idea of marriage with Rose floating through his brain — he resolved to send some of his people to drive out the red-coats and to bring Rose to Glennaquoich. But just as he had ordered Evan with a small party on this duty, the news of Cope’s having marched into the Highlands, to meet and disperse52 the forces of the Chevalier ere they came to a head, obliged him to join the standard with his whole forces.
He sent to order Donald Bean to attend him; but that cautious freebooter, who well understood the value of a separate command, instead of joining, sent various apologies which the pressure of the times compelled Fergus to admit as current, though not without the internal resolution of being revenged on him for his procrastination53, time and place convenient. However, as he could not amend54 the matter, he issued orders to Donald to descend55 into the Low Country, drive the soldiers from Tully-Veolan, and, paying all respect to the mansion56 of the Baron, to take his abode somewhere near it, for protection of his daughter and family, and to harass57 and drive away any of the armed volunteers or small parties of military which he might find moving about the vicinity. As this charge formed a sort of roving commission, which Donald proposed to interpret in the way most advantageous58 to himself, as he was relieved from the immediate59 terrors of Fergus, and as he had, from former secret services, some interest in the councils of the Chevalier, he resolved to make hay while the sun shone. He achieved without difficulty the task of driving the soldiers from Tully-Veolan; but, although he did not venture to encroach upon the interior of the family, or to disturb Miss Rose, being unwilling60 to make himself a powerful enemy in the Chevalier’s army,
For well he knew the Baron’s wrath61 was deadly;
yet he set about to raise contributions and exactions upon the tenantry, and otherwise to turn the war to his own advantage. Meanwhile he mounted the white cockade, and waited upon Rose with a pretext62 of great devotion for the service in which her father was engaged, and many apologies for the freedom he must necessarily use for the support of his people. It was at this moment that Rose learned, by open-mouthed fame, with all sorts of exaggeration, that Waverley had killed the smith at Cairnvreckan, in an attempt to arrest him; had been cast into a dungeon63 by Major Melville of Cairnvreckan, and was to be executed by martial64 law within three days. In the agony which these tidings excited she proposed to Donald Bean the rescue of the prisoner. It was the very sort of service which he was desirous to undertake, judging it might constitute a merit of such a nature as would make amends65 for any peccadilloes66 which he might be guilty of in the country. He had the art, however, pleading all the while duty and discipline, to hold off, until poor Rose, in the extremity67 of her distress, offered to bribe68 him to the enterprise with some valuable jewels which had been her mother’s.
Donald Bean, who had served in France, knew, and perhaps over- estimated, the value of these trinkets. But he also perceived Rose’s apprehensions69 of its being discovered that she had parted with her jewels for Waverley’s liberation. Resolved this scruple71 should not part him and the treasure, he voluntarily offered to take an oath that he would never mention Miss Rose’s share in the transaction; and, foreseeing convenience in keeping the oath and no probable advantage in breaking it, he took the engagement — in order, as he told his lieutenant72, to deal handsomely by the young lady — in the only mode and form which, by a mental paction with himself, he considered as binding73: he swore secrecy75 upon his drawn76 dirk. He was the more especially moved to this act of good faith by some attentions that Miss Bradwardine showed to his daughter Alice, which, while they gained the heart of the mountain damsel, highly gratified the pride of her father. Alice, who could now speak a little English, was very communicative in return for Rose’s kindness, readily confided77 to her the whole papers respecting the intrigue78 with Gardiner’s regiment, of which she was the depositary, and as readily undertook, at her instance, to restore them to Waverley without her father’s knowledge. For ‘they may oblige the bonnie young lady and the handsome young gentleman,’ said Alice, ‘and what use has my father for a whin bits o’ scarted paper?’
The reader is aware that she took an opportunity of executing this purpose on the eve of Waverley’s leaving the glen.
How Donald executed his enterprise the reader is aware. But the expulsion of the military from Tully-Veolan had given alarm, and while he was lying in wait for Gilfillan, a strong party, such as Donald did not care to face, was sent to drive back the insurgents79 in their turn, to encamp there, and to protect the country. The officer, a gentleman and a disciplinarian, neither intruded80 himself on Miss Bradwardine, whose unprotected situation he respected, nor permitted his soldiers to commit any breach81 of discipline. He formed a little camp upon an eminence82 near the house of Tully-Veolan, and placed proper guards at the passes in the vicinity. This unwelcome news reached Donald Bean Lean as he was returning to Tully-Veolan. Determined83, however, to obtain the guerdon of his labour, he resolved, since approach to Tully-Veolan was impossible, to deposit his prisoner in Janet’s cottage, a place the very existence of which could hardly have been suspected even by those who had long lived in the vicinity, unless they had been guided thither84, and which was utterly85 unknown to Waverley himself. This effected, he claimed and received his reward. Waverley’s illness was an event which deranged86 all their calculations. Donald was obliged to leave the neighbourhood with his people, and to seek more free course for his adventures elsewhere. At Rose’s entreaty87, he left an old man, a herbalist, who was supposed to understand a little of medicine, to attend Waverley during his illness.
In the meanwhile, new and fearful doubts started in Rose’s mind. They were suggested by old Janet, who insisted that, a reward having been offered for the apprehension70 of Waverley, and his own personal effects being so valuable, there was no saying to what breach of faith Donald might be tempted88. In an agony of grief and terror, Rose took the daring resolution of explaining to the Prince himself the danger in which Mr. Waverley stood, judging that, both as a politician and a man of honour and humanity, Charles Edward would interest himself to prevent his falling into the hands of the opposite party. This letter she at first thought of sending anonymously89, but naturally feared it would not in that case be credited. She therefore subscribed90 her name, though with reluctance91 and terror, and consigned92 it in charge to a young man, who at leaving his farm to join the Chevalier’s army, made it his petition to her to have some sort of credentials93 to the adventurer, from whom he hoped to obtain a commission.
The letter reached Charles Edward on his descent to the Lowlands, and, aware of the political importance of having it supposed that he was in correspondence with the English Jacobites, he caused the most positive orders to be transmitted to Donald Bean Lean to transmit Waverley, safe and uninjured, in person or effects, to the governor of Doune Castle. The freebooter durst not disobey, for the army of the Prince was now so near him that punishment might have followed; besides, he was a politician as well as a robber, and was unwilling to cancel the interest created through former secret services by being refractory94 on this occasion. He therefore made a virtue95 of necessity, and transmitted orders to his lieutenant to convey Edward to Doune, which was safely accomplished96 in the mode mentioned in a former chapter. The governor of Doune was directed to send him to Edinburgh as a prisoner, because the Prince was apprehensive97 that Waverley, if set at liberty, might have resumed his purpose of returning to England, without affording him an opportunity of a personal interview. In this, indeed, he acted by the advice of the Chieftain of Glennaquoich, with whom it may be remembered the Chevalier communicated upon the mode of disposing of Edward, though without telling him how he came to learn the place of his confinement.
This, indeed, Charles Edward considered as a lady’s secret; for although Rose’s letter was couched in the most cautious and general terms, and professed98 to be written merely from motives99 of humanity and zeal100 for the Prince’s service, yet she expressed so anxious a wish that she should not be known to have interfered101, that the Chevalier was induced to suspect the deep interest which she took in Waverley’s safety. This conjecture102, which was well founded, led, however, to false inferences. For the emotion which Edward displayed on approaching Flora103 and Rose at the ball of Holyrood was placed by the Chevalier to the account of the latter; and he concluded that the Baron’s views about the settlement of his property, or some such obstacle, thwarted104 their mutual105 inclinations106. Common fame, it is true, frequently gave Waverley to Miss Mac-Ivor; but the Prince knew that common fame is very prodigal107 in such gifts; and, watching attentively108 the behaviour of the ladies towards Waverley, he had no doubt that the young Englishman had no interest with Flora, and was beloved by Rose Bradwardine. Desirous to bind74 Waverley to his service, and wishing also to do a kind and friendly action, the Prince next assailed109 the Baron on the subject of settling his estate upon his daughter. Mr. Bradwardine acquiesced110; but the consequence was that Fergus was immediately induced to prefer his double suit for a wife and an earldom, which the Prince rejected in the manner we have seen. The Chevalier, constantly engaged in his own multiplied affairs, had not hitherto sought any explanation with Waverley, though often meaning to do so. But after Fergus’s declaration he saw the necessity of appearing neutral between the rivals, devoutly111 hoping that the matter, which now seemed fraught112 with the seeds of strife113, might be permitted to lie over till the termination of the expedition. When, on the march to Derby, Fergus, being questioned concerning his quarrel with Waverley, alleged114 as the cause that Edward was desirous of retracting115 the suit he had made to his sister, the Chevalier plainly told him that he had himself observed Miss Mac-Ivor’s behaviour to Waverley, and that he was convinced Fergus was under the influence of a mistake in judging of Waverley’s conduct, who, he had every reason to believe, was engaged to Miss Bradwardine. The quarrel which ensued between Edward and the Chieftain is, I hope, still in the remembrance of the reader. These circumstances will serve to explain such points of our narrative as, according to the custom of story-tellers, we deemed it fit to leave unexplained, for the purpose of exciting the reader’s curiosity.
When Janet had once finished the leading facts of this narrative, Waverley was easily enabled to apply the clue which they afforded to other mazes116 of the labyrinth117 in which he had been engaged. To Rose Bradwardine, then, he owed the life which he now thought he could willingly have laid down to serve her. A little reflection convinced him, however, that to live for her sake was more convenient and agreeable, and that, being possessed118 of independence, she might share it with him either in foreign countries or in his own. The pleasure of being allied119 to a man of the Baron’s high worth, and who was so much valued by his uncle Sir Everard, was also an agreeable consideration, had anything been wanting to recommend the match. His absurdities120, which had appeared grotesquely121 ludicrous during his prosperity, seemed, in the sunset of his fortune, to be harmonised and assimilated with the noble features of his character, so as to add peculiarity122 without exciting ridicule123. His mind occupied with such projects of future happiness, Edward sought Little Veolan, the habitation of Mr. Duncan Macwheeble.
点击收听单词发音
1 scuttling | |
n.船底穿孔,打开通海阀(沉船用)v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 );快跑,急走 | |
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2 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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3 cove | |
n.小海湾,小峡谷 | |
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4 entangled | |
adj.卷入的;陷入的;被缠住的;缠在一起的v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5 auld | |
adj.老的,旧的 | |
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6 inhibit | |
vt.阻止,妨碍,抑制 | |
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7 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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8 equanimity | |
n.沉着,镇定 | |
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9 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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10 turbid | |
adj.混浊的,泥水的,浓的 | |
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11 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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12 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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13 ken | |
n.视野,知识领域 | |
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14 depredation | |
n.掠夺,蹂躏 | |
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15 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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16 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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17 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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18 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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19 scripture | |
n.经文,圣书,手稿;Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》,《圣经》中的一段 | |
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20 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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21 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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22 precarious | |
adj.不安定的,靠不住的;根据不足的 | |
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23 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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24 insinuated | |
v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 );巧妙或迂回地潜入;(使)缓慢进入;慢慢伸入 | |
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25 den | |
n.兽穴;秘密地方;安静的小房间,私室 | |
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26 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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27 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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28 perusal | |
n.细读,熟读;目测 | |
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29 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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30 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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31 snugness | |
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32 sentries | |
哨兵,步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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33 avert | |
v.防止,避免;转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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34 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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35 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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36 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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37 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
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38 recollected | |
adj.冷静的;镇定的;被回忆起的;沉思默想的v.记起,想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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40 rendezvoused | |
v.约会,会合( rendezvous的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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42 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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43 affronted | |
adj.被侮辱的,被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 );相遇 | |
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44 bondage | |
n.奴役,束缚 | |
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45 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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46 tautology | |
n.无谓的重复;恒真命题 | |
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47 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
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48 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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49 harangue | |
n.慷慨冗长的训话,言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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50 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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51 garrison | |
n.卫戍部队;驻地,卫戍区;vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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52 disperse | |
vi.使分散;使消失;vt.分散;驱散 | |
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53 procrastination | |
n.拖延,耽搁 | |
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54 amend | |
vt.修改,修订,改进;n.[pl.]赔罪,赔偿 | |
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55 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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56 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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57 harass | |
vt.使烦恼,折磨,骚扰 | |
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58 advantageous | |
adj.有利的;有帮助的 | |
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59 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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60 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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61 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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62 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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63 dungeon | |
n.地牢,土牢 | |
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64 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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65 amends | |
n. 赔偿 | |
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66 peccadilloes | |
n.轻罪,小过失( peccadillo的名词复数 ) | |
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67 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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68 bribe | |
n.贿赂;v.向…行贿,买通 | |
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69 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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70 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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71 scruple | |
n./v.顾忌,迟疑 | |
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72 lieutenant | |
n.陆军中尉,海军上尉;代理官员,副职官员 | |
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73 binding | |
有约束力的,有效的,应遵守的 | |
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74 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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75 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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76 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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77 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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78 intrigue | |
vt.激起兴趣,迷住;vi.耍阴谋;n.阴谋,密谋 | |
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79 insurgents | |
n.起义,暴动,造反( insurgent的名词复数 ) | |
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80 intruded | |
n.侵入的,推进的v.侵入,侵扰,打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 );把…强加于 | |
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81 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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82 eminence | |
n.卓越,显赫;高地,高处;名家 | |
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83 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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84 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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85 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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86 deranged | |
adj.疯狂的 | |
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87 entreaty | |
n.恳求,哀求 | |
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88 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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89 anonymously | |
ad.用匿名的方式 | |
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90 subscribed | |
v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 );签署,题词;订阅;同意 | |
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91 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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92 consigned | |
v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的过去式和过去分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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93 credentials | |
n.证明,资格,证明书,证件 | |
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94 refractory | |
adj.倔强的,难驾驭的 | |
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95 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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96 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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97 apprehensive | |
adj.担心的,恐惧的,善于领会的 | |
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98 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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99 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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100 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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101 interfered | |
v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 );调停;妨碍;干涉 | |
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102 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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103 flora | |
n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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104 thwarted | |
阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
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105 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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106 inclinations | |
倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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107 prodigal | |
adj.浪费的,挥霍的,放荡的 | |
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108 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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109 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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110 acquiesced | |
v.默认,默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111 devoutly | |
adv.虔诚地,虔敬地,衷心地 | |
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112 fraught | |
adj.充满…的,伴有(危险等)的;忧虑的 | |
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113 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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114 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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115 retracting | |
v.撤回或撤消( retract的现在分词 );拒绝执行或遵守;缩回;拉回 | |
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116 mazes | |
迷宫( maze的名词复数 ); 纷繁复杂的规则; 复杂难懂的细节; 迷宫图 | |
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117 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
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118 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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119 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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120 absurdities | |
n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 );荒谬;谬论;荒谬的行为 | |
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121 grotesquely | |
adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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122 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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123 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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