Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.
The first few days were spent in walks alone, which she planned each morning by reference to a map of London, choosing in preference those districts which she knew by reputation as mean and poverty-stricken. As yet she had never seen poverty in its worst shapes, and she now for the first time became acquainted with the appearance of a London slum. With a thin veil drawn9 close over her face, often with a step quickened by involuntary horror, or even fear, she walked in turn through the worst parts of Soho, through Seven Dials, and the thoroughfares which spread themselves around that reeking10 centre, through Drury Lane and Clare Market, through all the unutterable vileness11 which is to be found on the other side of the river, then through everything most heart-breaking that the wide extent of the East End has to show. In this way she learnt from actual experience what she had hitherto only been able to see in fancy, and it is but slight reproach to the powers of her imagination to say that never in her most fearful visions had she attained12 to a just appreciation13 of the reality. As she walked hurriedly along she would now and then behold14 sights which made the hot tears of pity or of indignation start to her eyes; but for the most part the ardour of a righteous wrath15, to think that such things could be permitted to exist, dried up the fountain of tears, and only left her strengthening herself in firm resolve that what one determined16 heart and mind could effect towards the alleviation18 of all this hellish misery19, that should be her aim as long as her life lasted.
Before setting to her task she deemed it necessary to procure20 her guardian21’s assent22 to what she was about to do, and, for the purpose of acquainting him with the designs, requested a quarter of an hour’s conversation with him in the library. This opportunity being obtained, she laid before him all her aims and aspirations in clear, direct language, every word of which seemed to burn and glow, as fresh from the anvil23 of her thought; and then requested his permission to enter upon this mode of life. Mr. Gresham manifested no surprise, it was part of his philosophy never to be surprised at anything, but he allowed several minutes to elapse before making any reply.
“And how do you purpose setting about such a work, Helen?” he asked, at length, gazing at her with a half-suppressed ironical24 smile, which, however, could not hold its place upon his lips before the earnest, open gaze of his ward17. “I suppose you must have some definite plan for — for getting rid of your money?”
“I beg that you will not think that I am going to be recklessly extravagant25, on pretence26 of charity,” said Helen, in reply to the last phrase. “I shall indeed give money when I see it is needed, but I have already convinced myself that money can by no means be the principal instrument of one who sincerely wishes to benefit these poor people. On this point I have my own ideas.”
“But would it not be better, if you are determined to trouble yourself so much about these tatterdemalions, to give your relief in the form of subscriptions28 to well-known charities, which have much better opportunities of doing good than any single individual can have?”
“Doubtless they have better opportunities,” returned Helen, “but what I have already seen convinces me that they do not use them. The efforts of. bodies are commendable29 and excellent — in their proper places. But for the work I see before me, individual effort is alone fitted; of that I am convinced.”
“But, my dear child,” said Mr. Gresham, with a smile of indulgent pity, “you surely have not got the idea into your head that you are going alone the rounds of these pestilence-breeding slums? Have you the remotest notion of the kind of beings by whom they are inhabited?”
“Only too exact a notion. I have spent the last few days in penetrating30 the worst districts. I know precisely31 the nature of my task.”
Mr. Gresham looked into his ward’s face, where exquisite32 beauty was heightened by a flash of generous ardour, and he felt, though he yet would not confess it, that here was a nature for which in his classification of mankind he had left no place.
“But you altogether lack experience in such affairs,” he urged, compelled, in spite of himself, to assume a tone of serious argument very unusual in him. “You will be robbed and pillaged33 wherever you go.”
“For my lack of experience I must try to find a remedy. It is my present intention to apply to some clergyman in one of these neighbourhoods, and to offer him my services in the capacity I have chosen for myself, asking him to afford me the benefit of the experience he must naturally have obtained in the fulfilment of his duties.”
“Then you will become what they call a Bible-reader.”
“I shall not willingly class myself under that head,” replied Helen, “but if I am convinced that good might in some instances be done by reading the Bible aloud, I shall have no hesitation36 in doing so.”
Mr. Gresham smiled, with an expression of humorous despair, and began to pace the room.
“May I hope to have your consent, Mr. Gresham, to what I propose?” asked Helen, when some minutes had thus elapsed.
“If you proceed as you suggest,” said her guardian, “and act strictly37 under the advice of some clergyman, whom, bye-the-by, I must see and have a little talk with, I shall make no further objection, for I am perfectly38 convinced that a very brief trial will give you a wholesome39 distaste for these abominations. Would you like to know my opinion of the people you are going to endeavour to benefit?”
“I should, if you please, sir,” replied Helen, calmly.
“Very well. In my opinion, then, they are not to be classed with human beings, but rather with the brutes40. Persistent41 self-brutalisation, through many generations, by all the processes of odious42 vice34 which the brain of man has ever invented, has brought them to a condition worse, far worse, than that of the dogs or horses that do their bidding. It is my firm belief that their degeneration is actually and literally43 physical; that the fine organs of virtue44 in which we possess all that we have of the intellectual and refined, have absolutely perished from their frames; that you might as well endeavour to teach a pig to understand Euclid as to teach one of these gaol-birds to know and feel what is meant by honesty, virtue, kindness, intellectuality. That they have become such is, I say, the result of their own vices35. Unless you can take all the children, one by one, as they are born in these kennels45, and remove them to some part of the New World where they shall grow up under the best influences of every kind, so, by degrees, letting the old generations rot away in their foulness46, and then, when they are all dead, set fire to the districts they inhabited, totally rebuild them, and fetch back to their renovated47 homes the young men and women who have grown to maturity48, healthy, clean, and educated — unless you can do all that, you need never hope, Helen, to better the condition of the poor of London.”
“That, I fear,” replied Helen, with a sweet smile, “would be beyond my power; and yet I will venture to persevere49 in the belief that I can better the condition of at least a few. This belief depends upon the view I have formed of their condition, and it is this: Without denying that their vices may have had very much to do with the misery they suffer under, I firmly believe that this misery is in the greatest degree the result of the criminal indifference50 and the actual cruelty and oppression of the higher ranks of society, those ranks out of which come the leaders of popular fashion and the actual governors of the country. And even those vices are in a very great measure the result of this indifference and oppression; for does it seem credible51 that not until this very year have the governors of England made any effort to provide adequate education, even of the simplest kind, for the poor of this country? I should not tell the truth if I denied that these wretched creatures excite horror and disgust in me as often as they excite pity, but I am glad to say that my reason outweighs52 my mere53 emotions, and the allowances it makes for them forbid me to regard them with absolute contempt. I will grant that they often seem mere beasts, but I cannot, I will not believe that this is more than seeming. The greatest men that the world has known have ever retained to the last a vivid faith in humanity. If ever I feel disposed to fall into doubt and despair I shall seek consolation54 in their words, and I doubt not I shall find it.”
“Very well, Helen,” replied Mr. Gresham, with a slight shrug55, “far he it from me to act the domestic tyrant56. Only acquaint me with your exact plans.”
“I will not fail to do so as soon as they are formed,” returned Helen. And so the interview concluded.
After a few more days spent in investigation57, in which she had no aid, Helen obtained the names of three clergymen to whom she determined to write, offering her services in their respective parishes for charitable and educational purposes. Two of these were Church of England clergymen, the third was a Dissenter58. To the first she wrote as follows: —
“Portland Place, “30th July, 1870.
“Sir,
“Having considerable leisure and some little means at my disposal, it is my desire to employ both in an effort to improve the condition, physical, moral, and intellectual, of at least a few among the multitudes of poverty-stricken people that inhabit. the worst districts of London. But as I am quite without experience in such work, and have no adequate knowledge of London, I should be glad if I could place myself under the direction of some clergyman whose acquaintance with such scenes of misery is extensive, and who would be glad of an earnest volunteer to give him some little assistance in his charitable endeavours. It is in consequence of this wish that I venture to address myself to you.
“I must, however, refer to one point which is of essential importance to me. Though my age is but little more than nineteen, I have for some years devoted59 myself to serious study, one’ of the results of which has been that I am no longer able to conscientiously60 consider myself a member of any of the Christian61 Churches. Nothing is farther from my thoughts than a desire to press upon you the reasons which have led me to this attitude. I must merely say that for the present it is unalterable, and I could not undertake to devote attention to arguments intended for my conversion62. Under these circumstances you will think it strange that I make these offers to a clergyman. My reason is, that as I am myself, I trust, quite free from bigotry63 in my beliefs, I can also hope that a minister of the Church will bear with what he may consider my errors, and not allow them to stand in the way of any usefulness of which I may be capable. I need hardly say that I should confine my attention solely64 to the bodily and mental condition of the poor, seeing that I believe it is their bodies and minds that most pressingly call for attention.
“I trust, sir, that the earnestness of my motives65 may prove an excuse for my freedom in thus addressing you, and beg to remain,
“Yours respectfully, “Helen Norman.”
Alas66 for the na?veté which could lead a high-minded girl to despatch67 such a letter to a minister of the Church of England! Two days after sending this to the clergyman who stood first on the list, she received in reply the following note: —
“Madam, “I am in receipt of your letter of the 30th July, but I may not say that I regret I cannot accept your offered services. Should I do so, I should be a traitor68 to the Church and to my God, introducing into my flock a wolf in sheep’s clothing, who would devour69 their souls as surely as Satan will devour the souls of all who, Testing on their pride of intellect, reject the authority of Holy Scripture70 and are guilty of the sin against the Holy Ghost.
“I may add, however, that as money offered for good purposes does not lose in utility from the fact that the giver is devoid71 of that grace of God which passeth all understanding, and may possibly plead before the throne of the Almighty72 for the soul of such giver, if you shall be willing to allow me to add your name to the enclosed subscription27 list for the restoring St. ——‘s Church, I shall with pleasure receive your subscription, and have it acknowledged, with other names, in the daily papers.
“In conclusion, I trust you may soon be brought to see the error of your ways, and to wash away in the blood of the Lamb their sins which, I am sure, must be as scarlet73. I regret that the extent to which my leisure is occupied does not allow me time to engage in the work of your conversion.
“Yours, in hope and trust, “—————.”
This letter caused Helen not a little mirth, and, on being communicated to Mr. Gresham, brought to his face one of those sarcastic74 smiles which were the best expression of his ordinary mood of mind. He read the present effusion with gusto. It so thoroughly75 confirmed his view with regard to a very large portion of mankind.
Undaunted, Helen despatched the same letter to the second name upon her list, but, after waiting more than a week, she received no reply whatever. The Dissenting76 clergyman still remained; and to him at length she wrote. She received, almost by return of post, a note, requesting that she would appoint an hour at which he might have the honour of waiting upon her. Having immediately replied, Helen awaited the stranger’s arrival with some interest.
At the appointed hour she repaired to the library, where she was shortly apprised77, by a card, of the arrival of Mr. Edgar Walton Heatherley, who was accordingly introduced.
Helen had exerted her imagination considerably78 in endeavours to depicture Mr. Heatherley’s personal appearance, and, strange to say, the original did not rudely overturn her preconceived notions. She liked the man as soon as she saw him. He was evidently young, and his countenance79 slightly florid in complexion80, with but a moderate growth of rather reddish whiskers and moustache, had an open, pleasing, intelligent air, though its lines were not regular enough to constitute a handsome face. Its expression bespoke81, moreover, considerable firmness. The eye was honest and cheerful, proclaiming immediately the total absence of all cant83, hypocrisy84, or bigotry. He was decidedly tall and almost athletic85 in frame, holding himself as upright as a soldier. It was apparent at the first glance that Mr. Heatherley was no town growth, but had drunk in health and spirits during his earlier years from the fresh breezes of meadow, wood and hill. He was a man whose character could at once be determined from his face and form. Inspiring confidence himself, he had the hearty87 manners of one who was wont88 to thoroughly confide86 in his acquaintances. Here there was no trace of the execrable theory of believing every man a rogue89 till he be proved honest. Rather was it written in plain characters upon his open brow, that he never suspected without overpowering cause, and, even if deceived seventy times seven, would not cease to cling to his gospel of eternal trust and hope.
Helen advanced to meet him with her wonted open smile. They were friends from the first glance. After exchanging the ordinary greeting, they resumed seats, and Helen introduced the subject of the conversation.
“My letter will have acquainted you with almost all that I wish to say,” she began. “Your reply contained nothing beyond the request for an interview. May I suppose that you look favourably90 upon my proposition?”
“The character of your letter, Miss Norman,” returned the other, speaking in very firm and rather quick tones, “from the first inclined me to do so. But I am now not so sure as I was.”
“Indeed? Why not?”
“I am but little acquainted with the West End of London,” replied Mr. Heatherley, “and I did not know Portland Place at all. I fear that residence in the midst of such refinement91 is hardly a good preparation for work among our East End courts and alleys92. Have you any idea, Miss Norman, of the character of the task for which you volunteer?”
“A very exact idea, I believe, Mr. Heatherley.”
“You have seen the worst part of the East End?”
“I believe so.”
“And you think you possess the courage to face their horrors day after day?”
“I am sure of it, sir.”
Mr. Heatherley examined the girl’s face for an instant, dropped his eyes, bit his lower lip and mused93.
“You will excuse my cross-examination, Miss Norman. Whatever I undertake it is with my whole heart. If I thought this were an idle fancy of a wealthy young lady, possessed94 of rather too much leisure, I should grieve that I had wasted time over it.”
“I like your frankness, Mr. Heatherley,” replied Helen, smilingly. “As far as I know my own character, I think I may say that I, also, whatever I undertake, do it with my whole heart. My energy has as yet had no fields for exercise but those of learning, it is true; yet I have there learned some confidence in my own powers of perseverance95.”
“So far, so good,” said the clergyman, who had keenly watched Helen’s countenance as she spoke82. “But I believe you told me you were a minor96, Miss Norman. Have you parents living, may I ask?”
“Neither parents nor any near relatives. I am living with my guardian, Mr. Gresham.”
“And have you informed Mr. Gresham of your intention to undertake this work?”
“I have, and have obtained his consent, with the proviso that he should see and become acquainted with the clergyman under whose direction I placed myself.”
“Good,” replied Mr. Heatherley sententiously; then sunk into reflection.
“You have not yet touched upon the second portion of my letter,” said Helen, at length, looking with some timidity into the clergyman’s face. The latter raised his eyes, and they gazed at each other for several seconds, neither faltering97.
“Am I right in concluding from the tenor98 of your letter,” asked the clergyman, “that you have no intention of propagating your special views among the poor people you visit?”
“You are, Mr. Heatherley.”
“Would you oblige me by stating exactly in what light you regard the matter of religious teaching?”
“I will do so as well as I can. My own religion teaches me to confine my thoughts to the present world, and it appears to me that one of the most pressing needs under which the world suffers is that of attention to the bodily and mental state of the poorest classes. For my own part, I regard the necessity of their having enough food, and being able to read and write, as much more urgent than the necessity of their being taught religious dogmas, which, in my belief, would exercise a scarcely appreciable99 influence upon their lives. You, Mr. Heatherley, are, of course, of a different opinion in this matter. You exert yourself to the uttermost to make them religious; and, whilst you may do good in this, you certainly do no active harm. For the comprehension of my creeds100, considerable culture is necessary, and it would be madness to attempt to make poor ignorant working-people understand them. Under these circumstances it appears to me that I cannot do better than devote my attention to clothing, feeding and in some degree teaching them; to the former two on the score of compassion101, to the latter because it is the only true way of rendering102 the results of charity enduring.”
“Very well, Miss Norman. At least your position is intelligible103. Such being the case, I suppose it would be impossible for you to join any of the charitable associations founded on a religious basis?”
“If you think it possible, I had rather — at present, at all events — work alone.”
“You have plans, doubtless? You have thought out methods of procedure?”
“I have thought much on the subject, but shall require much advice from you.”
“Well,” returned the clergyman, after a slight pause, “it would perhaps be the best way for us to walk over my neighbourhood together.”
“Certainly. When might I come to you?”
“Could we say tomorrow at ten?” asked Mr. Heatherley, in his decisive manner.
“I shall be punctual,” replied: Helen, at once. “And now, if you will excuse me, I will inform Mr. Gresham that you are at liberty to see him.”
They shook hands, Mr. Heatherley smiling pleasantly, as Helen repeated — “To-morrow at ten.” She then disappeared, and the next moment Mr. Gresham entered the room.
Had Mr. Gresham been a sincere man, even to himself, he would have inwardly confessed that the applicability of his law of universal doubt had now found a second exception. In the depths of his heart he knew that Helen Norman was truth incarnate104; and now on first beholding105 Mr. Heatherley he felt instinctively106 that here was a man in whom he could absolutely trust. But the yoke107 of old habit was too strong for him, and he commenced the conversation with that ironical smile which betokened108 distrust of all things human or divine.
“You must understand, Mr. Heatherley,” he began, “that I have given my consent to this freak of Miss Norman’s simply because I wish her to be cured as quickly as possible of certain girlish fancies that have taken possession of her lately. She has just returned from a two years’ stay in Germany, and she appears to have come back a trifle eccentric. Vigorous treatment, I imagine, is the best for this ailment109. Let her by all means disgust herself with a peep into these eastern dens110 of yours. I only hope she won’t bring us some infectious disease here, that’s all.”
“Miss Norman has not long exhibited these philanthropic tendencies, sir?”
“Pooh! — of course not. Only let her have a few days’ experience. She will perhaps throw away a little money, but that is fortunately of no great consequence. We shall have her back cured, and then an end of it.”
“Are you sure you gauge111 this young lady’s character quite correctly?” asked the clergyman, who had hitherto regarded Mr. Gresham’s face with an observant eye.
“Do you imagine the contrary, Mr. Heatherley?”
“I do, sir.”
“From anything in particular she has said to you?”
“From her countenance and the tenor of her discourse112. I fancy the trial will last longer than you imagine, Mr. Gresham.”
“Well, well; we shall see,” said the artist, with careless good-humour. “I confess to but little faith in enthusiasm of any kind.”
“And yet, sir, it has been the most powerful operative force in the world’s history,” returned the clergyman, in his decisive manner.
“That, of course, is a matter of argument,” said the artist, turning slightly. away. “But having seen you, Mr. Heatherley,” he pursued, “I have fulfilled my object, which was merely to be sure that my ward had placed herself in the care of a responsible man. Possibly you could find time to see me again, say this day week? We shall then see more clearly the course that events are likely to take.”
“I shall have pleasure in doing so,” returned the clergyman.
Whereupon they parted, Mr. Gresham ascending113 to his studio, whistling a subdued114 air, and smiling the while; Mr. Heatherley turning his face eastward115, musing116 much with serious countenance.
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收听单词发音
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1
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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efface
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| v.擦掉，抹去 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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vileness
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| n.讨厌，卑劣 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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commendable
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| adj.值得称赞的 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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pillaged
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| v.抢劫，掠夺( pillage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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42
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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43
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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44
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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45
kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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46
foulness
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| n. 纠缠, 卑鄙 | |
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47
renovated
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| 翻新，修复，整修( renovate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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49
persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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50
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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51
credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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52
outweighs
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| v.在重量上超过( outweigh的第三人称单数 )；在重要性或价值方面超过 | |
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53
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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54
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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55
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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56
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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57
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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58
dissenter
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| n.反对者 | |
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59
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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61
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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62
conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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63
bigotry
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| n.偏见，偏执，持偏见的行为[态度]等 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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66
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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67
despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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68
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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71
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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72
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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73
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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dissenting
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| adj.不同意的 | |
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apprised
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| v.告知，通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 )；评价 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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81
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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82
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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83
cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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84
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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85
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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86
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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89
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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91
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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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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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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96
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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98
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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99
appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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100
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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101
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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102
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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103
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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104
incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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105
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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106
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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107
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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108
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
ailment
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| n.疾病，小病 | |
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110
dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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111
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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112
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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113
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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114
subdued
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| 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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115
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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116
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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