TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
At this time we should give some account of the other actors in our drama, the interest due to the principal personages having for some time engrossed1 our attention exclusively.
We are, therefore, to inform the reader, that the lingering longings2 of the Commissioners3, who had been driven forth4 of their proposed paradise of Woodstock, not by a cherub5 indeed, but, as they thought, by spirits of another sort, still detained them in the vicinity. They had, indeed, left the little borough6 under pretence7 of indifferent accommodation. The more palpable reasons were, that they entertained some resentment8 against Everard, as the means of their disappointment, and had no mind to reside where their proceedings9 could be overlooked by him, although they took leave in terms of the utmost respect. They went, however, no farther than Oxford10, and remained there, as ravens11, who are accustomed to witness the chase, sit upon a tree or crag, at a little distance, and watch the disembowelling of the deer, expecting the relics12 which fall to their share. Meantime, the University and City, but especially the former, supplied them with some means of employing their various faculties14 to advantage, until the expected moment, when, as they hoped, they should either be summoned to Windsor, or Woodstock should once more be abandoned to their discretion15.
Bletson, to pass the time, vexed16 the souls of such learned and pious17 divines and scholars, as he could intrude18 his hateful presence upon, by sophistry19, atheistical20 discourse21, and challenges to them to impugn22 the most scandalous theses. Desborough, one of the most brutally23 ignorant men of the period, got himself nominated the head of a college, and lost no time in cutting down trees, and plundering24 plate. As for Harrison, he preached in full uniform in Saint Mary’s Church, wearing his buff-coat, boots, and spurs, as if he were about to take the field for the fight at Armageddon. And it was hard to say, whether the seat of Learning, Religion, and Loyalty26, as it is called by Clarendon, was more vexed by the rapine of Desborough, the cold scepticism of Bletson, or the frantic27 enthusiasm of the Fifth-Monarchy Champion.
Ever and anon, soldiers, under pretence of relieving guard, or otherwise, went and came betwixt Woodstock and Oxford, and maintained, it may be supposed, a correspondence with Trusty Tomkins, who, though he chiefly resided in the town of Woodstock, visited the Lodge28 occasionally, and to whom, therefore, they doubtless trusted for information concerning the proceedings there.
Indeed, this man Tomkins seemed by some secret means to have gained the confidence in part, if not in whole, of almost every one connected with these intrigues29. All closeted him, all conversed30 with him in private; those who had the means propitiated31 him with gifts, those who had not were liberal of promises. When he chanced to appear at Woodstock, which always seemed as it were by accident — if he passed through the hall, the knight32 was sure to ask him to take the foils, and was equally certain to be, after less or more resistance, victorious33 in the encounter; so, in consideration of so many triumphs, the good Sir Henry almost forgave him the sins of rebellion and puritanism. Then, if his slow and formal step was heard in the passages approaching the gallery, Dr. Rochecliffe, though he never introduced him to his peculiar34 boudoir, was sure to meet Master Tomkins in some neutral apartment, and to engage him in long conversations, which apparently35 had great interest for both.
Neither was the Independent’s reception below stairs less gracious than above. Joceline failed not to welcome him with the most cordial frankness; the pasty and the flagon were put in immediate36 requisition, and good cheer was the general word. The means for this, it may be observed, had grown more plenty at Woodstock since the arrival of Dr. Rochecliffe, who, in quality of agent for several royalists, had various sums of money at his disposal. By these funds it is likely that Trusty Tomkins also derived37 his own full advantage.
In his occasional indulgence in what he called a fleshly frailty38, (and for which he said he had a privilege,) which was in truth an attachment40 to strong liquors, and that in no moderate degree, his language, at other times remarkably41 decorous and reserved, became wild and animated42. He sometimes talked with all the unction of an old debauchee, of former exploits, such as deer-stealing, orchard-robbing, drunken gambols43, and desperate affrays in which he had been engaged in the earlier part of his life, sung bacchanalian44 and amorous45 ditties, dwelt sometimes upon adventures which drove Phoebe Mayflower from the company, and penetrated46 even the deaf ears of Dame47 Jellicot, so as to make the buttery in which he held his carousals no proper place for the poor old woman.
In the middle of these wild rants48, Tomkins twice or thrice suddenly ran into religious topics, and spoke49 mysteriously, but with great animation50, and a rich eloquence51, on the happy and pre-eminent saints, who were saints, as he termed them, indeed — Men who had stormed the inner treasure-house of Heaven, and possessed52 themselves of its choicest jewels. All other sects54 he treated with the utmost contempt, as merely quarrelling, as he expressed it, like hogs56 over a trough about husks and acorns57; under which derogatory terms, he included alike the usual rites58 and ceremonies of public devotion, the ordinances59 of the established churches of Christianity, and the observances, nay61, the forbearances, enjoined62 by every class of Christians63. Scarcely hearing, and not at all understanding him, Joceline, who seemed his most frequent confidant on such occasions, generally led him back into some strain of rude mirth, or old recollection of follies64 before the Civil Wars, without caring about or endeavouring to analyze65 the opinion of this saint of an evil fashion, but fully66 sensible of the protection which his presence afforded at Woodstock, and confident in the honest meaning of so freespoken a fellow, to whom ale and brandy, when better liquor was not to be come by, seemed to be principal objects of life, and who drank a health to the King, or any one else, whenever required, provided the cup in which he was to perform the libation were but a brimmer.
These peculiar doctrines67, which were entertained by a sect53 sometimes termed the Family of Love, but more commonly Ranters, had made some progress in times when such variety of religious opinions were prevalent, that men pushed the jarring heresies69 to the verge70 of absolute and most impious insanity71. Secrecy72 had been enjoined on these frantic believers in a most blasphemous73 doctrine68, by the fear of consequences, should they come to be generally announced; and it was the care of Master Tomkins to conceal74 the spiritual freedom which he pretended to have acquired, from all whose resentment would have been stirred by his public avowal76 of them. This was not difficult; for their profession of faith permitted, nay, required their occasional conformity77 with the sectaries or professors of any creed78 which chanced to be uppermost.
Tomkins had accordingly the art to pass himself on Dr. Rochecliffe as still a zealous79 member of the Church of England, though serving under the enemy’s colours, as a spy in their camp; and as he had on several times given him true and valuable intelligence, this active intriguer81 was the more easily induced to believe his professions.
Nevertheless, lest this person’s occasional presence at the Lodge, which there were perhaps no means to prevent without exciting suspicion, should infer danger to the King’s person, Rochecliffe, whatever confidence he otherwise reposed83 in him, recommended that, if possible, the King should keep always out of his sight, and when accidentally discovered, that he should only appear in the character of Louis Kerneguy. Joseph Tomkins, he said, was, he really believed, Honest Joe; but honesty was a horse which might be overburdened, and there was no use in leading our neighbour into temptation.
It seemed as if Tomkins himself had acquiesced84 in this limitation of confidence exercised towards him, or that he wished to seem blinder than he really was to the presence of this stranger in the family. It occurred to Joceline, who was a very shrewd fellow, that once or twice, when by inevitable85 accident Tomkins had met Kerneguy, he seemed less interested in the circumstance than he would have expected from the man’s disposition86, which was naturally prying87 and inquisitive88. “He asked no questions about the young stranger,” said Joceline —“God avert89 that he knows or suspects too much!” But his suspicions were removed, when, in the course of their subsequent conversation, Joseph Tomkins mentioned the King’s escape from Bristol as a thing positively90 certain, and named both the vessel91 in which, he said, he had gone off, and the master who commanded her, seeming so convinced of the truth of the report, that Joceline judged it impossible he could have the slightest suspicion of the reality.
Yet, notwithstanding this persuasion92, and the comradeship which had been established between them, the faithful under-keeper resolved to maintain a strict watch over his gossip Tomkins, and be in readiness to give the alarm should occasion arise. True, he thought, he had reason to believe that his said friend, notwithstanding his drunken and enthusiastic rants, was as trustworthy as he was esteemed94 by Dr. Rochecliffe; yet still he was an adventurer, the outside and lining95 of whose cloak were of different colours, and a high reward, and pardon for past acts of malignancy, might tempt55 him once more to turn his tippet. For these reasons Joceline kept a strict, though unostentatious watch over Trusty Tomkins.
We have said, that the discreet96 seneschal was universally well received at Woodstock, whether in the borough or at the Lodge, and that even Joceline Joliffe was anxious to conceal any suspicions which he could not altogether repress, under a great show of cordial hospitality. There were, however, two individuals, who, for very different reasons, nourished personal dislike against the individual so generally acceptable.
One was Nehemiah Holdenough, who remembered, with great bitterness of spirit, the Independent’s violent intrusion into his pulpit, and who ever spoke of him in private as a lying missionary97, into whom Satan had put a spirit of delusion98; and preached, besides, a solemn sermon on the subject of the false prophet, out of whose mouth came frogs. The discourse was highly prized by the Mayor and most of the better class, who conceived that their minister had struck a heavy blow at the very root of Independency. On the other hand, those of the private spirit contended, that Joseph Tomkins had made a successful and triumphant99 rally, in an exhortation100 on the evening of the same day, in which he proved, to the conviction of many handicraftsmen, that the passage in Jeremiah, “The prophets prophesy101 falsely, and the priests bare rule by their means,” was directly applicable to the Presbyterian system of church government. The clergyman dispatched an account of his adversary’s conduct to the Reverend Master Edwards, to be inserted in the next edition of Gangraena, as a pestilent heretic; and Tomkins recommended the parson to his master, Desborough, as a good subject on whom to impose a round fine, for vexing102 the private spirit; assuring him, at the same time, that though the minister might seem poor, yet if a few troopers were quartered on him till the fine was paid, every rich shopkeeper’s wife in the borough would rob the till, rather than go without the mammon of unrighteousness with which to redeem103 their priest from sufferance; holding, according to his expression, with Laban, “You have taken from me my gods, and what have I more?” There was, of course, little cordiality between the polemical disputants, when religious debate took so worldly a turn.
But Joe Tomkins was much more concerned at the evil opinion which seemed to be entertained against him, by one whose good graces he was greatly more desirous to obtain than those of Nehemiah Holdenough. This was no other than pretty Mistress Phoebe Mayflower, for whose conversion104 he had felt a strong vocation105, ever since his lecture upon Shakspeare on their first meeting at the Lodge. He seemed desirous, however, to carry on this more serious work in private, and especially to conceal his labours from his friend Joceline Joliffe, lest, perchance, he had been addicted106 to jealousy107. But it was in vain that he plied13 the faithful damsel, sometimes with verses from the Canticles, sometimes with quotations108 from Green’s Arcadia, or pithy109 passages from Venus and Adonis, and doctrines of a nature yet more abstruse110, from the popular work entitled Aristotle’s Masterpiece. Unto no wooing of his, sacred or profane111, metaphysical or physical, would Phoebe Mayflower seriously incline.
The maiden112 loved Joceline Joliffe, on the one hand; and, on the other, if she disliked Joseph Tomkins when she first saw him, as a rebellious113 puritan, she had not been at all reconciled by finding reason to regard him as a hypocritical libertine114. She hated him in both capacities — never endured his conversation when she could escape from it — and when obliged to remain, listened to him only because she knew he had been so deeply trusted, that to offend him might endanger the security of the family, in the service of which she had been born and bred up, and to whose interest she was devoted115. For reasons somewhat similar, she did not suffer her dislike of the steward116 to become manifest before Joceline Joliffe, whose spirit, as a forester and a soldier, might have been likely to bring matters to an arbitrement, in which the couteau de chasse and quarterstaff of her favourite, would have been too unequally matched with the long rapier and pistols which his dangerous rival always carried about his person. But it is difficult to blind jealousy — when there is any cause of doubt; and perhaps the sharp watch maintained by Joceline on his comrade, was prompted not only by his zeal80 for the King’s safety, but by some vague suspicion that Tomkins was not ill disposed to poach upon his own fair manor117.
Phoebe, in the meanwhile, like a prudent118 girl, sheltered herself as much as possible by the presence of Goody Jellicot. Then, indeed, it is true the Independent, or whatever he was, used to follow her with his addresses to very little purpose; for Phoebe seemed as deaf, through wilfulness119, as the old matron by natural infirmity. This indifference120 highly incensed121 her new lover, and induced him anxiously to watch for a time and place, in which he might plead his suit with an energy that should command attention. Fortune, that malicious122 goddess, who so often ruins us by granting the very object of our vows123, did at length procure124 him such an opportunity as he had long coveted125.
It was about sunset, or shortly after, when Phoebe, upon whose activity much of the domestic arrangements depended, went as far as fair Rosamond’s spring to obtain water for the evening meal, or rather to gratify the prejudice of the old knight, who believed that celebrated127 fountain afforded the choicest supplies of the necessary element. Such was the respect in which he was held by his whole family, that to neglect any of his wishes that could be gratified, though with inconvenience to themselves, would, in their estimation, have been almost equal to a breach128 of religious duty.
To fill the pitcher129 had, we know, been of late a troublesome task; but Joceline’s ingenuity130 had so far rendered it easy, by repairing rudely a part of the ruined front of the ancient fountain, that the water was collected, and trickling131 along a wooden spout132, dropped from a height of about two feet. A damsel was thereby133 enabled to place her pitcher under the slowly dropping supply, and, without toil134 to herself, might wait till her vessel was filled.
Phoebe Mayflower, on the evening we allude135 to, saw, for the first time, this little improvement; and, justly considering it as a piece of gallantry of her silvan admirer, designed to save her the trouble of performing her task in a more inconvenient136 manner, she gratefully employed the minutes of ease which the contrivance procured137 her, in reflecting on the good-nature and ingenuity of the obliging engineer, and perhaps in thinking he might have done as wisely to have waited till she came to the fountain, that he might have secured personal thanks for the trouble he had taken. But then she knew he was detained in the buttery with that odious138 Tomkins, and rather than have seen the Independent along with him, she would have renounced139 the thought of meeting Joceline.
As she was thus reflecting, Fortune was malicious enough to send Tomkins to the fountain, and without Joceline. When she saw his figure darken the path up which he came, an anxious reflection came over the poor maiden’s breast, that she was alone, and within the verge of the forest, where in general persons were prohibited to come during the twilight140, for fear of disturbing the deer settling to their repose82. She encouraged herself, however, and resolved to show no sense of fear, although, as the steward approached, there was something in the man’s look and eye no way calculated to allay141 her apprehensions142.
“The blessings143 of the evening upon you, my pretty maiden,” he said. “I meet you even as the chief servant of Abraham, who was a steward like myself, met Rebecca, the daughter of Bethuel, the son of Milcah, at the well of the city of Nahor, in Mesopotamia. Shall I not, therefore, say to you, set down thy pitcher that I may drink?”
“The pitcher is at your service, Master Tomkins,” she replied, “and you may drink as much as you will; but you have, I warrant, drank better liquor, and that not long since.”
It was, indeed, obvious that the steward had arisen from a revel144, for his features were somewhat flushed, though he had stopped far short of intoxication145. But Phoebe’s alarm at his first appearance was rather increased when she observed how he had been lately employed.
“I do but use my privilege, my pretty Rebecca; the earth is given to the saints, and the fulness thereof. They shall occupy and enjoy it, both the riches of the mine, and the treasures of the vine; and they shall rejoice, and their hearts be merry within them. Thou hast yet to learn the privileges of the saints, my Rebecca.”
“My name is Phoebe,” said the maiden, in order to sober the enthusiastic rapture146 which he either felt or affected147.
“Phoebe after the flesh,” he said, “but Rebecca being spiritualised; for art thou not a wandering and stray sheep? — and am I not sent to fetch thee within the fold? — Wherefore else was it said, Thou shalt find her seated by the well, in the wood which is called after the ancient harlot, Rosamond?”
“You have found me sitting here sure enough,” said Phoebe; “but if you wish to keep me company, you must walk to the Lodge with me; and you shall carry my pitcher for me, if you will be so kind. I will hear all the good things you have to say to me as we go along. But Sir Henry calls for his glass of water regularly before prayers.”
“What!” exclaimed Tomkins, “hath the old man of bloody148 hand and perverse149 heart sent thee hither to do the work of a bondswoman? Verily thou shalt return enfranchised150; and for the water thou hast drawn151 for him, it shall be poured forth, even as David caused to be poured forth the water of the well of Bethlehem.”
So saying, he emptied the water pitcher, in spite of Phoebe’s exclamations152 and entreaties153. He then replaced the vessel beneath the little conduit, and continued:—“Know that this shall be a token to thee. The filling of that pitcher shall be like the running of a sand-glass; and if within the time which shall pass ere it rises to the brim, thou shalt listen to the words which I shall say to thee, then it shall be well with thee, and thy place shall be high among those who, forsaking154 the instruction which is as milk for babes and sucklings, eat the strong food which nourishes manhood. But if the pitcher shall overbrim with water ere thy ear shall hear and understand, thou shalt then be given as a prey155, and as a bondsmaiden, unto those who shall possess the fat and the fair of the earth.”
“You frighten me, Master Tomkins,” said Phoebe, “though I am sure you do not mean to do so. I wonder how you dare speak words so like the good words in the Bible, when you know how you laughed at your own master, and all the rest of them — when you helped to play the hobgoblins at the Lodge.”
“Think’st thou then, thou simple fool, that in putting that deceit upon Harrison and the rest, I exceeded my privileges? — Nay, verily. — Listen to me, foolish girl. When in former days I lived the most wild, malignant156 rakehell in Oxfordshire, frequenting wakes and fairs, dancing around May-poles, and showing my lustihood at football and cudgel-playing — Yea, when I was called, in the language of the uncircumcised, Philip Hazeldine, and was one of the singers in the choir157, and one of the ringers in the steeple, and served the priest yonder, by name Rochecliffe, I was not farther from the straight road than when, after long reading, I at length found one blind guide after another, all burners of bricks in Egypt. I left them one by one, the poor tool Harrison being the last; and by my own unassisted strength, I have struggled forward to the broad and blessed light, whereof thou too, Phoebe, shalt be partaker.”
“I thank you, Master Tomkins,” said Phoebe, suppressing some fear under an appearance of indifference; “but I shall have light enough to carry home my pitcher, would you but let me take it; and that is all the want of light I shall have this evening.”
So saying, she stooped to take the pitcher from the fountain; but he snatched hold of her by the arm, and prevented her from accomplishing her purpose. Phoebe, however, was the daughter of a bold forester, prompt at thoughts of self-defence; and though she missed getting hold of the pitcher, she caught up instead a large pebble158, which she kept concealed159 in her right hand.
“Stand up, foolish maiden, and listen,” said the Independent, sternly; “and know, in one word, that sin, for which the spirit of man is punished with the vengeance160 of Heaven, lieth not in the corporal act, but in the thought of the sinner. Believe, lovely Phoebe, that to the pure all acts are pure, and that sin is in our thought, not in our actions — even as the radiance of the day is dark to a blind man, but seen and enjoyed by him whose eyes receive it. To him who is but a novice161 in the things of the spirit, much is enjoined, much is prohibited; and he is fed with milk fit for babes — for him are ordinances, prohibitions162, and commands. But the saint is above these ordinances and restraints. — To him, as to the chosen child of the house, is given the pass-key to open all locks which withhold163 him from the enjoyment164 of his heart’s desire. Into such pleasant paths will I guide thee, lovely Phoebe, as shall unite in joy, in innocent freedom, pleasures, which, to the unprivileged, are sinful and prohibited.” “I really wish, Master Tomkins, you would let me go home.” said Phoebe, not comprehending the nature of his doctrine, but disliking at once his words and his manner. He went on, however, with the accursed and blasphemous doctrines, which, in common with others of the pretended saints, he had adopted, after having long shifted from one sect to another, until he settled in the vile39 belief, that sin, being of a character exclusively spiritual, only existed in the thoughts, and that the worst actions were permitted to those who had attained165 to the pitch of believing themselves above ordinance60. “Thus, my Phoebe,” he continued, endeavouring to draw her towards him “I can offer thee more than ever was held out to woman since Adam first took his bride by the hand. It shall be for others to stand dry-lipped, doing penance166, like papists, by abstinence, when the vessel of pleasure pours forth its delights. Dost thou love money? — I have it, and can procure more — am at liberty to procure it on every hand, and by every means — the earth is mine and its fulness. Do you desire power? — which of these poor cheated commissioner-fellows’ estates dost thou covet126, I will work it out for thee; for I deal with a mightier167 spirit than any of them. And it is not without warrant that I have aided the malignant Rochecliffe, and the clown Joliffe, to frighten and baffle them in the guise168 they did. Ask what thou wilt169, Phoebe, I can give, or I can procure it for thee — Then enter with me into a life of delight in this world, which shall prove but an anticipation170 of the joys of Paradise hereafter!”
Again the fanatical voluptuary endeavoured to pull the poor girl towards him, while she, alarmed, but not scared out of her presence of mind, endeavoured, by fair entreaty172, to prevail on him to release her. But his features, in themselves not marked, had acquired a frightful173 expression, and he exclaimed, “No, Phoebe — do not think to escape — thou art given to me as a captive — thou hast neglected the hour of grace, and it has glided174 past — See, the water trickles175 over thy pitcher, which was to be a sign between us — Therefore I will urge thee no more with words, of which thou art not worthy93, but treat thee as a recusant of offered grace.”
“Master Tomkins,” said Phoebe, in an imploring176 tone, “consider, for God’s sake, I am a fatherless child — do me no injury, it would be a shame to your strength and your manhood — I cannot understand your fine words — I will think on them till tomorrow.” Then, in rising resentment, she added more vehemently177 —“I will not be used rudely — stand off, or I will do you a mischief178.” But, as he pressed upon her with a violence, of which the object could not be mistaken, and endeavoured to secure her right hand, she exclaimed, “Take it then, with a wanion to you!”— and struck him an almost stunning179 blow on the face, with the pebble which she held ready for such an extremity180.
The fanatic171 let her go, and staggered backward, half stupified; while Phoebe instantly betook herself to flight, screaming for help as she ran, but still grasping the victorious pebble. Irritated to frenzy181 by the severe blow which he had received, Tomkins pursued, with every black passion in his soul and in his face, mingled182 with fear least his villany should be discovered. He called on Phoebe loudly to stop, and had the brutality183 to menace her with one of his pistols if she continued to fly. Yet she slacked not her pace for his threats, and he must either have executed them, or seen her escape to carry the tale to the Lodge, had she not unhappily stumbled over the projecting root of a fir-tree. But as he rushed upon his prey, rescue interposed in the person of Joceline Joliffe, with his quarterstaff on his shoulder. “How now? what means this?” he said, stepping between Phoebe and her pursuer. Tomkins, already roused to fury, made no other answer than by discharging at Joceline the pistol which he held in his hand. The ball grazed the under keeper’s face, who, in requital184 of the assault, and saying “Aha! Let ash answer iron,” applied185 his quarterstaff with so much force to the Independent’s head, that lighting186 on the left temple, the blow proved almost instantly mortal.
A few convulsive struggles were accompanied with these broken words — “Joceline — I am gone — but I forgive thee — Doctor Rochecliffe — I wish I had minded more — Oh! — the clergyman — the funeral service”— As he uttered these words, indicative, it may be, of his return to a creed, which perhaps he had never abjured187 so thoroughly188 as he had persuaded himself, his voice was lost in a groan189, which, rattling190 in the throat, seemed unable to find its way to the air. These were the last symptoms of life: the clenched191 hands presently relaxed — the closed eyes opened, and stared on the heavens a lifeless jelly — the limbs extended themselves and stiffened192. The body, which was lately animated with life, was now a lump of senseless clay — the soul, dismissed from its earthly tenement193 in a moment so unhallowed, was gone before the judgment-seat.
“Oh, what have you done? — what have you done, Joceline!” exclaimed Phoebe; “you have killed the man!”
“Better than he should have killed me,” answered Joceline; “for he was none of the blinkers that miss their mark twice running. — And yet I am sorry for him. — Many a merry bout25 have we had together when he was wild Philip Hazeldine, and then he was bad enough; but since he daubed over his vices194 with hypocrisy195, he seems to have proved worse devil than ever.”
“Oh, Joceline, come away,” said poor Phoebe, “and do not stand gazing on him thus;” for the woodsman, resting on his fatal weapon, stood looking down on the corpse196 with the appearance of a man half stunned197 at the event.
“This comes of the ale pitcher,” she continued, in the true style of female consolation198, “as I have often told you — For Heaven’s sake, come to the Lodge, and let us consult what is to be done.”
“Stay first, girl, and let me drag him out of the path; we must not have him lie herein all men’s sight — Will you not help me, wench?”
“I cannot, Joceline — I would not touch a lock on him for all Woodstock.”
“I must to this gear myself, then,” said Joceline, who, a soldier as well as a woodsman, still had great reluctance199 to the necessary task. Something in the face and broken words of the dying man had made a deep and terrific impression on nerves not easily shaken. He accomplished200 it, however, so far as to drag the late steward out of the open path, and bestow201 his body amongst the undergrowth of brambles and briers, so as not to be visible unless particularly looked for. He then returned to Phoebe, who had sate202 speechless all the while beneath the tree over whose roots she had stumbled.
“Come away, wench,” he said, “come away to the Lodge, and let us study how this is to be answered for — the mishap203 of his being killed will strangely increase our danger. What had he sought of thee, wench, when you ran from him like a madwoman? — But I can guess — Phil was always a devil among the girls, and I think, as Doctor Rochecliffe says, that, since he turned saint, he took to himself seven devils worse than himself. — Here is the very place where I saw him, with his sword in his hand raised against the old knight, and he a child of the parish — it was high treason at least — but, by my faith, he hath paid for it at last.”
“But, oh, Joceline,” said Phoebe, “how could you take so wicked a man into your counsels, and join him in all his plots about scaring the roundhead gentlemen?”
“Why look thee, wench, I thought I knew him at the first meeting especially when Bevis, who was bred here when he was a dog-leader, would not fly at him; and when we made up our old acquaintance at the Lodge, I found he kept up a close correspondence with Doctor Rochecliffe, who was persuaded that he was a good King’s man, and held consequently good intelligence with him. — The doctor boasts to have learned much through his means; I wish to Heaven he may not have been as communicative in turn.”
“Oh, Joceline,” said the waiting-woman, “you should never have let him within the gate of the Lodge!”
“No more I would, if I had known how to keep him out; but when he went so frankly204 into our scheme, and told me how I was to dress myself like Robinson the player, whose ghost haunted Harrison — I wish no ghost may haunt me! — when he taught me how to bear myself to terrify his lawful205 master, what could I think, wench? I only trust the Doctor has kept the great secret of all from his knowledge. — But here we are at the Lodge. Go to thy chamber206, wench, and compose thyself. I must seek out Doctor Rochecliffe; he is ever talking of his quick and ready invention. Here come times, I think, that will demand it all.”
Phoebe went to her chamber accordingly; but the strength arising from the pressure of danger giving way when the danger was removed, she quickly fell into a succession of hysterical207 fits, which required the constant attention of Dame Jellicot, and the less alarmed, but more judicious208 care of Mistress Alice, before they even abated209 in their rapid recurrence210.
The under-keeper carried his news to the politic211 Doctor, who was extremely disconcerted, alarmed, nay angry with Joceline, for having slain212 a person on whose communications he had accustomed himself to rely. Yet his looks declared his suspicion, whether his confidence had not been too rashly conferred — a suspicion which pressed him the more anxiously, that he was unwilling213 to avow75 it, as a derogation from his character for shrewdness, on which he valued himself.
Dr. Rochecliffe’s reliance, however, on the fidelity214 of Tomkins, had apparently good grounds. Before the Civil Wars, as may be partly collected from what has been already hinted at, Tomkins, under his true name of Hazeldine, had been under the protection of the Rector of Woodstock, occasionally acted as his clerk, was a distinguished215 member of his choir, and, being a handy and ingenious fellow, was employed in assisting the antiquarian researches of Dr. Rochecliffe through the interior of Woodstock. When he engaged in the opposite side in the Civil Wars, he still kept up his intelligence with the divine, to whom he had afforded what seemed valuable information from time to time. His assistance had latterly been eminently216 useful in aiding the Doctor, with the assistance of Joceline and Phoebe, in contriving217 and executing the various devices by which the Parliamentary Commissioners had been expelled from Woodstock. Indeed, his services in this respect had been thought worthy of no less a reward than a present of what plate remained at the Lodge, which had been promised to the Independent accordingly. The Doctor, therefore, while admitting he might be a bad man, regretted him as a useful one, whose death, if enquired218 after, was likely to bring additional danger on a house which danger already surrounded, and which contained a pledge so precious.
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1 engrossed | |
adj.全神贯注的 | |
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2 longings | |
渴望,盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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3 commissioners | |
n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 );长官;委员;政府部门的长官 | |
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4 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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5 cherub | |
n.小天使,胖娃娃 | |
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6 borough | |
n.享有自治权的市镇;(英)自治市镇 | |
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7 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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8 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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9 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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10 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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11 ravens | |
n.低质煤;渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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12 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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13 plied | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的过去式和过去分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
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14 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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15 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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16 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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17 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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18 intrude | |
vi.闯入;侵入;打扰,侵扰 | |
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19 sophistry | |
n.诡辩 | |
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20 atheistical | |
adj.无神论(者)的 | |
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21 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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22 impugn | |
v.指责,对…表示怀疑 | |
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23 brutally | |
adv.残忍地,野蛮地,冷酷无情地 | |
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24 plundering | |
掠夺,抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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25 bout | |
n.侵袭,发作;一次(阵,回);拳击等比赛 | |
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26 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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27 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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28 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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29 intrigues | |
n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 );神秘气氛;引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 );激起…的好奇心 | |
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30 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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31 propitiated | |
v.劝解,抚慰,使息怒( propitiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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33 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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34 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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35 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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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 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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38 frailty | |
n.脆弱;意志薄弱 | |
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39 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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40 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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41 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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42 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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43 gambols | |
v.蹦跳,跳跃,嬉戏( gambol的第三人称单数 ) | |
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44 bacchanalian | |
adj.闹酒狂饮的;n.发酒疯的人 | |
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45 amorous | |
adj.多情的;有关爱情的 | |
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46 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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47 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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48 rants | |
n.夸夸其谈( rant的名词复数 );大叫大嚷地以…说教;气愤地)大叫大嚷;不停地大声抱怨v.夸夸其谈( rant的第三人称单数 );大叫大嚷地以…说教;气愤地)大叫大嚷;不停地大声抱怨 | |
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49 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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50 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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51 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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52 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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53 sect | |
n.派别,宗教,学派,派系 | |
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54 sects | |
n.宗派,教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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55 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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56 hogs | |
n.(尤指喂肥供食用的)猪( hog的名词复数 );(供食用的)阉公猪;彻底地做某事;自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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57 acorns | |
n.橡子,栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
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58 rites | |
仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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59 ordinances | |
n.条例,法令( ordinance的名词复数 ) | |
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60 ordinance | |
n.法令;条令;条例 | |
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61 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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62 enjoined | |
v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63 Christians | |
n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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64 follies | |
罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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65 analyze | |
vt.分析,解析 (=analyse) | |
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66 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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67 doctrines | |
n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 );教义;学说;(政府政策的)正式声明 | |
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68 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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69 heresies | |
n.异端邪说,异教( heresy的名词复数 ) | |
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70 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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71 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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72 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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73 blasphemous | |
adj.亵渎神明的,不敬神的 | |
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74 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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75 avow | |
v.承认,公开宣称 | |
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76 avowal | |
n.公开宣称,坦白承认 | |
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77 conformity | |
n.一致,遵从,顺从 | |
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78 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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79 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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80 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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81 intriguer | |
密谋者 | |
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82 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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83 reposed | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84 acquiesced | |
v.默认,默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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86 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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87 prying | |
adj.爱打听的v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的现在分词 );撬开 | |
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88 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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89 avert | |
v.防止,避免;转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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90 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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91 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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92 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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93 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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94 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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95 lining | |
n.衬里,衬料 | |
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96 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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97 missionary | |
adj.教会的,传教(士)的;n.传教士 | |
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98 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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99 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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100 exhortation | |
n.劝告,规劝 | |
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101 prophesy | |
v.预言;预示 | |
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102 vexing | |
adj.使人烦恼的,使人恼火的v.使烦恼( vex的现在分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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103 redeem | |
v.买回,赎回,挽回,恢复,履行(诺言等) | |
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104 conversion | |
n.转化,转换,转变 | |
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105 vocation | |
n.职业,行业 | |
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106 addicted | |
adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
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107 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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108 quotations | |
n.引用( quotation的名词复数 );[商业]行情(报告);(货物或股票的)市价;时价 | |
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109 pithy | |
adj.(讲话或文章)简练的 | |
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110 abstruse | |
adj.深奥的,难解的 | |
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111 profane | |
adj.亵神的,亵渎的;vt.亵渎,玷污 | |
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112 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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113 rebellious | |
adj.造反的,反抗的,难控制的 | |
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114 libertine | |
n.淫荡者;adj.放荡的,自由思想的 | |
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115 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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116 steward | |
n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
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117 manor | |
n.庄园,领地 | |
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118 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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119 wilfulness | |
任性;倔强 | |
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120 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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121 incensed | |
盛怒的 | |
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122 malicious | |
adj.有恶意的,心怀恶意的 | |
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123 vows | |
誓言( vow的名词复数 ); 郑重宣布,许愿 | |
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124 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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125 coveted | |
adj.令人垂涎的;垂涎的,梦寐以求的v.贪求,觊觎(covet的过去分词);垂涎;贪图 | |
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126 covet | |
vt.垂涎;贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
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127 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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128 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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129 pitcher | |
n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐;(棒球)投手 | |
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130 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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131 trickling | |
n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
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132 spout | |
v.喷出,涌出;滔滔不绝地讲;n.喷管;水柱 | |
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133 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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134 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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135 allude | |
v.提及,暗指 | |
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136 inconvenient | |
adj.不方便的,令人感到麻烦的 | |
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137 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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138 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
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139 renounced | |
v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 );宣布放弃;宣布与…决裂;宣布摒弃 | |
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140 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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141 allay | |
v.消除,减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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142 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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143 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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144 revel | |
vi.狂欢作乐,陶醉;n.作乐,狂欢 | |
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145 intoxication | |
n.wild excitement;drunkenness;poisoning | |
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146 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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147 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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148 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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149 perverse | |
adj.刚愎的;坚持错误的,行为反常的 | |
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150 enfranchised | |
v.给予选举权( enfranchise的过去式和过去分词 );(从奴隶制中)解放 | |
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151 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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152 exclamations | |
n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 );感叹;感叹语;感叹词 | |
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153 entreaties | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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154 forsaking | |
放弃( forsake的现在分词 ); 弃绝; 抛弃; 摒弃 | |
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155 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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156 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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157 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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158 pebble | |
n.卵石,小圆石 | |
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159 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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160 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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161 novice | |
adj.新手的,生手的 | |
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162 prohibitions | |
禁令,禁律( prohibition的名词复数 ); 禁酒; 禁例 | |
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163 withhold | |
v.拒绝,不给;使停止,阻挡 | |
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164 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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165 attained | |
(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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166 penance | |
n.(赎罪的)惩罪 | |
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167 mightier | |
adj. 强有力的,强大的,巨大的 adv. 很,极其 | |
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168 guise | |
n.外表,伪装的姿态 | |
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169 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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170 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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171 fanatic | |
n.狂热者,入迷者;adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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172 entreaty | |
n.恳求,哀求 | |
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173 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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174 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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175 trickles | |
n.细流( trickle的名词复数 );稀稀疏疏缓慢来往的东西v.滴( trickle的第三人称单数 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
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176 imploring | |
恳求的,哀求的 | |
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177 vehemently | |
adv. 热烈地 | |
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178 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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179 stunning | |
adj.极好的;使人晕倒的 | |
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180 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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181 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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182 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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183 brutality | |
n.野蛮的行为,残忍,野蛮 | |
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184 requital | |
n.酬劳;报复 | |
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185 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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186 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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187 abjured | |
v.发誓放弃( abjure的过去式和过去分词 );郑重放弃(意见);宣布撤回(声明等);避免 | |
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188 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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189 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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190 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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191 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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192 stiffened | |
加强的 | |
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193 tenement | |
n.公寓;房屋 | |
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194 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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195 hypocrisy | |
n.伪善,虚伪 | |
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196 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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197 stunned | |
adj. 震惊的,惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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198 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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199 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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200 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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201 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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202 sate | |
v.使充分满足 | |
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203 mishap | |
n.不幸的事,不幸;灾祸 | |
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204 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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205 lawful | |
adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
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206 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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207 hysterical | |
adj.情绪异常激动的,歇斯底里般的 | |
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208 judicious | |
adj.明智的,明断的,能作出明智决定的 | |
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209 abated | |
减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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210 recurrence | |
n.复发,反复,重现 | |
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211 politic | |
adj.有智虑的;精明的;v.从政 | |
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212 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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213 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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214 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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215 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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216 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
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217 contriving | |
(不顾困难地)促成某事( contrive的现在分词 ); 巧妙地策划,精巧地制造(如机器); 设法做到 | |
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218 enquired | |
打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 ); 询问; 问问题; 查问 | |
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