She had interpreted very literally1 the telegram which had brought such a tremor2 yet such a movement of joy to her heart. Her son wanted her. Perhaps he might be ill, certainly it must be for something serious and painful that she was called; yet he wanted her! She had been very quiet and patient, waiting if perhaps his heart might be touched and he might recall the tie of nature and his own promises, feeling with a sad pride that she wanted nothing of him but his love, and that without that the fine houses and the new wealth were nothing to her. She was pleased even to stand aloof3, to be conscious of having in no way profited by Walter’s advancement4. She had gained nothing by it, she wished to gain nothing by it. If Walter were well, then there was no need for more. She had enough for herself without troubling him. So long as all was well! But this is at the best a forlorn line of argument, and it cannot be doubted that Mrs. Methven’s bosom5 throbbed6 with a great pang7 of disappointment when she sat and smiled to conceal8 it, and answered questions about Walter, yet could not say that she had seen him or any of his “places in Scotland,” or knew much more than her questioners did. When his message arrived her heart leapt in her breast. There were no explanations, no reason given, but that imperative9 call, such as mothers love to have addressed to them: “Come;” all considerations of her own comfort set aside in the necessity for her which had arisen at last. Another might have resented so complete an indifference10 to what might happen to suit herself. But there are connections and relationships in which this is the highest compliment. He knew that it did not matter to her what her own convenience was, as long as he wanted her. She got up from her chair at once, and proceeded to put her things together to get ready for the journey. With a smiling countenance11 she prepared herself for the night train. She would not even take a maid. “He says, alone. He must have some reason for it, I suppose,” she said to Miss Merivale. “I am the reason,” said Cousin Sophy: “He doesn’t want me. You can tell him, with my love, that to travel all night is not at all in my way, and he need have had no fear on that subject.” But Mrs. Methven would not agree to this, and departed hurriedly without any maid. She was surprised a little, yet would not allow herself to be displeased12, that no one came to meet her: but it was somewhat forlorn to be set down on the side of the loch in the wintry afternoon, with the cold, gleaming water before her, and no apparent way of getting to the end of her journey.
“Oh yes, mem, you might drive round the head of the loch: but it’s a long way,” the landlady13 of the little inn said, smoothing down her apron14 at the door, “and far simpler just crossing the water, as everybody does in these parts.”
Mrs. Methven was a little nervous about crossing the water. She was tired and disappointed, and a chill had crept to her heart. While she stood hesitating a young lady came up, whose boat waited for her on the beach, a man in a red shirt standing15 at the bow.
“It is a lady for Auchnasheen, Miss Oona,” said the landlady, “and no boat. Duncan is away, and for the moment I have not a person to send: and his lordship will maybe be out on the hill, or he will have forgotten, or maybe he wasna sure when to expect you, mem?”
“No, he did not know when to expect me. I hope there is no illness,” said Mrs. Methven, with a thrill of apprehension16.
At this the young lady came forward with a shy yet frank grace.
“If you will let me take you across,” she said, “my boat is ready. I am Oona Forrester. Lord Erradeen is quite well I think, and I heard that he expected—his mother.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Methven. She gave the young stranger a penetrating17 look. Her own aspect was perhaps a little severe, for her heart had been starved and repressed, and she wore it very warm and low down in her bosom, never upon her sleeve. There rose over Oona’s countenance a soft and delicate flush under the eyes of Walter’s mother. She had nothing in the world to blush for, and probably that was why the colour rose. They were of infinite interest to each other, two souls meeting, as it were, in the dark, quite unknown to each other and yet—who could tell?—to be very near perhaps in times to come. The look they interchanged was a mutual18 question. Then Mrs. Methven felt herself bound to take up her invariable defence of her son.
“He did not, most likely, think that I could arrive so soon. I was wrong not to let him know. If I accept your kindness will it be an inconvenience to you?”
This question was drowned in Oona’s immediate19 response and in the louder protest of Mrs. Macfarlane. “Bless me, mem, you canna know the loch! for there is nobody but would put themselves about to help a traveller: and above all Miss Oona, that just has no other thought. Colin, put in the lady’s box intill the boat, and Hamish, he will give ye a hand.”
Thus it was settled without farther delay. It seemed to the elder lady like a dream when she found herself afloat upon this unknown water, the mountains standing round, with their heads all clear and pale in the wonderful atmosphere from which the last rays of the sunset had but lately faded, while down below in this twilight20 scene the colour had begun to go out of the autumn trees and red walls of the ruined castle, at which she looked with a curiosity full of excitement. “That is——?” she said pointing with a strange sensation of eagerness.
“That is Kinloch Houran,” said Oona, to whose sympathetic mind, she could not tell how, there came a tender, pitying comprehension of the feelings of the mother, thus thrust alone and without any guide into the other life of her son.
“It is very strange to me—to see the place where Walter——You know perhaps that neither my son nor I were ever here until he——”
“Oh yes,” Oona said hastily, interrupting the embarrassed speech; and she added, “My mother and I have been here always, and everybody on the loch knows everybody else. We were aware——”
And then she paused too; but her companion took no notice, her mind being fully21 occupied. “I feel,” she said, “like a woman in a dream.”
It was very still on the loch, scarcely a breath stirring (which was very fortunate, for Mrs. Methven, unaccustomed, had a little tremor for the dark water even though so smooth). The autumnal trees alone, not quite put out by the falling darkness, seemed to lend a little light as they hung, reflected, over the loch—a redder cluster here and there looking like a fairy lamp below the water. A thousand suggestions were in the air, and previsions of she knew not what, a hidden life surrounding her on every side. Her brain was giddy, her heart full. By-and-by she turned to her young companion, who was so sympathetically silent, and whose soft voice when she spoke22, with the little cadence23 of an accent unfamiliar24 yet sweet, had a half-caressing sound which touched the solitary25 woman. “You say your mother and you,” she said. “Are you too an only child?”
“Oh no! there are eight of us: but I am the youngest, the only one left. All the boys are away. We live on the isle26. I hope you will come and see us. My mother will be glad——”
“And she is not afraid to trust you—by yourself? It must be a happy thing for a woman to have a daughter,” Mrs. Methven said, with a sigh. “The boys, as you say, go away.”
“Nobody here is afraid of the loch,” said Oona. “Accidents happen—oh, very rarely. Mamma is a little nervous about yachting, for the winds come down from the hills in gusts27; but Hamish is the steadiest oar28, and there is no fear. Do you see now the lights at Auchnasheen? There is some one waiting, at the landing-place. It will be Lord Erradeen, or some one from the house. Hamish, mind the current. You know how it sweeps the boat up the loch?”
“It will just be the wash of that confounded steam-boat,” Hamish said.
The voices bounded in the air without conveying any sense to her mind. Was that Walter, the vague line of darker shadow upon the shade? Was it his house she was going to, his life that she was entering once more? All doubts were put to an end speedily by Walter’s voice.
“Is it Hamish?” he cried out.
“Oh, Lord Erradeen, it is me,” cried Oona, in her soft Scotch29. “And I am bringing you your mother.”
The boat grated on the bank as she spoke, and this disguised the tremor in her voice, which Mrs. Methven, quite incapable30 of distinguishing anything else, was yet fully sensible of. She stepped out tremulously into her son’s arms.
“Mother,” he cried, “what must you think of me for not coming to meet you? I never thought you could be here so soon.”
“I should have come by telegraph if I could,” she said, with an agitated31 laugh: so tired, so tremulous, so happy, the strangest combination of feelings overwhelming her. But still she was aware of a something, a tremor, a tingle32 in Oona’s voice. The boat receded33 over the water almost without a pause, Hamish under impulsion of a whispered word, having pushed off again as soon as the traveller and her box were landed. Walter paused to call out his thanks over the water, and then he drew his mother’s arm within his, and led her up the bank.
“Where is Jane?” he said. “Have you no one with you? Have you travelled all night, and alone, mother, for me?”
“For whom should I do it, but for you? And did you think I would lose a minute after your message, Walter? But you are well, there is nothing wrong with your health?”
“Nothing wrong with my health,” he said, with a half-laugh. “No, that is safe enough. I have not deserved that you should come to me, mother——”
“There is no such word as deserving between mother and son,” she said tremulously, “so long as you want me, Walter.”
“Take care of those steps,” was all he said. “We are close now to the house. I hope you will find your rooms comfortable. I fear they have not been occupied for some time. But what shall you do without a maid? Perhaps the housekeeper——”
“You said to come alone, Walter.”
“Oh yes. I was afraid of Cousin Sophy; but you could not think I wanted to impair34 your comfort, mother? Here we are at the door, and here is Symington, very glad to receive his lady.”
“But you must not let him call me so.”
“Why not? You are our lady to all of us. You are the lady of the house, and I bid you welcome to it, mother,” he said, pausing to kiss her. She had a thousand things to forgive, but in that moment they were as though they had not been.
And there was not much more said until she had settled down into possession of the library, which answered instead of a drawing-room: had dined, and been brought back to the glowing peat fire which gave an aromatic35 breath of warmth and character to a Highland36 house. When all the business of the arrival had thus been gone through, there came a moment when it was apparent that subjects of more importance must be entered upon. There was a pause, and an interval37 of complete silence which seemed much longer than it really was. Walter stood before the fire for some time, while she sat close by, her hands clasped in her lap, ready to attend. Then he began to move about uneasily, feeling the compulsion of the moment, yet unprepared with anything to say. At length it was she who began.
“You sent for me, Walter?” she said.
“Yes, mother.”
Was there nothing more to tell her? He threw into disorder38 the books on the table, and then he came back again, and once more faced her, standing with his back to the fire.
“My dear,” she said hesitating, “it is with no reproach I speak, but only——There was some reason for sending for me?”
He gave once more a nervous laugh.
“You have good reason to be angry if you will; but I’ll tell you the truth, mother. I made use of you to get rid of Underwood. He followed me here, and I told him you were coming, and that he could not stay against the will of the mistress of the house. Then I was bound to ask you——”
The poor lady drew back a little, and instinctively39 put her hand to her heart, in which there was a hot thrill of sensation, as if an arrow had gone in. And then, in the pang of it, she laughed too, and cried—
“You were bound, to be sure, to fulfil your threat. And this is why—this is why, Walter——”
She could not say more without being hysterical40, and departing from every rule she had made for herself.
Meanwhile, Walter stood before her, feeling in his own heart the twang of that arrow which had gone through hers, and the pity of it and wonder of it, with a poignant41 realisation of all; and yet found nothing to say.
After a while Mrs. Methven regained42 her composure, and spoke with a smile that was almost more pathetic than tears.
“After all, it was a very good reason. I am glad you used me to get rid of that man.”
“I always told you, mother,” he said, “that you had a most absurd prejudice against that man. There is no particular harm in the man. I had got tired of him. He is well enough in his own way, but he was out of place here.”
“Well, Walter, we need not discuss Captain Underwood. But don’t you see it is natural that I should exaggerate his importance by way of giving myself the better reason for having come?”
The touch of bitterness and sarcasm43 that was in her words made Walter start from his place again, and once more turn over the books on the table. She was not a perfect woman to dismiss all feeling from what she said, and her heart was wrung44.
After a while he returned to her again.
“Mother, I acknowledge you have a good right to be displeased. But that is not all. I am glad, anyhow—heartily glad to have you here.”
She looked up at him with her eyes full, and quivering lips. Everything went by impulse in the young man’s mind, and this look—in which for once in his life he read the truth, the eagerness to forgive, the willingness to forget, the possibility, even in the moment of her deepest pain, of giving her happiness—went to his heart. After all it is a wonderful thing to have a human creature thus altogether dependent upon your words, your smile, ready to encounter all things for you, without hesitation45, without a grudge46. And why should she? What had he ever done for her? And she was no fool. These thoughts had already passed through his mind with a realisation of the wonder of it all, which seldom strikes the young at sight of the devotion of the old. All these things flashed back upon him at the sight of the dumb anguish47 yet forgiveness in her eyes.
“Mother,” he cried, “there’s enough of this between you and me. I want you not for Underwood, but for everything. Why should you care for a cad like me? but you do——”
“Care for you? Oh, my boy!”
“I know; there you sit that have travelled night and day because I held up my finger: and would give me your life if you could, and bear everything, and never change and never tire. Why, in the name of God, why?” he cried with an outburst. “What have I ever done that you should do this for me? You are worth a score of such as I am, and yet you make yourself a slave—”
“Oh, Walter, my dear! how vain are all these words. I am your mother,” she said.
Presently he drew a chair close to her and sat down beside her.
“All these things have been put before me,” he said, “to drive me to despair. I have tried to say that it was this vile48 lordship, and the burden of the family, that has made me bad, mother. But you know better than that,” he said, looking up at her with a stormy gleam in his face that could not be called a smile, “and so do I.”
“Walter, God forbid that I should ever have thought you bad. You have been led astray.”
“To do—what I wanted to do,” he said with another smile, “that is what is called leading astray between a man and those who stand between him and the devil; but I have talked with one who thinks of no such punctilios. Mother, vice49 deserves damnation; isn’t that your creed50?”
“Walter!”
“Oh, I know; but listen to me. If that were so, would a woman like you stand by the wretch51 still?”
“My dearest boy! you are talking wildly. There are no circumstances, none! in which I should not stand by you.”
“That is what I thought,” he said, “you and—But they say that you don’t know, you women, how bad a man can be: and that if you knew—And then as for God——”
“God knows everything, Walter.”
“Ay: and knows that never in my life did I care for or appeal to Him, till in despair. If you think of it, these are not things a man can do, mother: take refuge with women who would loathe52 him if they knew; or with God, who does know that only in desperation, only when nothing else is left to him, he calls out that name like a spell. Yes, that is all; like an incantation, to get rid of the fiend.”
The veins53 were swollen54 on Walter’s forehead; great drops of moisture hung upon it; on the other hand his lips were parched55 and dry, his eyes gleaming with a hot treacherous56 lustre57. Mrs. Methven, as she looked at him, grew sick with terror. She began to think that his brain was giving way.
“What am I to say to you?” she cried; “who has been speaking so? It cannot be a friend, Walter. That is not the way to bring back a soul.”
He laughed, and the sound alarmed her still more.
“There was no friendship intended,” he said, “nor reformation either. It was intended—to make me a slave.”
“To whom, oh! to whom?”
He had relieved his mind by talking thus; but it was by putting his burden upon her. She was agitated beyond measure by these partial confidences. She took his hands in hers, and pleaded with him—
“Oh, Walter, my darling, what has happened to you? Tell me what you mean.”
“I am not mad, mother, if that is what you think.”
“I don’t think so, Walter. I don’t know what to think. Tell me. Oh, my boy, have pity upon me; tell me.”
“You will do me more good, mother, if you will tell me—how I am to get this burden off, and be a free man.”
“The burden of—what? Sin? Oh, my son!” she cried, rising to her feet, with tears of joy streaming from her eyes. She put her hands upon his head and bade God bless him. God bless him! “There is no doubt about that; no difficulty about that,” she said; “for everything else in the world there may be uncertainty58, but for this none. God is more ready to forgive than we are to ask. If you wish it sincerely with all your heart, it is done. He is never far from any of us. He is here, Walter—here, ready to pardon!”
He took her hands which she had put upon him, and looked at her, shaking his head.
“Mother, you are going too fast,” he said. “I want deliverance, it is true; but I don’t know if it is that I mean.”
“That is at the bottom of all, Walter.”
He put her softly into her chair, and calmed her agitation59; then he began to walk up and down the room.
“That is religion,” he said. “I suppose it is at the bottom of all. What was it you used to teach me, mother, about a new heart? Can a man enter a second time—and be born? That seems all so visionary when one is living one’s life. You think of hundreds of expedients60 first. To thrust it away from you, and forget all about it; but that does not answer; to defy it and go the other way out of misery61 and spite. Then to try compromises; marriage, for instance, with a wife perhaps, one thinks——”
“My dear,” said Mrs. Methven, with a sad sinking of disappointment in her heart after her previous exultation62, yet determined63 that her sympathy should not fail, “if you had a good wife no one would be so happy as I—a good girl who would help you to live a good life.”
Here he came up to her again, and, leaning against the table, burst into a laugh. But there was no mirth in it. A sense of the ludicrous is not always mirthful.
“A girl,” he said, “mother, who would bring another fortune to the family: who would deluge64 us with money, and fill out the lines of the estates, and make peace—peace between me and—And not a bad girl either,” he added with a softening65 tone, “far too good for me. An honest, upright little soul, only not—the best; only not the one who—would hate me if she knew——”
“Walter,” said Mrs. Methven, trembling, “I don’t understand you. Your words seem very wild to me. I am all confused with them, and my brain seems to be going. What is it you mean? Oh, if you would tell me all you mean and not only a part which I cannot understand!”
There never happens in any house a conversation of a vital kind, which is not interrupted at a critical moment by the entrance of the servants, those legitimate66 intruders who can never be staved off. It was Symington now who came in with tea, which, with a woman’s natural desire to prevent any suspicion of agitation in the family, she accepted. When he had gone the whole atmosphere was changed. Walter had seated himself by the fire with the newspapers which had just come in, and all the emotion and attendrissement were over. He said to her, looking up from his reading—
“By-the-bye, mother, Julia Herbert is here with some cousins; they will be sure to call on you. But I don’t want to have any more to do with them than we can help. You will manage that?”
“Julia Herbert,” she said. The countenance which had melted into so much softness, froze again and grew severe. “Here! why should she be here? Indeed, I hope I shall be able to manage that, as you say.”
But oh, what ignoble67 offices for a woman who would have given her life for him as he knew! To frighten away Underwood, to “manage” Julia. Patience! so long as it was for her boy.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
literally
|
|
| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
tremor
|
|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
aloof
|
|
| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
advancement
|
|
| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
throbbed
|
|
| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
pang
|
|
| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
imperative
|
|
| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
displeased
|
|
| a.不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
landlady
|
|
| n.女房东，女地主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
penetrating
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
mutual
|
|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
cadence
|
|
| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
unfamiliar
|
|
| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
isle
|
|
| n.小岛，岛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
gusts
|
|
| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
oar
|
|
| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
scotch
|
|
| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
tingle
|
|
| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
receded
|
|
| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
impair
|
|
| v.损害，损伤；削弱，减少 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
aromatic
|
|
| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
highland
|
|
| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
disorder
|
|
| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
instinctively
|
|
| adv.本能地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
hysterical
|
|
| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
poignant
|
|
| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
regained
|
|
| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
sarcasm
|
|
| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
wrung
|
|
| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
grudge
|
|
| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
vile
|
|
| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
vice
|
|
| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
loathe
|
|
| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
swollen
|
|
| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
parched
|
|
| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
treacherous
|
|
| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
lustre
|
|
| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
uncertainty
|
|
| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
expedients
|
|
| n.应急有效的，权宜之计的( expedient的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
exultation
|
|
| n.狂喜，得意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
deluge
|
|
| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
softening
|
|
| 变软，软化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
legitimate
|
|
| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
ignoble
|
|
| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |