And now Lyndsay laughed, and Rose, curious, inquired why.
“I was thinking of the boys”; and he told her of the hornets’ nest.
“I don’t think the dear mother will like it,” said Rose.
“Perhaps,—oh, assuredly not; but what on earth can one do with three young steam-engines?”
“It’s very, very dreadful, papa, and do not tell; but I would like to be present at the siege of the hornets’ nest. It must be awfully5 good fun.”
“What was that you said?”
“I said awfully good fun. And also I desire to 80add that this is my day, and I shall say what I please, do what I please, talk slang and bad grammar by the yard if I want to.”
“As you like,—I make but one condition: there is to be none of that wading6 into deep waters of which you and Anne are so fond. I get enough of that at home, in my work. This is to be a tree-and-water day. I want to push on first up to the burnt lands. Some twenty years ago the upper country was burned off, so that, between the hills and the river are long abrupt slopes with low underbrush and millions of dead trees. The tops of the hills are also covered with the same mighty7 stubble.”
“But that cannot be beautiful.”
“No and yes. I fished above there one year, and for some days I found the desolation most oppressive. Then, one evening, I saw something in these gray dead trees, and ever since I have seen in them more and more that is strange or even beautiful.”
“I think I have felt like that at times,—as if of a sudden I had become another person, and saw with strange eyes. Once we were looking at Ruysdael’s pictures; it was at Amsterdam, and Aunt Anne said how delightful8 it would be just in a moment to see the world of things as a great master does, or the world of men as a poet may.”
“What spirit made me his own I do not know, my dear,” said Lyndsay; “but, if he fled, he left me some permanent property. There is a bit of St. Clair’s verse which puts it fairly.”
“And it is—Pardy?”
81“I think I can repeat it, but I am never sure about my quotations9:
‘If from the vantage of thy wiser heart
I could look out on nature through thine eyes,
I think that I should learn a novel art,
And joyful11 capture some divine surprise.
The tiny morrow of the opening rose,
With kindred comment of thy genius viewed,
Might to love’s wisdom eagerly disclose
The mystery of some new beatitude.’
Perhaps you will like my dead trees at first sight.”
“I can hardly fancy that.”
“Oh, you may. The afternoon is the time for the water. The black flies are pretty thick, Rose, eh?”
“They don’t trouble me,” she returned. “I can’t say why. They bite, and that is all.”
“I never could account for the exceptions,” he said. “Ned is tormented12 by them, and they hardly touch Jack13.”
“How curious!”
“Yes. My own foes14 are the sand-flies, what are called by the Indians ‘no-see-ums,’ and in Pennsylvania pungies. I brought a little smudge-pot and a small A-tent, just to give you shelter at need.” Meanwhile the poles rang ceaselessly, and the talk went on.
“I think, Pardy, the landscape under the water is almost as attractive as that above it. The stones seem to be all colors, and, I suppose, all shapes, because they play such queer tricks with the water. I never noticed until yesterday that when a wave 82rolls over a large, smooth rock it takes perfectly15 the form of a shell,—I think I mean a scallop-shell.”
“That is so, Rose. There, over there, is an example. I think it a very pretty idea,—one might be ingeniously poetical16 about it, but one won’t.”
By and by the stream stretched out shallow and broad, and the men took their paddles. Then they turned a sharp angle of the river and came among the burnt lands. Here and there a few great trees had strangely survived the fire, and towered high, green cones17 among the ruin.
“I can see no beauty in it,” said Rose.
“I said it was strange, interesting, and had certain beauties. Wait a little. Land us on the island, Tom,—at the upper end. There will be more air. There is a good bit of grass and a spring near by.”
Pretty soon the tent was up, and the smudge-pot, full of cedar18 bark, lighted. There was some wind, however, and the flies were not annoying.
“But what am I to sketch19?”
“Let us sit in the opening of the tent. And now, my pipe. Let us first consider, Rosy20, the eccentricities21 of these burnt trees. I want a sketch of some of them.”
“Why are they not black? I see very few that are charred22.”
“Ask Tom,—it will amuse you.” She did so.
“Them trees, when there’s a fire, and there ain’t too many pines and firs, the fire it just eats up their leaves and scorches23 their hides.”
“Bark?”
“Yes; and the winds and the frost and the sun, 83they peels off the dead hides. After that them trees lasts powerful long. But if the bark be on, they rots.”
“What I want just now, Rose, is to get you to look at those few isolated24 skeletons of dead trees on the point. There are many as odd in the wood-tangle25 below, but these above you can more readily sketch for me, because they stand by themselves. We will come back to the rest by and by.”
“Oh, my dear, dear M. A., what a fine master you are! I used to long for you, and that book we were to write, on the ‘Art of Seeing.’”
“Yes, I have taught myself to see. While you are sketching26 I will lecture a little.”
“And just what do you wish me to draw?”
“Take your field-glass and look at the trees on the point. Now, the one at the edge,—look at it; I do not want to tell you about it, I want you to see.”
“Well,” said Rose, talking as she sat in the tent-shadow, the glass at her eyes, “I see a tall dead tree,—a fir? No, a dead spruce,—probably a spruce, I am not sure. It is gray, and has only two great limbs left, and a tuft of dead twigs27 above—and—the trunk is oddly twisted to the left.”
“Now you are getting warm, as the children say. Hey, Rose?”
“I see,” she cried, with a real joy in her mind; and, taking her pencil, swiftly drew the desolate29 dead thing, while Lyndsay looked on.
“Good!” he said; “very good. You have it precisely30. I will make a word-sketch, and we will compare work. I can’t draw a straight line, as you know. 84I conceive of the other world, not entirely31 as a place to develop our own qualities, but where there will be a pleasant interchange of capacities. There, my dear, I shall sing like Nilsson and paint like Velasquez.”
“I think I could myself make some pleasant exchanges,” said Rose. “Those stiff lines of the dead branchless firs and pines, set against that dark cloud,—they remind me of the lances in that great picture by Velasquez at Madrid,—the Surrender of Breda. I loved the two men in that picture. Requesens is taking the keys of the town from Don John of Nassau, and he is just saying, ‘Might have happened to any fellow,—so sorry for you!’ You know, papa?”
“No, I do not. But I recall Macbeth’s etching of the picture. Go on with your sketch. Mine will be done in a few minutes.”
Then he wrote in his note-book again, glancing now and then at the tree.
“Listen, Rose. How is this? ‘Tree sketch: dead tree; no bark; cool gray all over; stands alone on point of land. Trunk twisted; only two limbs; bunched end-twigs. Limbs raised like arms.’ Now, if—mind, if it says to you—I mean if it has for you a distinct expression—I hate affectation here and everywhere: but if this distorted thing really expresses for you—something—label it!”
Rose was still a moment, and then said, “It is rooted there, still, alone. It seems to be turning back toward its fellows. It suggests to me utter dreariness32. What have you found to say about it, Pardy?”
85“See, dear, I have written, as I often do at the end of a word-sketch: ‘Loneliness, suffering; isolated anguish33, if you like.’”
“I see. How very, very interesting! It seems to remember the fire, father.” It was sometimes this, and sometimes Pardy, or Marcus Aurelius, or any queer pet-name of nursery origin.
“You begin to see what one may get out of a dead tree?”
“Yes. There is another, below,—just below.”
“Yes; I sketched34 it last year. Here it is: ‘Dead tree; poplar; split by lightning; black and gray. The lower half thrown out like a leg. Above, one limb has fallen against the trunk; top of tree tufted and thrown back. Queer expression of jollity.’ Sketch it, dear.
“How ready you are!” he said, over her shoulder. “Look at the one farther away,—bent35 back with two great limbs high in air. It is prayer, deprecation—dread: I am not sure,—and again, before you draw it, look across to the other side. This is my sketch. ‘Late twilight36; a huge, gray rock in the water. Deep cleft37 in it; out of this rises a dead pine. It leans toward me. Two vast limbs extended right and left. Top tufted as usual, and bent to one side. All set against a bleak38 mass of boulders39.’”
“I see, even in this light; but at dusk! at dusk it must be terrible,—a crucifixion!”
“Yes, that is it. It recalls to me an odd thing. A few years ago I was fishing as late as ten o’clock at night on the Metapedia, and, looking up, saw on the hill above me a cross set against the blood-red, 86newly risen moon. Next morning I perceived that it was only a telegraph-pole with its cross-bar.”
“What a theme for Heine!” said Rose.
“Yes, indeed. Now sketch me this, and the other trees. I want only just mere40 hints of form. There are no end of strange things among dead trees. I could not exhaust them in hours of description. There was last year a fallen tree on an island near our camp. I suppose the mass of stuff sent down by freshets protected it below, and the ice and so on swept away the branches which lay uppermost. At last the wreckage41 was washed off. When I came on it at evening it looked like one of those prehistoric42 lizards43 Dicky delights in. There were many legs on each side as it lay and—”
“Do let me see, Pardy. You drew it?” and she laughed. “I don’t think it would go into the Salon44. There ought to be a place for embryo45 art like this.”
“Like ‘Rejected Addresses’?”
“Yes; the real ones.”
“Do you frame yours, Rose?”
“Oh, for shame!”
“Who rose to that fly?”
“But you coldly planned it. It was base.”
“Poor thing!” he laughed—
“The wail46 of the salmon47
A man tried to gammon.
Alas48, poor Rose!”
“Wait a bit. As Jack says, ‘That drawing is unique.’”
“I am quite proud of it. I wanted to give you the 87lesson. Now I will smoke and talk and take mine ease, while you draw.”
“I can talk and sketch, too.”
“No doubt. On the Nipigon River there is a long carry once burned over. After the fire must have come a windfall. The whole blasted forest went down before it. It lies to-day a grim tangle of gray or black trunks, with huge agonized49 arms extended upward. At dusk it is very striking. Years went by, and then I saw the dead Confederates lying below Round Top the day after the fight, with arms and legs in rigid50 extension,—a most horrible memory. As I looked, it recalled that wrecked51 forest.”
“How dreadful, Pardy! I think I could draw those trees as you describe them. I will try to-morrow.”
Meanwhile, as she sketched, he went on:
“The growth of power to see is a curiously52 interesting thing. There is a disease or disorder53 called ‘mind-blindness,’ about which the doctor was telling me a few weeks ago. People who have it see things only as a mirror sees, and cannot give them names; but if they touch or handle them, are able to say what they are, or to tell their uses. Think, now, of a baby. It merely sees things as a mirror sees. Later, it learns the qualities of things seen, remembers them, learns to group them, and so to say at last what the thing is, or is for. Some people seem to stop in their education a little way beyond their baby gains, and at least never learn to get out of mere observation any pleasure.”
“But one may make many uses of this power to see. Now, the poets—”
88“Stop a moment. The poets get an absurd amount of credit for being able to see as other men do not; but, really, the pleasantest people for a woodland walk are those naturalists54 who see far more than the poet, and combine with their science, or have with it, the love of things for the mere beauty in them. I never did walk with a poet in a wood. I think I should see all he saw.”
“But not the same way.”
“I would dispute that, if you mean to say I get less pleasure, Rose. And there is some nonsense in the notion that poets are very close observers of nature. They vary, of course. Take Wordsworth, he was a mere child in minute observation compared to Shakspere. Tennyson is better, too,—oh, by far; and any clever naturalist55 sees far more than any one of them.”
“And now, I know, Pardy, you are going to advise me to read Ruskin, because that is the way you always used to wind up our talks.”
“I was, dear.”
“I must try him again. Aunt Anne says we grow up to the stature56 of certain books as we get older, and at last can look them in the eyes and say, ‘We understand one another.’ As to what you say of Wordsworth, I shall ask her what she thinks.”
“We shall not differ,” said Lyndsay. “I see you have done your sketch. Let us have lunch. Afterward57, if there is time, we can take a look at these trees when the evening shadows are falling. We have by no means done with them.”
Meanwhile Tom and his bowman had made the fire. The salmon was deliciously broiled58, for these woodmen 89are nearly all good cooks; the potatoes roasted in the hot ashes; the bacon, broiled with the salmon, in thin slices, brown and crisp. Rose thought there could be no meal like this. It was set out on a flat rock, with birch-bark for plates. The spring was a little way back of them.
“Let us go for the water ourselves,” said Lyndsay.
They walked down the island a hundred yards, and there, in deep woods, found two rocks fallen together, and under them a pretty little rise of water, bubbling up out of the earth.
“That is really a spring,” said Rose. “One uses words until one forgets to think of their meaning. How cold it is!”
“Yes 38°,—and delicious.” He twisted a bit of red birch-bark into a cup, and put a split twig28 at each end to keep it together. Then he filled it, and she drank, throwing her hair back with one hand, and flashing laughter over the brim of the cup from eyes the color of which has never been rightly settled to this day.
“More lunch, Rose?”
“A little jam and a biscuit.”
Archibald Lyndsay lit a pipe and lay upon his back on the meager59 grasses, with hands clasped behind his head. His eyes wandered from the clouds overhead to Rose, and thence to wood or stream.
“The court has dined, M. A.,” she said. “What now?”
“I am afraid,” he returned, “it is too late for you to sketch in colors the trees, or even a bit of them. I wanted to get your notion of the tints61; but look at this—I am not quite sure I myself see colors at their 90true values. There is no standard in which to try our sense of color. I am sure some men see a tint60 bright, and some see it darker, and then some artists are sensational62 in their statement of colors on canvas.”
“I should like to try.”
“We are a little too late; but the sun is back of us yet. That is essential. Now, keep in shadow, and tell me the color of those sun-lit myriads63 of dead pine and fir and spruce and poplar.”
“How they shine!”
“Yes; they are very hard, and polished by storm and sun. They are about a hundred yards distant. Near by they are silvery-gray. At their feet is a mass of young birch and beech64, and feathered ferns below, along the margin65.”
“They are purple,—clear, distinct purple,” said Rose. “Of course, they are purple.”
“Yes. Now look at the river.” All between the two observers and the trees was a swift flow of hastening water, faintly fretted66 all over by the underlying67 brown and gray and white stones of the bottom,—a tremulous brown mirror.
“Oh, the beautiful things!” cried Rose. “Purple reflections,—deeper purple than the trees. How they wriggle68!”
“Put me the two purples on paper.”
“There!” she said, “that is as I see them.”
“And I,” he returned,—“for me they should be a much deeper, purer tint. That is the difference between your color sense and mine.”
“Is it true, Pardy, that there may be colors no man has seen?”
91“Yes.”
“And sounds no man has heard?”
“Yes.”
“‘Heard sounds are sweet, but sounds unheard are sweeter.’”
“Your quotation10 sets one’s imagination free to rove. Think of extending the gamut69 of human thought. I cannot imagine that; and, as to your poet, he did not mean, I suppose, the sounds man never heard are sweeter; but then one has his freedom of interpreting the words of genius. They always build better than they know.”
“Aunt Anne says that is so beautifully illustrated70 by the view a man of science would take to-day of St. Paul’s words: ‘The eye cannot say to the hand, I have no need of thee.’”
“The point is well taken, as we lawyers say. But that must do for to-day. Come, Tom, you and Bill can smoke your pipes in the middle of the skiff. Put Miss Rose in the bow, I will take the stern.”
“And am I to paddle? What fun!”
“Yes. In with you.” And the boat fled away down the swift waters, with here and there, where the billows rolled high over a deeply hidden rock, a wild roller which swept them on as with the rush of a bird through space, while Rose laughed out the joy of a great delight, for of all modes of motion this is the most satisfying.
“It isn’t difficult,” she said.
“No, and it is a noble exercise. Look! Look, Rose! See that hawk71,—no, it is an eagle. Don’t you envy him? What are those lines Anne loves to quote about 92the hawk and the lark72? They are called ‘True Captivity73.’”
“I forget all but the last two lines. It contrasts the two prisoners, and says of the lark:
‘He has the heaven which he sings,
But my poor hawk has only wings.’”
“Thank you. There used to be an imprisoned74 hawk in a cage at the lower clearing. The melancholy75 of his great yellow eyes so troubled me that I bought him, and, to Churchman’s amazement76, opened his cage. The poor old warrior77 walked out, looked around him, and then walked back again into voluntary captivity.”
“Like the man of the Bastille.”
“Yes. I shut the cage and took it down to the river. There I left it, open. Next day I saw him perched above it on a dead tamarack, swinging in a wild wind. The day after he was gone.”
“I wonder if he regrets the cage and the certainty of full diet.”
“Ah! liberty is very sweet. I sometimes wonder whether, when this earthly cage is opened, we shall linger about it like my hawk.”
For a time they speed onward78, silent, as the shadows grew across the waters. Said Lyndsay, at length: “One more thing to note: the sun is down, but see how that huge array of gleaming, seried tree-trunks, away up on the hilltops, takes the light we have lost.”
Rose looked, and saw on the far summits that the multitudinous tree-stems were of a lovely lemon yellow, 93and below, where their lines crossed at the intercepting79 angles of two slopes, of a pallid80 lilac.
“I think we have learned to use our eyes to-day. No need to paddle here. Take a rest. We are going at the rate of five miles an hour.”
In the gathering81 dusk they flitted past the camp-fires on the island, and soon were at their cabin door.
“Shall I ever have another day like this?” said Rose, as she ran up the steps. “Thank you, Pardy.”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
contentedly
|
|
| adv.心满意足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
alluvial
|
|
| adj.冲积的；淤积的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
abrupt
|
|
| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
hardiest
|
|
| 能吃苦耐劳的，坚强的( hardy的最高级 )； （植物等）耐寒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
awfully
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
wading
|
|
| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
quotation
|
|
| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
joyful
|
|
| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
tormented
|
|
| 饱受折磨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
foes
|
|
| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
poetical
|
|
| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
cones
|
|
| n.（人眼）圆锥细胞；圆锥体( cone的名词复数 )；球果；圆锥形东西；（盛冰淇淋的）锥形蛋卷筒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
cedar
|
|
| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
sketch
|
|
| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
eccentricities
|
|
| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
charred
|
|
| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
scorches
|
|
| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的第三人称单数 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
isolated
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
tangle
|
|
| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
sketching
|
|
| n.草图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
twigs
|
|
| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
twig
|
|
| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
dreariness
|
|
| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
sketched
|
|
| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
cleft
|
|
| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
bleak
|
|
| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
boulders
|
|
| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
wreckage
|
|
| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
prehistoric
|
|
| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
lizards
|
|
| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
salon
|
|
| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
embryo
|
|
| n.胚胎，萌芽的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
wail
|
|
| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
salmon
|
|
| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
agonized
|
|
| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
wrecked
|
|
| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
disorder
|
|
| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
naturalists
|
|
| n.博物学家( naturalist的名词复数 )；（文学艺术的）自然主义者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
naturalist
|
|
| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
stature
|
|
| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
broiled
|
|
| a.烤过的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
meager
|
|
| adj.缺乏的，不足的，瘦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
tint
|
|
| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
tints
|
|
| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
sensational
|
|
| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
myriads
|
|
| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
beech
|
|
| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
margin
|
|
| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
fretted
|
|
| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
underlying
|
|
| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
wriggle
|
|
| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
gamut
|
|
| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
illustrated
|
|
| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
hawk
|
|
| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
lark
|
|
| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
captivity
|
|
| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
imprisoned
|
|
| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
warrior
|
|
| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
onward
|
|
| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
intercepting
|
|
| 截取（技术），截接 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
pallid
|
|
| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |