The road between this point and Andover, ascending1 the high ground between the Ann and the Test, is utterly2 without interest, and brings the traveller down into the town at the south side of the market square without any inducement to linger on the way. Except on the Saturday market-day, Andover is given over to a dreamy quiet. The butchers’ dogs lie blinking sleepily on the thresholds, or on the kerbs, and regard with a pained surprise, rather than with any active resentment3, the intrusive4 passage of a stray customer. Tradesmen’s assistants leisurely5 open casual crates6 of goods on the pavements, with long intervals7 for gossip between the drawing of each nail,{133} and no one objects to the blocking of the footpath8. A chance cyclist man?uvres in the empty void of the road in the midst of the square, and collides with no one, for the simple reason that there is nobody to collide with, and one acquaintance talks to another across the wide space and is distinctly heard. Formal but not unpleasing houses front on to this square, together with the usual Town Hall, and a great modern, highly uninteresting Gothic church, erected9 after the model of Salisbury Cathedral, on the site of the old building.
For fifty-one weeks of the fifty-two that comprise the year, this is the weekly six-days aspect of the place, varied10 occasionally by the advent11 of a travelling circus, or the arrival of a route-marching detachment of the Royal Artillery12, who park their guns in the square, and may be seen in the stable-yards of the inns on which they are billeted, in various stages of dishevelment, in shirt-sleeves rolled up to elbows, and braces13 dangling14 at waists, littering down their horses, or smoking very short and very foul15 pipes.
All this idyllic16 quiet is blown to the winds during the week of Weyhill Fair, the October pandemonium17 held three and a half miles away. Then hordes18 of cattle-and horse-jobbers, hop19 growers and buyers, cheese-factors, and the travellers of firms dealing20 in machinery21, seeds, oil-cake, tarpaulins22, and half a hundred other everyday agricultural requisites23, descend24 upon the town. Then are dragged out from mysterious receptacles the most antiquated25 of ‘flys,’ and waggonettes, and nondescript vehicles, to be pressed into the service of conveying visitors to the{134} Fair, some three and a half miles from the town. Whence they come, and where they are hidden away afterwards, is more than the stranger can tell, but it is quite certain that their retreat is in some corner where spiders dwell, and earwigs and other weird26 insects have a home. Add to these facts the all-important one that it is generally possible to walk the distance in a shorter time, and you have a full portraiture27 of the average Weyhill conveyance28.
This sleepy old place, older by many more centuries than the oldest house remaining here can give any hint of, was not always so quiet. There were alarums and excursions (ending, however, with not so much as a cut finger) when James the Second, falling back from Salisbury before the advance of his son-in-law, William of Orange, halted here. There might have been a battle in Andover’s streets, or under the shadow of Bury Hill, had James put a bolder front on the business; but instead of cutting up William’s Dutchmen, he just dined overnight, and hearing in the morning that his other son-in-law, Prince George of Denmark, had slunk off with Lords Ormond and Drumlanrig, went off himself, strategically to the rear. He was an obstinate29 and ridiculous bigot, and a quite unlovable monarch30, but he had a power of sarcasm31. ‘What,’ said he, hearing of the Prince’s desertion, and bitterly mimicking32 the absurd intonation33 of that recreant’s French catch-phrase, ‘is “Est-il possible?” gone too? Truly, a good trooper would have been a greater loss.’
OLD ELECTIONS
After these events, that era of bribery34 and corruption35 set in, which is mistakenly supposed to have{135} been brought to an end through the agency of the several Reform Acts, passed by well-meaning Legislatures to secure the purity of Parliamentary elections. As if treating, and the crossing of horny hands with gold were the only ways of corrupting36 a constituency that the wit of man, or the address of a candidate, could discover! The palm no longer receives the coin; but who has not heard of the modern art of ‘nursing a constituency,’ by which the candidate, eager for Parliamentary honours, sits down before a town, or a county division, subscribes37 liberally to hospitals and horticultural societies, cricket and football clubs, opens bazaars38, and presides at Young Men’s Christian39 Associations, thereby40 winning the votes which would in other days have been acquired by palming the men and kissing all the babies? This tea-fight business gives us no picturesque41 situations like that in which Charles James Fox figured. Fox was canvassing42 personally, and called upon one of the bluff43 and blunt order of voters, who listened to his eloquence44, and remarked, ‘Sir, I admire your abilities, but damn your principles!’ To which Fox supplied the obvious retort, ‘Sir, I admire your sincerity45, but damn your manners!’
Andover no longer sends a representative to Parliament, but in the brave old days it elected two. With a knowledge of the wholesale46 purchasing of votes that then went on, it will readily be perceived that Andover, with two members to elect, must have been a place flowing with milk and honey; or, less metaphorically47, a happy hunting-ground for guineas and free drinks. It was somewhere about a hundred{136} and fifty years ago that Sir Francis Blake Delaval, a prominent rake and practical humorist of the period, was canvassing Andover. One voter amid the venal48 herd49 was, to all appearance, proof against all temptations. Money, wine, place, flattery had no seductions for this stoic50. The baffled candidate was beside himself in his endeavours to discover the man’s weak point; for of course it was an age in which votes were so openly bought and sold that the saying ‘Every man has his price’ was implicitly51 believed. Only what was this particular voter’s figure? Strange to say, he had no weakness for money, but was possessed52 with an inordinate53 desire to see a fire-eater, and doubted if there existed people endowed with that remarkable54 power. ‘Off went Delaval to London, and returned with Angelo in a post-chaise. Angelo exerted all his genius. Fire poured from his mouth and nostrils—fire which melted that iron nature, and sent it off cheerfully to poll for Delaval!’
This was that same Delaval whose attorney sent him the following bill of costs after one of his contests:—
To being thrown out of the window of the George Inn, Andover; to my leg being thereby broken; to surgeon’s bill, and loss of time and business; all in the service of Sir Francis Delaval, £500.
And cheap too.
PRACTICAL JOKING
They kept this sort of thing up for many years; not always, however, throwing solicitors55 out of hotel windows; although rival political factions56 often expressed their determination to throw one another’s candidate in the Anton, after the fashion of the bills{137} posted in the town during a contest in the ’40’s, which announced in displayed type—
LORD HUNTINGTOWER FOR EVER!
SIR JOHN POLLEN57 IN THE RIVER!!
CATCHING58 FISH FOR HIS LORDSHIP’S DINNER!!!
History does not satisfy us on the point whether or not those furious partisans59 carried out their threat; or whether, if they did, their victim afforded good bait.
This Lord Huntingtower was the eldest60 son of the late Earl of Dysart, and a well-matched companion of the late Marquis of Waterford. Roaming the country-side on dark nights, mounted on stilts61, with sheets over their clothes and hollowed turnips62 on their heads with scooped-out holes for eyes and mouth, and lit with candles, they frightened many a timid rustic63 out of his dull wits. In daytime they played practical jokes on the tradesfolk of Andover. For example, entering a little general shop in the town, Lord Huntingtower asked for a pound of treacle64. ‘Where shall I put it?’ asked the old woman who kept the shop, seeing that the usual basin was not forthcoming.
‘P-pup-pup-put it in my hat,’ said my Lord, who stuttered in yard-lengths, holding out his ‘topper.’ The pound of treacle was accordingly poured into the Lincoln and Bennett, and the next instant it was on the shopkeeper’s head.
This was the manner in which Lord Huntingtower endeared himself to the people—those, that is to say, who were not the victims of his pleasantries.{138}
That kind of person is quite extinct now. They should have (but unfortunately they have not) a stuffed specimen65 in the Natural History Museum at South Kensington; because he is numbered with the Dodo, the Plesiosaurus, and the Mastodon. The Marquis of Winchester who flourished at the same period as my Lords Huntingtower and Waterford was of the same stamp. He had the fiery66 Port Countenance67 which was the sign of the three-bottle man, and his life and the deeds that he did are still fondly remembered at Andover, for his country-house was at Amport, in the immediate68 neighbourhood. He was the Premier69 Marquis of England, and although up to his neck in mortgages and writs70, an extremely Great Personage. Let us, therefore, take our hats off as humbly71 as we know how to do.
When he was at his country-place he worshipped at the little village church of Amport. Sometimes he did not worship, but slept, lulled72 off to the Land of Nod by the roaring fire he kept in his room-like pew. On one occasion it chanced that he was wide awake, and, like the illustrious Sir Roger de Coverley, leant upon the door of that pew, and gazed around to satisfy himself that all his tenantry were present. Then an awful thing happened, the hinges of the door broke, and it fell with a great clatter73 to the ground, and the Marquis with it. He said ‘Damn!’ with great fervour and unction, and everybody laughed. No one thought it—as they should have done—shocking, which shows the depravity of the age.
THE MARQUIS AND THE SQUIRE74
There is no doubt whatever about that depravity, which, like the worm in the bud, has wrought75 ruin{139} among our manners since then. How sad it is that we are not now content to call upon Providence76 to
Bless the squire and his relations
And keep us in our proper stations;
but are all too intent upon ‘getting on,’ to defer77 to rank, or take a spell at the delightful78 occupations of tuft-hunting and boot-licking! Even in those days this horrid79 decadence80 had begun to manifest itself, as you will see by the story of this same Marquis and Mr. Assheton Smith of Tedworth Park. Mr. Smith could (as the saying goes) have ‘bought up’ the impoverished81 Marquis of Winchester several times over, and not have felt any strain upon his resources. Moreover, he was a Squire of great consideration in these parts, and as Master of the Tedworth Hunt, something of a rival in importance. For which things, and more, the Marquis hated him, and on one occasion took an opportunity of reproving him publicly before the whole field, in the fine florid language of which he had so ready a command. Possibly Mr. Smith had committed the unpardonable indignity82 of showing my lord the way over a particularly stiff fence he was hesitating at. At any rate the language of the Premier Marquis was violent, and contained some reference to the disparity between their respective ranks. But the Squire was ready with his retort. He said, ‘Anyhow, I’d sooner be a rich Squire than a poor Marquis!’ The field smiled, because the reduced circumstances of the Marquis of Winchester had been notorious ever since his father had been secretly buried at midnight in the family{140} vault83 at Amport, for fear the bailiffs should seize the body for debt.
There are, for good or ill, no such sportsmen nowadays as there were in the times before railways came and brought more competition into existence, making life a business and a struggle, instead of the light-hearted and irresponsible game that the sporting squires84 at least found it. Noble sportsmen do not nowadays, when detained by stress of weather in a country inn, while away the tedium85 of the afternoon by backing the raindrops racing86 down the window-panes and betting fortunes on the result. No, that very real bogey87, ‘agricultural depression,’ has stopped that kind of full-blooded prank88, and the titled in these progressive times find their account on the ‘front page’ of company-promoters’ swindles instead. They barter89 good names for gold, and lick the boots of wealthy rogues90, instead of kicking their bodies. Where their fathers scorned to go the sons delight to be. Would the fathers have done the like had ‘agricultural depression’ come earlier?
The noblemen and the sporting squires of old lived in one mad whirl of excitement. They gambled on every incident in their lives, and sometimes even on their death-beds; like the old gamester who, when the doctor told him he would be dead the next morning, offered to bet him that he would not! We are not told whether or not the medical man backed his professional opinion.
OLD SPORTSMEN
One of the most illuminating91 side-lights on these truly Corinthian folk is the story which tells how Lord Albert Conyngham and that classic sportsman,{141} Mr. George Payne, were travelling from London to Poole by post-chaise in the last decade of the coaching days—that is to say, between 1830 and 1840. They found the journey tedious, and so played écarté, in which they grew so interested that they continued playing all day and into the night, the chaise being lit with the aid of a patent lamp which Mr. Payne always took with him on a long journey. The play was high; £100 a game, with bets on knaves92 and sequences, and had been continued with varying success, until when they were passing in the darkness of night through the New Forest, Mr. Payne, who had been a heavy loser for some time, had a run of luck. In midst of this exciting play the post-boy, who, in the secluded93 glades94 of the Forest, had managed to lose the road, stopped the chaise and, dismounting, tapped at the window. But so engrossed95 were the two travellers in the cards that they had not noticed that the conveyance was standing96 still, and the post-boy stood tapping there for a long while before he was heard.
‘What on earth do you want?’ angrily asked the winning gambler, indignant at this interruption.
‘Please, sir,’ replied the post-boy, ‘I’ve lost my way.’
‘Then,’ rejoined Mr. Payne, pulling up the window with a bang, ‘come and tell us when you’ve found it, and be damned to you!’
点击收听单词发音
1 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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2 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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3 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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4 intrusive | |
adj.打搅的;侵扰的 | |
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5 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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6 crates | |
n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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7 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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8 footpath | |
n.小路,人行道 | |
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9 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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10 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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11 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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12 artillery | |
n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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13 braces | |
n.吊带,背带;托架( brace的名词复数 );箍子;括弧;(儿童)牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 );撑牢;使自己站稳;振作起来 | |
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14 dangling | |
悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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15 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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16 idyllic | |
adj.质朴宜人的,田园风光的 | |
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17 pandemonium | |
n.喧嚣,大混乱 | |
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18 hordes | |
n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 );部落 | |
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19 hop | |
n.单脚跳,跳跃;vi.单脚跳,跳跃;着手做某事;vt.跳跃,跃过 | |
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20 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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21 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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22 tarpaulins | |
n.防水帆布,防水帆布罩( tarpaulin的名词复数 ) | |
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23 requisites | |
n.必要的事物( requisite的名词复数 ) | |
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24 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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25 antiquated | |
adj.陈旧的,过时的 | |
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26 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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27 portraiture | |
n.肖像画法 | |
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28 conveyance | |
n.(不动产等的)转让,让与;转让证书;传送;运送;表达;(正)运输工具 | |
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29 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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30 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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31 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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32 mimicking | |
v.(尤指为了逗乐而)模仿( mimic的现在分词 );酷似 | |
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33 intonation | |
n.语调,声调;发声 | |
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34 bribery | |
n.贿络行为,行贿,受贿 | |
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35 corruption | |
n.腐败,堕落,贪污 | |
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36 corrupting | |
(使)败坏( corrupt的现在分词 ); (使)腐化; 引起(计算机文件等的)错误; 破坏 | |
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37 subscribes | |
v.捐助( subscribe的第三人称单数 );签署,题词;订阅;同意 | |
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38 bazaars | |
(东方国家的)市场( bazaar的名词复数 ); 义卖; 义卖市场; (出售花哨商品等的)小商品市场 | |
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39 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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40 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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41 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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42 canvassing | |
v.(在政治方面)游说( canvass的现在分词 );调查(如选举前选民的)意见;为讨论而提出(意见等);详细检查 | |
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43 bluff | |
v.虚张声势,用假象骗人;n.虚张声势,欺骗 | |
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44 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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45 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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46 wholesale | |
n.批发;adv.以批发方式;vt.批发,成批出售 | |
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47 metaphorically | |
adv. 用比喻地 | |
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48 venal | |
adj.唯利是图的,贪脏枉法的 | |
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49 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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50 stoic | |
n.坚忍克己之人,禁欲主义者 | |
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51 implicitly | |
adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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52 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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53 inordinate | |
adj.无节制的;过度的 | |
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54 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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55 solicitors | |
初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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56 factions | |
组织中的小派别,派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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57 pollen | |
n.[植]花粉 | |
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58 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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59 partisans | |
游击队员( partisan的名词复数 ); 党人; 党羽; 帮伙 | |
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60 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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61 stilts | |
n.(支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的)桩子,支柱( stilt的名词复数 );高跷 | |
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62 turnips | |
芜青( turnip的名词复数 ); 芜菁块根; 芜菁甘蓝块根; 怀表 | |
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63 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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64 treacle | |
n.糖蜜 | |
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65 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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66 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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67 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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68 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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69 premier | |
adj.首要的;n.总理,首相 | |
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70 writs | |
n.书面命令,令状( writ的名词复数 ) | |
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71 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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72 lulled | |
vt.使镇静,使安静(lull的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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73 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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74 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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75 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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76 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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77 defer | |
vt.推迟,拖延;vi.(to)遵从,听从,服从 | |
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78 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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79 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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80 decadence | |
n.衰落,颓废 | |
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81 impoverished | |
adj.穷困的,无力的,用尽了的v.使(某人)贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 );使(某物)贫瘠或恶化 | |
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82 indignity | |
n.侮辱,伤害尊严,轻蔑 | |
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83 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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84 squires | |
n.地主,乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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85 tedium | |
n.单调;烦闷 | |
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86 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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87 bogey | |
n.令人谈之变色之物;妖怪,幽灵 | |
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88 prank | |
n.开玩笑,恶作剧;v.装饰;打扮;炫耀自己 | |
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89 barter | |
n.物物交换,以货易货,实物交易 | |
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90 rogues | |
n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 );无赖;调皮捣蛋的人;离群的野兽 | |
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91 illuminating | |
a.富于启发性的,有助阐明的 | |
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92 knaves | |
n.恶棍,无赖( knave的名词复数 );(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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93 secluded | |
adj.与世隔绝的;隐退的;偏僻的v.使隔开,使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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94 glades | |
n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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95 engrossed | |
adj.全神贯注的 | |
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96 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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