He wanted very much to go and see his ladylove, but he debated with himself whether he had better. In the first place, it seemed only right and delicate not to intrude13 upon the privacy of father and daughter this last day. It seemed as though he owed this much to Redwood. But then, too, as she did not expect him, he would have to explain the reasons for his coming; and he was loth to tell her the story of what had happened since their leave-taking of last night. It would distress14 and worry her; and would it not, also, reveal a certain weakness, at least a too great impressionability, in himself? Besides, to descend15 to minor16 considerations, with garments dripping wet, he was in no fit state to present himself before her. He would be sure to excite her apprehension17 lest he had caught a cold. Excellent arguments against yielding to his inclination18, unquestionably; notwithstanding which, however, and even while his brain was busy formulating20 them, his muscles of locomotion21, controlled by his unconscious will, were bearing him steadily22 and rapidly toward the quarter of the city in which Christine lived. And by and by, with a good deal of surprise, he found that he had arrived at the corner of Eighth Avenue and Sixty-third Street, and was within eye-shot of Redwood’s door.
Here he halted. The arguments against proceeding23 pressed upon him with renewed force. He cast a longing24 glance over at the house, swallowed his desire, right-about faced, and walked away.
A few strides brought him to the edge of Central Park. He turned in. The park, of course, was deserted25. A single moist and melancholy26 policeman kept guard at the gate. His features betokened27 a gloomy, phlegmatic28 wonder, as Elias, without an umbrella, passed him by.
The air in the park bore a racy, earthy odor, brought out by the rain. The young leaves of the trees, pale green, fluttered in bright contrast against the background of dull gray cloud. The greensward had profited by its bath, and gleamed with a silken luster29. It was very quiet. The pattering of the rain-drops, the rustling30 of the foliage31 in the wind, and now and then the note of a venturesome bird, were the only sounds. Of town noises, there were none. New York might have lain a hundred leagues away. All of which Elias, as he trudged32 along, was dimly but agreeably aware of. It had cost him dear to give up his wish to see his sweetheart; and now he was seeking consolation33 among these leafy pathways, where he and she had so often sauntered side by side, and where every thing vividly34 recalled her. Ere a great while he had reached that pine-topped rock which had been their habitual35 resting-place, and was to be—! He climbed to the summit of it. He had never before been here without her. His heart throbbed36 hard, so strong and so sweet were the memories that thronged37 upon him.
But, standing19 still, he pretty soon began to realize that a wet skin is not after all an unmitigated luxury. He began to feel cold. It occurred to him for the first time that he had perhaps been imprudent, that at any rate he had better go home now, and get into dry clothes. Yet, if he went home, he would have to meet the rabbi again; and, by the by, the rabbi doubtless supposed that he had deliberately38 deceived him—had slipped out of the room on the pretext39 of wanting a glass of water, with the deliberate intention of not coming back. But during his outing he had gained considerable fortitude40; his repugnance41 for the notion of the rabbi’s society had abated42 a good deal; and, looking forward, he thought that he should not find it half so objectionable as he had done a while ago. For the matter of deception43, the rabbi was at liberty to believe whatever he chose. Such deception would have been justifiable44, any how—would have been practiced in self-defense.
He looked at his watch, and saw with astonishment45 that it was three o’clock. He had taken no note of time, but he was surprised to learn that so much had glided46 by. He would have to go home, any way, before long now, to make ready for the evening. Without further delay, he turned his face toward the outlet47 of the park, and marched off at a rapid gait.
He let himself into the house as noiselessly as he could, mounted directly to his bedroom, shot the bolt, and at once set about changing his clothes. But in a very few minutes there came a tap at the door. He knew perfectly48 well who it was: nevertheless, he called out, “Who’s there?”
“I,” answered the rabbi.
“Well, what do you want?”
“I want to see you, You know what I want.”
“Well, I can’t let you in just now. I’m undressed.”
“That makes no difference. I sha’n’t mind that.”
“Oh, but I should mind it.”
The rabbi remained silent for a moment; then, “Do you think it was exactly honorable, the way you acted?” he inquired.
“What way?”
“Telling me an untruth, and then stealing out of the house?”
“I didn’t mean to tell you an untruth. It was an inspiration, after I had left you. Any how, all’s fair in love and war, you know.”
Elias chuckled49 softly to himself.
“What are you laughing at?” the rabbi asked. “I’m not laughing.”
“Well, nothing has happened? You’re all right?”
“Yes; I haven’t been struck by lightning yet.”
“Don’t talk like that, Elias. It’s blasphemous50.” Elias made no answer.
Presently the rabbi said, “Well, aren’t you ready to let me in yet?”
“No.”
“How soon will you be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Five minutes?”
“No, I guess not. I guess not at all.”
“Why not?”
“Because, frankly51, your presence is irksome to me.”
“How so?”
“Oh, I can’t analyze52 it. You make me feel uncomfortable. Put yourself in my place, and you’ll understand.”
“You’re mistaken, Elias. It isn’t I that makes you feel uncomfortable.”
“Who, then?”
“Nobody. It’s your guilty conscience.”
“So? My guilty conscience doesn’t trouble me much, when you’re not around.”
“How about last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, it kept you awake all night, didn’t it?”
“Oh.”
“Well, didn’t it?”
“Gammon. I was busy, making my preparations for this evening.”
“Oh, that reminds me. At what time is it your intention to start?”
“Start?”
“Yes, for the place of the wedding.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“So as to be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To start with you.”
“Good heavens! You don’t mean to say that you expect to go with me to the wedding?”
“Certainly.”
“O, well, really, I can’t let you.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t let you make a scene there. You may plague me as much as you like. But I can’t have any disturbance53 at the wedding.”
“You ought to know me well enough not to fear my making a disturbance. I’m not in the habit of making disturbances54.”
“Well, then, what do you want to go for?”
“Simply to be there.”
“But I thought—I thought my own going was to be prevented.”
“Oh, no, I never said that. You may be suffered to go. It is the performance of the wedding ceremony that will be prevented.”
“Oh, then you think the ‘moment of my need’ has been put off a little?”
“I don’t know. I say, you may be permitted to continue straight up to the brink55, but before the marriage is consummated56, the Lord will interfere57.”
“His confidence is weakening,” thought Elias, and held his tongue.
“Well?” questioned the rabbi.
“Well, what?”
“At what hour shall I be ready?”
“You promise not to make a row?”
“You needn’t be afraid.”
“And to conduct yourself exactly as though you were an ordinary guest?”
“I generally conduct myself as a gentleman, don’t I?”
“Well, then, I mean to leave here at a quarter before eight.”
“All right,” said the rabbi; “and now it is a quarter after four. Since you refuse to let me in, I’ll go and sit in my own bedroom. I might catch cold, standing here in the hall. Call me if any thing should happen.”
For the sake of killing58 time, Elias dawdled59 as long as he could over his toilet. When, at length, it was completed, he picked up a book, and, seating himself at the window, tried to read. But it was no use. His mind wandered. The thought of his wedding was the only thought that he could keep fast hold of. He was very much excited and very impatient. He wished heartily60 that it was over and done with, and thus all room for doubt or accident excluded. He wondered how he would manage to survive the remaining hours. What a pity that he had not left something till the last moment to be attended to. Then he would have had an occupation. But, unfortunately, every arrangement was complete. He had packed all his trunks, and sent them off to the steamer. A shawl-strap and a hand-satchel were the only luggage not thus disposed of; and these, also, were packed and locked. Well, he must busy himself with something; and so by and by he proceeded slowly to unpack61 the hand-satchel, and thereupon forthwith to pack it over again. He had about finished, when the dinner-bell rang. That meant half-past six.
The dinner-bell sounded musically in Elias’s ears, partly because he thought that he was hungry, chiefly because the process of dining would consume a certain quantity of time.
He found the rabbi already established at the table. He observed, with a half contemptuous, half annoyed, sense of its childishness, that the rabbi had discarded his customary white cravat62 for a black one—a thing which he never did except when he had a funeral to conduct.
The two men covered their heads. The rabbi intoned his grace. The servant brought in the eatables. Elias asked her to go out to the livery-stable, and order a carriage for a quarter to eight. She had been employed in the Bacharach household as long as Elias could remember, this servant, Maggie. Now she felt entitled to display a little friendly curiosity.
“Excuse me,” said she, “for asking; but is it true, Mr. Elias, that you’re going to get married to-night?”
Elias was about to answer, when the rabbi interposed:
“Who has been putting such a notion into your head? Of course, it isn’t true. When Mr. Elias gets married, you shall be invited to the wedding, Maggie.”
Elias did not care to join his uncle in debate. Maggie went off upon her errand. They dined without speaking. The gentle clink of their knives and forks sounded painfully distinct.
Elias’s excitement, his nervousness, his impatience63, were constantly becoming more intense. At every unexpected noise, no matter how slight or how commonplace, at every footstep in the hall, at every clatter64 of dishes in the kitchen, at every gust65 of wind upon the window-pane, he started and caught his breath. He felt his heart alternately growing hot and cold. Now it would leap with joy, at the thought of what was so near at hand; now it would cease beating, in spasmodic terror of some unknown calamity66. It began to gallop67 tempestuously68, when at last Elias heard the carriage rattle69 up, and stop before the house. “Oh,” he told himself, “it’s only the way any man in my place would feel. One doesn’t get married every day in the week.” His cheeks burned. His mouth was dry and feverish70. His hands gave off a cold perspiration71, and they shook like those of an old man.
The rabbi entered the carriage. Elias, having instructed the coachman where to drive, followed. The carriage moved off.
“At a church?” questioned the rabbi.
“No; at their house,” replied Elias.
“A large affair? Many guests?”
“Very few. Perhaps twenty-five or thirty. Their friends.”
“That’s good. It would be a pity to have a crowd.”
After which both held their peace. Elias leaned back in his seat, and looked out of the window.
Now, not only his hands, but all his limbs, were trembling, quaking, as if he had the ague. He gritted72 his teeth firmly together to keep them from chattering73. In his breast he was conscious of a vague, palpitating pain, very like extreme fear. He tried hard, but vainly, to exercise his will and his intelligence. In his brain all was bewilderment and confusion. Mechanically, he repeated to himself, “It is as every man in my place would feel.” But he did not believe it. His condition mystified him completely. He was suffering miserably74. One thought alone rode clear above the mental hurricane: “Thank God, it will soon be over.” Meanwhile, in a dull, sick way, he was looking out of the window, and observing the progress of the carriage. Onward75, onward, they were jolting76, through the wet streets, where the sidewalks, like inky mirrors, gave back distorted images of the street lamps; past blazing shop-fronts, past jingling77 horse-cars, past solitary78 foot-passengers; ever nearer and nearer to their destination; and that sinking in his breast, and that uproar79 in his brain, ever growing more marked, more painful, more perplexing. A happy bridegroom driving to his wedding! More like a doomed80 criminal driving to the place of expiation81. Presently they reached the great circle at the junction82 of Fifty-ninth Street and Eighth Avenue. Elias drew a long, deep breath, clenched83 his fists, straightened up, by a huge effort mustered84 a little self-possession, and announced faintly, “Well, we’re almost there.” To his bewildered senses, his own voice sounded unfamiliar85 and far away.
A few seconds of acute suspense86, and the carriage came to a stand-still in front of Redwood’s door.
“Well,” began the rabbi, as Elias made no movement, “is this the house?”
“Yes.”
“Well, sha’n’t we get out?”
“Yes, of course. But first, let me tell you. You go right into the parlor87—at the left as we enter. I’ll go straight up-stairs. For God’s sake, remember your promise. Don’t—don’t make any disturbance here.”
They got out of the carriage, and climbed the stoop, over which an awning88 had been erected89. The door was opened by a negro, in dress-suit and white gloves. The rabbi, pursuant to Elias’s request, turned at once into the parlor, where already a half-dozen early arrivals were assembled. Elias, bearing the rabbi’s hat and overcoat, hurried up the staircase to the room that had been set apart for him. There, having slammed the door behind him, he flung himself into an easy-chair, took his head between his hands, closed his eyes, and strove with might and main to summon a little strength, a little composure.
“There is no more chance of its taking place, than there is of the sun’s failing to rise to-morrow morning”—that phrase had begun again to ring hideously90 in his ears.
Pretty soon he became aware that he was no longer alone. Somebody had entered the room, and was speaking to him. He looked up. Dazed and dizzy, as if through a veil, he saw old Redwood standing before him.
“Did you speak? What did you say?” he asked.
“I said how-d’ye-do,” answered Redwood. “You look sort of rattled91. What’s the matter with you?”
“Oh, nothing. I’m very well, thank you. How—where is Christine?”
“Oh, she’s busy making her toilet—she and her friends. They’ve been at it pretty much all the afternoon. But, I say, brace92 up. Would you like something to drink?”
“No. Much obliged, but I—I’m all right. Only a little excited you know.”
“And, by the way, who was that old party that came in with ye—black and white?”
“Black and white?”
“Yes—black hair, white face—black tie, white collar—looks like a parson, and like an Israelite, at the same time.”
“Oh, that’s my uncle—Dr. Gedaza.”
“You don’t say so! So he’s come around, has he? Relented, and got reconciled? Well, I must go down stairs, and clasp his fist.”
“No; don’t please. That is, I wouldn’t if I were you. Better let him alone,” said Elias.
“Why, man alive, why not? Mustn’t I do the honors of the house?”
“Yes; but he—he’s sort of eccentric. I wouldn’t pay any attention to him. It might get him started, you understand.”
“Oh, well, you know him, I suppose; and if you say so, all right. But it don’t seem just the thing not to bid him welcome. You’ll have to excuse me, any how, now. The guests are arriving right along, and I must be on deck to receive ’em.”
Old Redwood departed. Elias felt rather better—less feverish and excited, but somewhat dull and weak.
In a few minutes Redwood reappeared.
“Come,” he cried. “Chris is ready—waiting for ye.”
Elias’s heart bounding fiercely, he rose, and followed the old man through the hall into the front room. Christine advanced to meet him, a vision of dazzling whiteness. “Oh, I’m so afraid,” she whispered, as he folded her in his arms. Then, after he had released her, “Here, dear,” she said, and plucked a rosebud93 from her bouquet94, and pinned it into his button-hole. Her fingers trembled. A truant95 wisp of golden hair lightly brushed his cheek.
“Now, children,” said old Redwood, “you understand the programme, do ye? I go in first, and stand up alongside the parson. You follow about a minute after, Christine leaning on Elias’s left arm. Now the sooner you’re ready the better. Shall I start?”
“Yes,” they answered.
He kissed his daughter, wrung96 Elias’s hand, and left the room.
The clergyman stood between the front parlor windows. At a distance of two or three yards, the guests formed an irregular horse-shoe. There were a few young girls in bright colors, a few young men in white waistcoats and swallow-tails. The rest were elderly folk, the women in black silks, the men in black frock-coats. A goodly quantity of cut flowers, distributed about the room, refreshed the hot, close air.
There was a low buzz of conversation—which, however, abruptly97 subsided98, as the door opened, and old Redwood marched gravely up, and took his position at the clergyman’s right hand.
The inevitable99 hush100 of expectancy101. All eyes focused upon the door. Through which, next instant, entered the bridal couple, and walked slowly forward to where they were awaited.
“Dearly beloved,” solemnly began the minister, “we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony”—and continued to the end of his preliminary address.
After a brief pause, he proceeded: “Elias, wilt102 thou have this woman, Christine, to thy wedded103 wife, to live together after God’s ordinance104 in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking105 al! others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”—and again paused, waiting for Elias to respond.
A crimson106 flush suffused107 Elias’s face, then, in an instant, faded to an intense waxen pallor. A film, a glassiness, appeared to form over the pupils of his eyes. His lips parted and twisted convulsively, writhing108, as if in a desperate struggle to shape the expected words. Suddenly he threw his arm up into the air; a stifled109, broken groan110 burst from his throat; he fell backward, head foremost, full length upon the floor, and lay there rigid111, lifeless.
For a moment a breathless, startled stillness among the people. Then a quick outbreak of voices, and an eager pressing forward toward the spot where Elias had fallen.
Christine for a breathing-space remained motionless, aghast. All at once, “Oh, my God! He is dead—dead!” she cried, an agonized112, heart-piercing cry, and sank upon her knees beside him, and flung herself sobbing114 upon his breast.
Parrot-like, the guests caught up her cry, and repeated it in low, awed115 tones among themselves: “He is dead. He has dropped down dead.”
The poor minister looked very badly scared, and as though he felt it incumbent116 upon him to say or to do something, without knowing what.
At first old Redwood himself had started back, completely staggered. But he very speedily recovered his presence of mind.
“Oh, no, he ain’t dead either,” he called out.
“He’s got a fit or something. Hey, Dr. Whipple, down there! Come up here—will ye?—and see what ye can do.”
The person thus appealed to, a tall old gentleman, with iron-gray hair, had gradually been elbowing his way to the front; and before Redwood had fairly spoken his last word, was bending over Elias, and gazing curiously117 at his face.
Close upon the doctor’s heels came the rabbi. The rabbi’s countenance118 wore a strangely inappropriate smile—one would have said, a smile of satisfaction.
“Well, doctor?” questioned Redwood.
“Oh, doctor, doctor,” cried Christine, looking up through her tears, “is—is he—?”
“No, no, my child,” answered the doctor, kindly119. “He’ll be as well as ever in an hour or two—only a bit head-achey and shaken up. There’s no occasion for any alarm at all.” Turning to Redwood: “It’s epilepsy. Does he have these attacks often?”
“I’m blamed if I knew he had them at all,” said Redwood. “How is it about that?” he asked, addressing the rabbi.
“He has never been troubled this way before,” the rabbi replied.
“Perhaps it’s in his family?” questioned the doctor.
“Perhaps. I don’t know,” the rabbi answered, though he did know perfectly well that Elias’s father had died in an epileptic fit; a fact, by the way, of which Elias himself was ignorant.
“Brought on, then, by nervous excitement, worry, loss of sleep, or what not, I suppose. It will be interesting to note whether he ever has another,” the medical man concluded.
Christine, upon receiving the doctor’s assurance that her lover was in no danger of death, had begun anew to sob113 upon his breast, more violently, if possible, than at first.
The clergyman had retired120 to the back parlor, and was discoursing121 of the mishap122 to a bevy123 of gaping124 guests.
“He turned as red, madam, as red as a beet,” the clergyman declared, “and then as white—as white as your handkerchief, and frothed at the mouth. I never saw a person turn so white—positively livid. Conceive my feelings. I was really very much pained, and very apprehensive125. I thought certainly that it was heart-disease, and that he was about to breathe his last. I can’t tell you how distressing126 it is, to have such a thing occur in the midst of such a joyful127 occasion. It has given my nerves a most serious shock.”
His auditors128 murmured sympathetically.
“Well, doctor, what’s to be done? Can you fetch him around?” Redwood asked.
“Oh,” the doctor said, “he’ll come around naturally in a little while—an hour or two, at the furthest. I think that we had better carry him to another room, where it will be quieter and cooler and away from the people.”
“No,” put in the rabbi; “if you will help me get him into the carriage, I’ll take him home.”
“Why,” exclaimed Redwood, “if you do that we’ll have to postpone129 the wedding.”
“Yes, I shouldn’t wonder,” concurred130 the rabbi.
“But then—there’ll be the very deuce to pay. Here are these guests assembled, and supper prepared, and their passage engaged on to-morrow’s steamer, and their trunks gone aboard, by George, and every thing in apple-pie order; and take it all around, you couldn’t make a more awkward proposition.”
“Add to which,” interposed the medical man, “that in his present condition, a carriage-drive, and the jolting up which it would involve, are just the things that might do him the most injury.”
“I’m sorry,” the rabbi said; “but being his only relative here, I feel myself responsible for him, and must act as my own judgment131 directs. I shall thank you, therefore, if you will assist me in carrying him to our carriage.”
“I’ll be hanged,” cried Redwood, “if I think it’s decent for you to step in here, and knock all our plans into a cocked hat, like that. And, any how, didn’t you hear the doctor say that a carriage drive would hurt him?”
“And yet,” volunteered the doctor, “if the gentleman insists, Mr. Redwood, it will be wiser to let him have his own way. A dispute, you know, under the circumstances, is hardly desirable.”
“I do insist. I feel in duty bound to,” said the rabbi.
“Well, you’ve got a mighty132 queer sense of duty, then,” retorted Redwood; “and you can bet your life that when Elias comes to, he’ll be as mad as jingo. But if you choose to take the responsibility on your own shoulders, go ahead.”
When Christine saw that they were about to bear Elias from the room, she demanded eagerly, almost fiercely, whither? And upon being informed that the rabbi meant to carry him home, she passionately133 besought134 the old man not to do it; imploring135 him to let her sweetheart remain where he was, at least till he should have regained136 his senses; and pleading that until then she could not help fearing the worst.
“Oh, sir—please—please don’t take him away from me. How shall I rest, until he has come to, and spoken to me? Oh, I can’t—I can’t bear to have you take him away, like that. If you would-only leave him till he can speak to me! What shall I do, all night long, not knowing whether he is sick—or dead—or what, and—and always seeing him before me, that way? Oh, there, there! They are taking him away. Oh, Elias! Oh, sir! Oh, God, God! Oh, what shall I do?”
She might as well have addressed her entreaties137 to a stone. Neither by gesture, nor by word of mouth, nor by variation of feature, did the rabbi signify that he had even heard her voice, or was even aware of her existence. The carriage drove away, leaving Christine in a paroxysm of frantic138 grief.
“Well,” remarked old Redwood to Dr. Whipple, “I’ve heard tell of bowels139 of mercy; but actually, that old Hebrew there, he must have bowels of brass140.”
点击收听单词发音
1 elasticity | |
n.弹性,伸缩力 | |
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2 compliant | |
adj.服从的,顺从的 | |
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3 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 | |
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4 fibers | |
光纤( fiber的名词复数 ); (织物的)质地; 纤维,纤维物质 | |
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5 vestige | |
n.痕迹,遗迹,残余 | |
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6 disquiet | |
n.担心,焦虑 | |
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7 lurking | |
潜在 | |
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8 exasperation | |
n.愤慨 | |
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9 realization | |
n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
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10 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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11 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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12 vistas | |
长条形景色( vista的名词复数 ); 回顾; 展望; (未来可能发生的)一系列情景 | |
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13 intrude | |
vi.闯入;侵入;打扰,侵扰 | |
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14 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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15 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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16 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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17 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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18 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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19 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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20 formulating | |
v.构想出( formulate的现在分词 );规划;确切地阐述;用公式表示 | |
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21 locomotion | |
n.运动,移动 | |
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22 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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23 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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24 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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25 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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26 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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27 betokened | |
v.预示,表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28 phlegmatic | |
adj.冷静的,冷淡的,冷漠的,无活力的 | |
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29 luster | |
n.光辉;光泽,光亮;荣誉 | |
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30 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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31 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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32 trudged | |
vt.& vi.跋涉,吃力地走(trudge的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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33 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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34 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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35 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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36 throbbed | |
抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 ); (心脏、脉搏等)跳动 | |
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37 thronged | |
v.成群,挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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39 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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40 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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41 repugnance | |
n.嫌恶 | |
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42 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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43 deception | |
n.欺骗,欺诈;骗局,诡计 | |
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44 justifiable | |
adj.有理由的,无可非议的 | |
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45 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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46 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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47 outlet | |
n.出口/路;销路;批发商店;通风口;发泄 | |
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48 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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49 chuckled | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50 blasphemous | |
adj.亵渎神明的,不敬神的 | |
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51 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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52 analyze | |
vt.分析,解析 (=analyse) | |
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53 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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54 disturbances | |
n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 );打扰;困扰;障碍 | |
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55 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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56 consummated | |
v.使结束( consummate的过去式和过去分词 );使完美;完婚;(婚礼后的)圆房 | |
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57 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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58 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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59 dawdled | |
v.混(时间)( dawdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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61 unpack | |
vt.打开包裹(或行李),卸货 | |
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62 cravat | |
n.领巾,领结;v.使穿有领结的服装,使结领结 | |
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63 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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64 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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65 gust | |
n.阵风,突然一阵(雨、烟等),(感情的)迸发 | |
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66 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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67 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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68 tempestuously | |
adv.剧烈地,暴风雨似地 | |
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69 rattle | |
v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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70 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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71 perspiration | |
n.汗水;出汗 | |
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72 gritted | |
v.以沙砾覆盖(某物),撒沙砾于( grit的过去式和过去分词 );咬紧牙关 | |
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73 chattering | |
n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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74 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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75 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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76 jolting | |
adj.令人震惊的 | |
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77 jingling | |
叮当声 | |
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78 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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79 uproar | |
n.骚动,喧嚣,鼎沸 | |
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80 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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81 expiation | |
n.赎罪,补偿 | |
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82 junction | |
n.连接,接合;交叉点,接合处,枢纽站 | |
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83 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84 mustered | |
v.集合,召集,集结(尤指部队)( muster的过去式和过去分词 );(自他人处)搜集某事物;聚集;激发 | |
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85 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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86 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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87 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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88 awning | |
n.遮阳篷;雨篷 | |
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89 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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90 hideously | |
adv.可怕地,非常讨厌地 | |
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91 rattled | |
慌乱的,恼火的 | |
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92 brace | |
n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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93 rosebud | |
n.蔷薇花蕾,妙龄少女 | |
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94 bouquet | |
n.花束,酒香 | |
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95 truant | |
n.懒惰鬼,旷课者;adj.偷懒的,旷课的,游荡的;v.偷懒,旷课 | |
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96 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) | |
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97 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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98 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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99 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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100 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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101 expectancy | |
n.期望,预期,(根据概率统计求得)预期数额 | |
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102 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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103 wedded | |
adj.正式结婚的;渴望…的,执著于…的v.嫁,娶,(与…)结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104 ordinance | |
n.法令;条令;条例 | |
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105 forsaking | |
放弃( forsake的现在分词 ); 弃绝; 抛弃; 摒弃 | |
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106 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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107 suffused | |
v.(指颜色、水气等)弥漫于,布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108 writhing | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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109 stifled | |
(使)窒息, (使)窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 ); 镇压,遏制; 堵 | |
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110 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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111 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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112 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 | |
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113 sob | |
n.空间轨道的轰炸机;呜咽,哭泣 | |
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114 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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115 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116 incumbent | |
adj.成为责任的,有义务的;现任的,在职的 | |
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117 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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118 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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119 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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120 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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121 discoursing | |
演说(discourse的现在分词形式) | |
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122 mishap | |
n.不幸的事,不幸;灾祸 | |
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123 bevy | |
n.一群 | |
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124 gaping | |
adj.口的;张口的;敞口的;多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 );张开,张大 | |
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125 apprehensive | |
adj.担心的,恐惧的,善于领会的 | |
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126 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
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127 joyful | |
adj.欢乐的,令人欢欣的 | |
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128 auditors | |
n.审计员,稽核员( auditor的名词复数 );(大学课程的)旁听生 | |
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129 postpone | |
v.延期,推迟 | |
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130 concurred | |
同意(concur的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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131 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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132 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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133 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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134 besought | |
v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的过去式和过去分词 );(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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135 imploring | |
恳求的,哀求的 | |
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136 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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137 entreaties | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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138 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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139 bowels | |
n.肠,内脏,内部;肠( bowel的名词复数 );内部,最深处 | |
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140 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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