Silver-gray dome4, campanile, and spire5 gleamed through the golden haze6 that hung over the enchanted7 city. A great stillness was over all–only the ripple8 of Pietro’s lazy oar9, and faintly, very faintly, bells chiming.
“I have dreamed of it,” said Jacqueline. “Only the dreams were such futile10 things compared with the reality. I close my eyes. I open them quickly. I am afraid it will all be blown away, vanish in a single moment. But there it is, your dear, dear Venice–the green garden away up there; the white Riva, basking11 in the sunlight; the rosy12 palace; and the red and orange sails, drifting slowly along. We shall return to the Piazza13 presently, and St. Mark’s will be 2there, and the pigeons, and the white palaces. Oh, there is not a false note to destroy the perfect charm of Venice, not one.”
I aroused myself. While Jacqueline had been intoxicated14 with the beauty of Venice, I had been intoxicated with the beauty of Jacqueline. I must say something, and something prosaic15, or I should be forgetting myself.
“Oh, favored of the gods,” I murmured, “to be dead to unpleasant sights and sounds. And yet, not in Paradise, not even in this Paradise, are they quite shut out. Look, there is a penny steamer making its blatant16 way from the Molo to the Giudecca. And that far-off rumble17 is the express crossing the long bridge from Mestre. And, whew, that’s the twelve-o’clock whistle at the Arsenal18. There you have three notes of progress and civilization in this city of dead dreams and dead hopes.”
Jacqueline turned in her seat and looked at me curiously19.
“My dear Richard, will you answer me one question?”
“Gladly, if it is not too difficult. But don’t forget, Jacqueline, Venice is not exactly an intellectual center.”
“Then tell me, please, why it is that when you were in New York, hardly two months ago, you 3talked so charmingly of your Venetian skies and still lagoons20 that you quite made me long for them. But now, when I am at last under one of your wonderful skies and on your wonderful lagoon, instead of helping21 me to love it all, and sympathizing with me, you insist on the horrible things that clash–things I would so gladly forget for the happy moment.”
“Because,” I answered gravely, “I must not allow myself to forget that one happy moment is not a lifetime.”
“Really, I don’t understand you.“
She looked at me frankly23–too frankly–that was the trouble. I hesitated. In spite of the flimsy excuses her aunt had suspiciously erected24, I had brought Jacqueline alone with me here to tell her why I must not allow myself to love her; and, I may add, to hear her laugh to delicious scorn my reasons. And yet I hesitated. Sometimes I felt she cared for me. But if I answered her question truthfully, I risked a cruel awakening25.
“Do you know how long I have been living in Venice?” I asked presently, with apparent irrelevance26.
“Three years, is it not?”
“That is a long time to be dreaming and loafing, isn’t it?”
4“Yes.” Her eyes looked gravely out on the lagoon.
“And it seems to you hardly a manly27, strenuous28 life for a man of–shall we say–thirty years of age, to spend three years rocking himself to sleep, as it were, in a gondola?”
“No,” she laughed nervously29; “hardly a strenuous life.”
“Such a life as that,” I persisted, “must contrast rather unfavorably with the lives of men you know in New York, for example?”
“I suppose one may spend one’s life well even here in Venice.”
I laughed rather bitterly.
“One gets up at ten,” I murmured. “One has coffee in bed, and dawdles30 over the papers. A gentle, gentle walk till twelve–to the garden, perhaps–oh, you can walk miles in Venice, though most tourists think not. At twelve, breakfast at Florian’s on the Piazza. A long smoke, perhaps a row to the Lido and a swim, if it is summer. At five another long smoke and incidentally a long drink on the Piazza again, and the band. At seven, dinner at the Grundewald, a momentous31 affair, when one hesitates ten minutes over the menu. Then another long smoke out in the lagoon, under the stars, with the lights of Venice in the distance, and in the distance, too, 5the herd32 of tourists, splitting their gloves in ecstasy33 over the efforts of the tenor34 robusto under the balconies of the Grand Hotel. And then, wicked, dreamless slumber35. The next morning, the same thing over again.”
Jacqueline gasped36. She looked at me with a curious intentness, and I was uneasy under her gaze. I knew she was noting quite ruthlessly that I was getting fat.
“It is difficult to keep quite fit in Venice,” I pleaded.
“And you really have done that for three years,” she said at last, almost in admiration37. It was as if I were a strange animal doing clever tricks.
“For three years, barring flights to New York and London in January and February, and a few weeks in the Tyrol during July and August,” I answered steadily38.
“And you really like it?” she asked, still wonderingly.
“I can never imagine myself liking39 it again. I have despised myself since last Tuesday.”
“Since last Tuesday!” she echoed, and then blushed. It was on Tuesday that Jacqueline and her aunt had arrived in Venice. “But you are not answering my first question.”
“I am answering it in a roundabout way,” I 6replied dreamily. Then quite abruptly40, “You didn’t know me until I was at Oxford41, did you?”
“No.”
“I was sent to Eton when I was a sickly, timid little chap of fourteen. I had had a lonely life of it in New York. My mother was so afraid I should have a good time like other boys, and shout and play and talk with an American accent, that she chained me to a priggish English tutor, who took me for solemn walks in the park for recreation. I was hardly any better off than the pale-faced little idiots you see marching about Rome and Palermo two by two, dressed up in ridiculous uniforms of broadcloth, and carrying canes–not so well off, for there are many of them, and only one slovenly42 priest. But my keeper had me all to himself. Think of it, I never held a baseball in my little fist. Imagine that kind of a youngster set down in the midst of half a thousand lusty young English schoolboys, and an American at that.”
“Poor little homesick boy,” she murmured. “And then?”
“Just five years of being shunned43 and moping and long solitary44 rows on the river, and dreams bad for a boy of my years–just a long stretch of that sort of thing, that was my life at the public school.
7“At Oxford it was pretty much the same. I pulled through in a listless sort of fashion and got my degree. But the habits of boyhood told now. I found it harder than ever to get into things. I found myself more and more the mere45 spectator of life–not a happy existence, nor a good foundation for an American to begin the duties of life with.”
“I should think not,” said Jacqueline severely46. If she had pity for the lonely little boy, she had no mercy for the man. “And so because you idled through college and liked it, you came here to Venice to idle away the rest of your life?” she asked with some scorn.
“Well, it was hardly so deliberate as that,” I said patiently. “No, I went back to America, and for the first time came face to face with my father. At least it was the first time that he had taken the trouble to speak to me in a heart-to-heart sort of way. You know my father well, so I needn’t expatiate47 on his virtues48.”
Jacqueline smiled. But no malice49 hovered50 on her lips as on mine. American women are supposed to demand much of their husbands and fathers. But at least they respect the husbands and fathers who toil51 that they may play. So she answered primly52:
“I have always found your father a most interesting 8man, I know he loves you in his way. That you have so little ambition is the bitter disappointment of his life. He has often spoken of you to me.”
“Yes, yes,” I said hurriedly, “no doubt he loves me in his own fashion. But we hardly understand each other. The morning after I landed from England, after I had taken my degree, he called me into his office and asked me without any preliminaries what I thought I was fit for. I told him that I really hadn’t any idea. He thumped54 his great fist on his desk and roared: ‘So far, young man, your mother has had her turn. She’s mammied you, and made a fool of you with your English education and English accent. Now it’s my turn. Go back to Germany. Stay there two years and come back a chemist. I want you to help me in the factory.’
“I never dreamed of opposing him. I was rather relieved to get out of his presence. So I took the check that he handed to me, and shook him dutifully by the hand. ‘Good-by,’ he said, ‘and when I say a chemist, I mean a good chemist. If you aren’t that, you needn’t bother to come back at all.’ The next morning I engaged passage for Bremen.”
“The rest I know about,” said Jacqueline looking at her watch.
9“I dare say, only I should like you to understand it from my point of view. I went to Berlin. My name was entered on the roll of students of the university. I drank a lot of beer, but I studied very little chemistry. At the end of my two years’ probation55, I began to think with apprehension56 of my father’s parting words: ‘And a good chemist, or you needn’t trouble to come back.’
“And then, one day, when I was quite at a loss what to do, I received word that my mother had died suddenly. She left me a small fortune.
“I dreaded57 more than ever to return to my father. Why should I? I began to ask myself. Why should I? echoed my one friend.
“This friend was a wizened58, eccentric, boastful little man, but with an undying enthusiasm for the rare and the beautiful. He spoke53 cunning words to entice59 me: ‘Your father’s idea of a successful life is one of work and yet more work–of tasks and habits that bind60 one more and more inexorably as the years go on. This is not success at all, but the direst failure. A life made up of habits and tasks that safely steer61 one through one’s existence, minute by minute, is a life with all the excitement and keen delight and ecstasy left out. To live such a life is to be a machine and no man.
10“‘Come,’ he said, ‘with me to Venice. I will show you how to live. Why should you go back to America and the hideous62? There are millions of fools to labor63 doggedly–to keep the world a-going–why should you be dragged into the ranks of the slaves to the lash22? There are thousands to agonize64 and strive, to create the beautiful–and to fail, terribly. Why should you be dragged into the ranks of those slaves to an ideal? There are hundreds to make the world better. Why should you be a slave to conscience? But there are so few to make a fine art of living. Be one of them. Enjoy perfectly65. Enjoy wisely. Life may be for you something so rare and beautiful that the horrible and the vulgar shall not exist for you.’ I listened to him. I came to Venice. Here I am.”
“There is something rather fine about it all,” said Jacqueline wistfully. “But there’s sophistry66 somewhere. And it seems brutally67 selfish.”
“Sophistry! Selfish! How subtle the sophistry and selfishness I alone can tell. Dear Jacqueline, I had left one thing out of my calculations in building this fool’s paradise.”
“And that?” Jacqueline looked troubled. I know she pitied me.
“I had forgotten that one may love.”
I leaned over toward her. Regardless of 11Pietro, who, I knew, was squinting68 through the red and white striped awning, I took her hand. “Dear Jacqueline, do you think that it is too late for me to begin again?”
Jacqueline was silent. She withdrew her hand gently. I had felt it tremble in mine.
“Do you see now that I am answering your question?” I asked. “When I was in New York, and knew at last that I should always love you, I had to keep reminding myself that this was my world. I had set before myself an ideal. I must be faithful to it. So, now, when you are in Venice, I have tried to remind myself just as strongly that you come from the world of the penny steamboat and factory–a workaday world–a relentless69 world. In that world men tear and rend70 one another for a name, for a position. Each one is for himself, ruthless of others, unscrupulous often. Each one strives madly for something that is just out of his reach. That is the world you come from. I have reminded myself of it over and over. But it’s no use. I can’t keep silent. I must speak. Jacqueline, I love you.”
She sat motionless. Her eyes looked out on the lagoon. Then she clasped her knees, and looked at me with a curious intentness. When she did speak, it was so slowly, so decisively that her words sounded like an inexorable fate.
12“My dear Richard, you are an extraordinary man. You are one of the rare specimens71 who hold a perfectly impossible ideal. When you fail to attain72 that ideal, you frankly abandon yourself to materialism73–a materialism that smothers74 you. You have not even attempted to play the man. It is incredible that you should deliberately75 lay yourself down to loll on a flowery bed of ease for three years. Your very last words about my poor world show how great a gulf76 is fixed77 between you and me. Yes, I am of that world. I glory in it. But you sneer78 at the very qualities you lack. That is so easy, and, forgive me, so weak. You call my poor world ruthless. But often ruthlessness, yes, and unscrupulousness even, go with strength. The man I love must have a touch of this relentlessness79 you despise. Better that he be unscrupulous than weak. And as for patience, surely to be greatly patient is to be greatly strong. But you, my dear Dick, you area piece of bric-à-brac, you and your ideals. You should be under a glass case. You are too précieux for the struggle in the world you shrink from. Return your love? Impossible. You have done nothing to deserve it.”
I could not speak. She had told me the truth. Presently she looked at me. Then she touched my arm lightly.
13“I have hurt you,” she pleaded.
“Well, why not?” I answered roughly. “It is the truth. But, Jacqueline, is your answer quite final? If I plunge80 into this struggle–if I show you that I too can strive and achieve things for the woman I love, if not for myself, will you let me tell you again that I love you?”
“Can the leopard81 change his spots?” she asked lightly.
“That remains82 to be seen. Let me prove to you that I am not merely the dilettante83 that you see on the surface. If I have not cared to succeed before, perhaps it was because there was nothing or no one to work for. If I show you that I really have those qualities that you demand and think I lack, will you let me tell you again that I love you?”
“What could you do to show that?” asked Jacqueline softly.
“I could go back to New York to-morrow. I could join my father in business.”
“To New York to-morrow!” she said in dismay.
“Yes,” I cried joyously84. I had caught the note of dismay.
“But I dare not advise you to do that. I could not take that responsibility unless I loved you. 14I do not love you. But if you are not fitted for business, you would surely fail.”
“Would you discourage me in the attempt to do what you have condemned85 me for not doing?” I asked with impatience86.
“It may be that here in Venice is a task.”
“In Venice? Impossible.”
“You told me the other day that you had once thought of writing up the legends of Venice. You said they had really never been done well. Why not attempt that?”
“Oh, that!” I exclaimed discontentedly.
“And why not?”
“It must be an entire change of life–of habits and ambition and tastes. Why not attempt something big while I am about it?”
“My dear Richard,” insisted Jacqueline gently, “it makes no difference how obscure one’s task is. It may be even a useless task, only one must show patience and strength in the performance of it.”
“Jacqueline, you are giving me hope.”
She held up her gloved hand, smiling.
“No, I give you no hope. Nor do I give you reason to despair. I do not love you, now. I could not love such a one as you. Whether I could love you if you were different–if you had ambition and stamina–I can not tell.”
15“I shall yet make you love me, Jacqueline.”
Our eyes met for one instant, then hers fell before my steady gaze.
“Will you please tell the gondolier to row faster? I shall be late for luncheon87, and I have an appointment at three.”
“Then I sha’n’t see you this afternoon?”
“Perhaps. If you care to accompany my aunt and myself on a little expedition.”
“I shall be delighted. And where?”
“To an old Venetian palace on the Grand Canal. We are to inspect it from garret to basement. A dealer88 in antiquities89 is to take us there. He is to buy the contents of the palace as they stand. You know my aunt, Mrs. Gordon, is never so happy as when buying some useless piece of bric-à-brac.”
“Beware of the dealer in bric-à-brac here in Venice. He is a Jew, your dealer–be sure of that.”
“Oh, no, he is not. Aunt and I know him well. He is an American.”
“His name?”
“St. Hilary. He has an immense shop on Fifth Avenue.”
“St. Hilary!” I exclaimed, “and he is here in Venice!”
“Do you know him?”
16“Why, this St. Hilary is the man I told you of,” I answered slowly, “who first charmed me into coming to Venice. He is responsible for my wasting these past three years. I feel a grudge90 against him for that. He owes me some reparation. Yes; I shall be interested in seeing your palace with St. Hilary as guide. When shall I meet you?”
“Outside Florian’s, on the Piazza at three. But you have not yet aroused your gondolier.”
I poked91 Pietro with my walking-stick. Pietro flung away his cigarette and bent92 to his oar. The gondola, like a thing of life, leaped joyously toward the Molo.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
gondola
|
|
| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
lagoon
|
|
| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
awning
|
|
| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
dome
|
|
| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
spire
|
|
| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
haze
|
|
| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
ripple
|
|
| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
oar
|
|
| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
futile
|
|
| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
basking
|
|
| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
piazza
|
|
| n.广场；走廊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
intoxicated
|
|
| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
prosaic
|
|
| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
blatant
|
|
| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
rumble
|
|
| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
arsenal
|
|
| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
lagoons
|
|
| n.污水池( lagoon的名词复数 )；潟湖；（大湖或江河附近的）小而浅的淡水湖；温泉形成的池塘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
lash
|
|
| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
ERECTED
|
|
| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
awakening
|
|
| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
irrelevance
|
|
| n.无关紧要；不相关；不相关的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
strenuous
|
|
| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
dawdles
|
|
| v.混（时间）( dawdle的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
momentous
|
|
| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
herd
|
|
| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
tenor
|
|
| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
slumber
|
|
| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
slovenly
|
|
| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
shunned
|
|
| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
severely
|
|
| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
expatiate
|
|
| v.细说，详述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
hovered
|
|
| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
toil
|
|
| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
primly
|
|
| adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
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： |
|
|
|
|
54
thumped
|
|
| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
probation
|
|
| n.缓刑(期)，(以观后效的)察看；试用(期) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
dreaded
|
|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
wizened
|
|
| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
entice
|
|
| v.诱骗，引诱，怂恿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
bind
|
|
| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
steer
|
|
| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
labor
|
|
| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
agonize
|
|
| v.使受苦，使苦闷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
sophistry
|
|
| n.诡辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
brutally
|
|
| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
squinting
|
|
| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
relentless
|
|
| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
rend
|
|
| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
specimens
|
|
| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
attain
|
|
| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
materialism
|
|
| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
smothers
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的第三人称单数 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
gulf
|
|
| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
relentlessness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
plunge
|
|
| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
leopard
|
|
| n.豹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
dilettante
|
|
| n.半瓶醋，业余爱好者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
joyously
|
|
| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
luncheon
|
|
| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
dealer
|
|
| n.商人，贩子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
antiquities
|
|
| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
grudge
|
|
| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
poked
|
|
| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |