Of Family Matters, Cares, Hopes, Disappointments,and Sorrows.
Although Mrs Nickleby had been made acquainted by herson and daughter with every circumstance of MadelineBray’s history which was known to them; although theresponsible situation in which Nicholas stood had been carefullyexplained to her, and she had been prepared, even for the possiblecontingency of having to receive the young lady in her own house,improbable as such a result had appeared only a few minutesbefore it came about, still, Mrs Nickleby, from the moment whenthis confidence was first reposed3 in her, late on the previousevening, had remained in an unsatisfactory and profoundlymystified state, from which no explanations or arguments couldrelieve her, and which every fresh soliloquy and reflection onlyaggravated more and more.
‘Bless my heart, Kate!’ so the good lady argued; ‘if the MrCheerybles don’t want this young lady to be married, why don’tthey file a bill against the Lord Chancellor4, make her a Chanceryward, and shut her up in the Fleet prison for safety?—I have readof such things in the newspapers a hundred times. Or, if they areso very fond of her as Nicholas says they are, why don’t they marryher themselves—one of them I mean? And even supposing theydon’t want her to be married, and don’t want to marry herthemselves, why in the name of wonder should Nicholas go aboutthe world, forbidding people’s banns?’
1013‘I don’t think you quite understand,’ said Kate, gently.
‘Well I am sure, Kate, my dear, you’re very polite!’ replied MrsNickleby. ‘I have been married myself I hope, and I have seenother people married. Not understand, indeed!’
‘I know you have had great experience, dear mama,’ said Kate;‘I mean that perhaps you don’t quite understand all thecircumstances in this instance. We have stated them awkwardly, Idare say.’
‘That I dare say you have,’ retorted her mother, briskly. ‘That’svery likely. I am not to be held accountable for that; though, at thesame time, as the circumstances speak for themselves, I shall takethe liberty, my love, of saying that I do understand them, andperfectly well too; whatever you and Nicholas may choose to thinkto the contrary. Why is such a great fuss made because this MissMagdalen is going to marry somebody who is older than herself?
Your poor papa was older than I was, four years and a half older.
Jane Dibabs—the Dibabses lived in the beautiful little thatchedwhite house one story high, covered all over with ivy7 and creepingplants, with an exquisite8 little porch with twining honysuckles andall sorts of things: where the earwigs used to fall into one’s tea on asummer evening, and always fell upon their backs and kickeddreadfully, and where the frogs used to get into the rushlightshades when one stopped all night, and sit up and look throughthe little holes like Christians—Jane Dibabs, she married a manwho was a great deal older than herself, and would marry him,notwithstanding all that could be said to the contrary, and she wasso fond of him that nothing was ever equal to it. There was no fussmade about Jane Dibabs, and her husband was a most honourableand excellent man, and everybody spoke9 well of him. Then why 1014should there by any fuss about this Magdalen?’
‘Her husband is much older; he is not her own choice; hischaracter is the very reverse of that which you have just described.
Don’t you see a broad distinction between the two cases?’ saidKate.
To this, Mrs Nickleby only replied that she durst say she wasvery stupid, indeed she had no doubt she was, for her ownchildren almost as much as told her so, every day of her life; to besure she was a little older than they, and perhaps some foolishpeople might think she ought reasonably to know best. However,no doubt she was wrong; of course she was; she always was, shecouldn’t be right, she couldn’t be expected to be; so she had betternot expose herself any more; and to all Kate’s conciliations andconcessions for an hour ensuing, the good lady gave no otherreplies than Oh, certainly, why did they ask her?, her opinion wasof no consequence, it didn’t matter what she said, with many otherrejoinders of the same class.
In this frame of mind (expressed, when she had become tooresigned for speech, by nods of the head, upliftings of the eyes,and little beginnings of groans10, converted, as they attractedattention, into short coughs), Mrs Nickleby remained untilNicholas and Kate returned with the object of their solicitude;when, having by this time asserted her own importance, andbecoming besides interested in the trials of one so young andbeautiful, she not only displayed the utmost zeal11 and solicitude,but took great credit to herself for recommending the course ofprocedure which her son had adopted: frequently declaring, withan expressive12 look, that it was very fortunate things were AS theywere: and hinting, that but for great encouragement and wisdom 1015on her own part, they never could have been brought to that pass.
Not to strain the question whether Mrs Nickleby had or had notany great hand in bringing matters about, it is unquestionable thatshe had strong ground for exultation13. The brothers, on theirreturn, bestowed14 such commendations on Nicholas for the part hehad taken, and evinced so much joy at the altered state of eventsand the recovery of their young friend from trials so great anddangers so threatening, that, as she more than once informed herdaughter, she now considered the fortunes of the family ‘as goodas’ made. Mr Charles Cheeryble, indeed, Mrs Nickleby positivelyasserted, had, in the first transports of his surprise and delight, ‘asgood as’ said so. Without precisely16 explaining what thisqualification meant, she subsided17, whenever she mentioned thesubject, into such a mysterious and important state, and had suchvisions of wealth and dignity in perspective, that (vague andclouded though they were) she was, at such times, almost as happyas if she had really been permanently18 provided for, on a scale ofgreat splendour.
The sudden and terrible shock she had received, combinedwith the great affliction and anxiety of mind which she had, for along time, endured, proved too much for Madeline’s strength.
Recovering from the state of stupefaction into which the suddendeath of her father happily plunged19 her, she only exchanged thatcondition for one of dangerous and active illness. When thedelicate physical powers which have been sustained by anunnatural strain upon the mental energies and a resolutedetermination not to yield, at last give way, their degree ofprostration is usually proportionate to the strength of the effortwhich has previously20 upheld them. Thus it was that the illness 1016which fell on Madeline was of no slight or temporary nature, butone which, for a time, threatened her reason, and—scarcelyworse—her life itself.
Who, slowly recovering from a disorder21 so severe anddangerous, could be insensible to the unremitting attentions ofsuch a nurse as gentle, tender, earnest Kate? On whom could thesweet soft voice, the light step, the delicate hand, the quiet,cheerful, noiseless discharge of those thousand little offices ofkindness and relief which we feel so deeply when we are ill, andforget so lightly when we are well—on whom could they make sodeep an impression as on a young heart stored with every pureand true affection that women cherish; almost a stranger to theendearments and devotion of its own sex, save as it learnt themfrom itself; and rendered, by calamity22 and suffering, keenlysusceptible of the sympathy so long unknown and so long soughtin vain? What wonder that days became as years in knitting themtogether! What wonder, if with every hour of returning health,there came some stronger and sweeter recognition of the praiseswhich Kate, when they recalled old scenes—they seemed old now,and to have been acted years ago—would lavish24 on her brother!
Where would have been the wonder, even, if those praises hadfound a quick response in the breast of Madeline, and if, with theimage of Nicholas so constantly recurring25 in the features of hissister that she could scarcely separate the two, she had sometimesfound it equally difficult to assign to each the feelings they hadfirst inspired, and had imperceptibly mingled26 with her gratitude27 toNicholas, some of that warmer feeling which she had assigned toKate?
‘My dear,’ Mrs Nickleby would say, coming into the room with 1017an elaborate caution, calculated to discompose the nerves of aninvalid rather more than the entry of a horse-soldier at full gallop;‘how do you find yourself tonight? I hope you are better.’
‘Almost well, mama,’ Kate would reply, laying down her work,and taking Madeline’s hand in hers.
‘Kate!’ Mrs Nickleby would say, reprovingly, ‘don’t talk so loud’
(the worthy29 lady herself talking in a whisper that would havemade the blood of the stoutest30 man run cold in his veins).
Kate would take this reproof31 very quietly, and Mrs Nickleby,making every board creak and every thread rustle32 as she movedstealthily about, would add:
‘My son Nicholas has just come home, and I have come,according to custom, my dear, to know, from your own lips,exactly how you are; for he won’t take my account, and never will.’
‘He is later than usual to-night,’ perhaps Madeline would reply.
‘Nearly half an hour.’
‘Well, I never saw such people in all my life as you are, for time,up here!’ Mrs Nickleby would exclaim in great astonishment33; ‘Ideclare I never did! I had not the least idea that Nicholas was afterhis time, not the smallest. Mr Nickleby used to say—your poorpapa, I am speaking of, Kate my dear—used to say, that appetitewas the best clock in the world, but you have no appetite, my dearMiss Bray1, I wish you had, and upon my word I really think youought to take something that would give you one. I am sure I don’tknow, but I have heard that two or three dozen native lobstersgive an appetite, though that comes to the same thing after all, forI suppose you must have an appetite before you can take ’em. If Isaid lobsters34, I meant oysters35, but of course it’s all the same,though really how you came to know about Nicholas—’
1018‘We happened to be just talking about him, mama; that was it.’
‘You never seem to me to be talking about anything else, Kate,and upon my word I am quite surprised at your being so verythoughtless. You can find subjects enough to talk aboutsometimes, and when you know how important it is to keep upMiss Bray’s spirits, and interest her, and all that, it really is quiteextraordinary to me what can induce you to keep on prose, prose,prose, din5, din, din, everlastingly36, upon the same theme. You are avery kind nurse, Kate, and a very good one, and I know you meanvery well; but I will say this—that if it wasn’t for me, I really don’tknow what would become of Miss Bray’s spirits, and so I tell thedoctor every day. He says he wonders how I sustain my own, and Iam sure I very often wonder myself how I can contrive37 to keep upas I do. Of course it’s an exertion38, but still, when I know how muchdepends upon me in this house, I am obliged to make it. There’snothing praiseworthy in that, but it’s necessary, and I do it.’
With that, Mrs Nickleby would draw up a chair, and for somethree-quarters of an hour run through a great variety ofdistracting topics in the most distracting manner possible; tearingherself away, at length, on the plea that she must now go andamuse Nicholas while he took his supper. After a preliminaryraising of his spirits with the information that she considered thepatient decidedly worse, she would further cheer him up byrelating how dull, listless, and low-spirited Miss Bray was, becauseKate foolishly talked about nothing else but him and familymatters. When she had made Nicholas thoroughly40 comfortablewith these and other inspiriting remarks, she would discourse41 atlength on the arduous42 duties she had performed that day; and,sometimes, be moved to tears in wondering how, if anything were 1019to happen to herself, the family would ever get on without her.
At other times, when Nicholas came home at night, he would beaccompanied by Mr Frank Cheeryble, who was commissioned bythe brothers to inquire how Madeline was that evening. On suchoccasions (and they were of very frequent occurrence), MrsNickleby deemed it of particular importance that she should haveher wits about her; for, from certain signs and tokens which hadattracted her attention, she shrewdly suspected that Mr Frank,interested as his uncles were in Madeline, came quite as much tosee Kate as to inquire after her; the more especially as thebrothers were in constant communication with the medical man,came backwards43 and forwards very frequently themselves, andreceived a full report from Nicholas every morning. These wereproud times for Mrs Nickleby; never was anybody half so discreetand sage44 as she, or half so mysterious withal; and never were theresuch cunning generalship, and such unfathomable designs, as shebrought to bear upon Mr Frank, with the view of ascertainingwhether her suspicions were well founded: and if so, of tantalisinghim into taking her into his confidence and throwing himself uponher merciful consideration. Extensive was the artillery45, heavy andlight, which Mrs Nickleby brought into play for the furtherance ofthese great schemes; various and opposite the means which sheemployed to bring about the end she had in view. At one time, shewas all cordiality and ease; at another, all stiffness and frigidity46.
Now, she would seem to open her whole heart to her unhappyvictim; the next time they met, she would receive him with themost distant and studious reserve, as if a new light had broken inupon her, and, guessing his intentions, she had resolved to checkthem in the bud; as if she felt it her bounden duty to act with 1020Spartan firmness, and at once and for ever to discourage hopeswhich never could be realised. At other times, when Nicholas wasnot there to overhear, and Kate was upstairs busily tending hersick friend, the worthy lady would throw out dark hints of anintention to send her daughter to France for three or four years, orto Scotland for the improvement of her health impaired47 by her latefatigues, or to America on a visit, or anywhere that threatened along and tedious separation. Nay48, she even went so far as to hint,obscurely, at an attachment49 entertained for her daughter by theson of an old neighbour of theirs, one Horatio Peltirogus (a younggentleman who might have been, at that time, four years old, orthereabouts), and to represent it, indeed, as almost a settled thingbetween the families—only waiting for her daughter’s finaldecision, to come off with the sanction of the church, and to theunspeakable happiness and content of all parties.
It was in the full pride and glory of having sprung this last mineone night with extraordinary success, that Mrs Nickleby took theopportunity of being left alone with her son before retiring to rest,to sound him on the subject which so occupied her thoughts: notdoubting that they could have but one opinion respecting it. Tothis end, she approached the question with divers50 laudatory51 andappropriate remarks touching52 the general amiability53 of Mr FrankCheeryble.
‘You are quite right, mother,’ said Nicholas, ‘quite right. He is afine fellow.’
‘Good-looking, too,’ said Mrs Nickleby.
‘Decidedly good-looking,’ answered Nicholas.
‘What may you call his nose, now, my dear?’ pursued MrsNickleby, wishing to interest Nicholas in the subject to the utmost.
1021‘Call it?’ repeated Nicholas.
‘Ah!’ returned his mother, ‘what style of nose? What order ofarchitecture, if one may say so. I am not very learned in noses. Doyou call it a Roman or a Grecian?’
‘Upon my word, mother,’ said Nicholas, laughing, ‘as well as Iremember, I should call it a kind of Composite, or mixed nose. ButI have no very strong recollection on the subject. If it will affordyou any gratification, I’ll observe it more closely, and let youknow.’
‘I wish you would, my dear,’ said Mrs Nickleby, with an earnestlook.
‘Very well,’ returned Nicholas. ‘I will.’
Nicholas returned to the perusal54 of the book he had beenreading, when the dialogue had gone thus far. Mrs Nickleby, afterstopping a little for consideration, resumed.
‘He is very much attached to you, Nicholas, my dear.’
Nicholas laughingly said, as he closed his book, that he was gladto hear it, and observed that his mother seemed deep in their newfriend’s confidence already.
‘Hem!’ said Mrs Nickleby. ‘I don’t know about that, my dear,but I think it is very necessary that somebody should be in hisconfidence; highly necessary.’
Elated by a look of curiosity from her son, and theconsciousness of possessing a great secret, all to herself, MrsNickleby went on with great animation55:
‘I am sure, my dear Nicholas, how you can have failed to noticeit, is, to me, quite extraordinary; though I don’t know why I shouldsay that, either, because, of course, as far as it goes, and to acertain extent, there is a great deal in this sort of thing, especially 1022in this early stage, which, however clear it may be to females, canscarcely be expected to be so evident to men. I don’t say that Ihave any particular penetration56 in such matters. I may have; thoseabout me should know best about that, and perhaps do know.
Upon that point I shall express no opinion, it wouldn’t become meto do so, it’s quite out of the question, quite.’
Nicholas snuffed the candles, put his hands in his pockets, and,leaning back in his chair, assumed a look of patient suffering andmelancholy resignation.
‘I think it my duty, Nicholas, my dear,’ resumed his mother, ‘totell you what I know: not only because you have a right to know ittoo, and to know everything that happens in this family, butbecause you have it in your power to promote and assist the thingvery much; and there is no doubt that the sooner one can come toa clear understanding on such subjects, it is always better, everyway. There are a great many things you might do; such as taking awalk in the garden sometimes, or sitting upstairs in your ownroom for a little while, or making believe to fall asleepoccasionally, or pretending that you recollected57 some business,and going out for an hour or so, and taking Mr Smike with you.
These seem very slight things, and I dare say you will be amusedat my making them of so much importance; at the same time, mydear, I can assure you (and you’ll find this out, Nicholas, foryourself one of these days, if you ever fall in love with anybody; asI trust and hope you will, provided she is respectable and wellconducted, and of course you’d never dream of falling in love withanybody who was not), I say, I can assure you that a great dealmore depends upon these little things than you would supposepossible. If your poor papa was alive, he would tell you how much 1023depended on the parties being left alone. Of course, you are not togo out of the room as if you meant it and did it on purpose, but asif it was quite an accident, and to come back again in the sameway. If you cough in the passage before you open the door, orwhistle carelessly, or hum a tune15, or something of that sort, to letthem know you’re coming, it’s always better; because, of course,though it’s not only natural but perfectly6 correct and proper underthe circumstances, still it is very confusing if you interrupt youngpeople when they are—when they are sitting on the sofa, and—and all that sort of thing: which is very nonsensical, perhaps, butstill they will do it.’
The profound astonishment with which her son regarded herduring this long address, gradually increasing as it approached itsclimax in no way discomposed Mrs Nickleby, but rather exaltedher opinion of her own cleverness; therefore, merely stopping toremark, with much complacency, that she had fully2 expected himto be surprised, she entered on a vast quantity of circumstantialevidence of a particularly incoherent and perplexing kind; theupshot of which was, to establish, beyond the possibility of doubt,that Mr Frank Cheeryble had fallen desperately59 in love with Kate.
‘With whom?’ cried Nicholas.
Mrs Nickleby repeated, with Kate.
‘What! Our Kate! My sister!’
‘Lord, Nicholas!’ returned Mrs Nickleby, ‘whose Kate should itbe, if not ours; or what should I care about it, or take any interestin it for, if it was anybody but your sister?’
‘Dear mother,’ said Nicholas, ‘surely it can’t be!’
‘Very good, my dear,’ replied Mrs Nickleby, with greatconfidence. ‘Wait and see.’
1024Nicholas had never, until that moment, bestowed a thoughtupon the remote possibility of such an occurrence as that whichwas now communicated to him; for, besides that he had beenmuch from home of late and closely occupied with other matters,his own jealous fears had prompted the suspicion that some secretinterest in Madeline, akin28 to that which he felt himself, occasionedthose visits of Frank Cheeryble which had recently become sofrequent. Even now, although he knew that the observation of ananxious mother was much more likely to be correct in such a casethan his own, and although she reminded him of many littlecircumstances which, taken together, were certainly susceptible23 ofthe construction she triumphantly60 put upon them, he was notquite convinced but that they arose from mere58 good-naturedthoughtless gallantry, which would have dictated61 the sameconduct towards any other girl who was young and pleasing. At allevents, he hoped so, and therefore tried to believe it.
‘I am very much disturbed by what you tell me,’ said Nicholas,after a little reflection, ‘though I yet hope you may be mistaken.’
‘I don’t understand why you should hope so,’ said Mrs Nickleby,‘I confess; but you may depend upon it I am not.’
‘What of Kate?’ inquired Nicholas.
‘Why that, my dear,’ returned Mrs Nickleby, ‘is just the pointupon which I am not yet satisfied. During this sickness, she hasbeen constantly at Madeline’s bedside—never were two people sofond of each other as they have grown—and to tell you the truth,Nicholas, I have rather kept her away now and then, because Ithink it’s a good plan, and urges a young man on. He doesn’t gettoo sure, you know.’
She said this with such a mingling62 of high delight and self- 1025congratulation, that it was inexpressibly painful to Nicholas todash her hopes; but he felt that there was only one honourablecourse before him, and that he was bound to take it.
‘Dear mother,’ he said kindly63, ‘don’t you see that if there werereally any serious inclination64 on the part of Mr Frank towardsKate, and we suffered ourselves for a moment to encourage it, weshould be acting39 a most dishonourable and ungrateful part? I askyou if you don’t see it, but I need not say that I know you don’t, oryou would have been more strictly65 on your guard. Let me explainmy meaning to you. Remember how poor we are.’
Mrs Nickleby shook her head, and said, through her tears, thatpoverty was not a crime.
‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘and for that reason poverty shouldengender an honest pride, that it may not lead and tempt66 us tounworthy actions, and that we may preserve the self-respectwhich a hewer of wood and drawer of water may maintain, anddoes better in maintaining than a monarch67 in preserving his.
Think what we owe to these two brothers: remember what theyhave done, and what they do every day for us with a generosityand delicacy68 for which the devotion of our whole lives would be amost imperfect and inadequate69 return. What kind of return wouldthat be which would be comprised in our permitting their nephew,their only relative, whom they regard as a son, and for whom itwould be mere childishness to suppose they have not formed planssuitably adapted to the education he has had, and the fortune hewill inherit—in our permitting him to marry a portionless girl: soclosely connected with us, that the irresistible70 inference must be,that he was entrapped71 by a plot; that it was a deliberate scheme,and a speculation72 amongst us three? Bring the matter clearly 1026before yourself, mother. Now, how would you feel, if they weremarried, and the brothers, coming here on one of those kinderrands which bring them here so often, you had to break out tothem the truth? Would you be at ease, and feel that you hadplayed an open part?’
Poor Mrs Nickleby, crying more and more, murmured that ofcourse Mr Frank would ask the consent of his uncles first.
‘Why, to be sure, that would place him in a better situation withthem,’ said Nicholas, ‘but we should still be open to the samesuspicions; the distance between us would still be as great; theadvantages to be gained would still be as manifest as now. We maybe reckoning without our host in all this,’ he added morecheerfully, ‘and I trust, and almost believe we are. If it beotherwise, I have that confidence in Kate that I know she will feelas I do—and in you, dear mother, to be assured that after a littleconsideration you will do the same.’
After many more representations and entreaties73, Nicholasobtained a promise from Mrs Nickleby that she would try all shecould to think as he did; and that if Mr Frank persevered74 in hisattentions she would endeavour to discourage them, or, at theleast, would render him no countenance75 or assistance. Hedetermined to forbear mentioning the subject to Kate until he wasquite convinced that there existed a real necessity for his doing so;and resolved to assure himself, as well as he could by closepersonal observation, of the exact position of affairs. This was avery wise resolution, but he was prevented from putting it inpractice by a new source of anxiety and uneasiness.
Smike became alarmingly ill; so reduced and exhausted76 that hecould scarcely move from room to room without assistance; and so 1027worn and emaciated77, that it was painful to look upon him.
Nicholas was warned, by the same medical authority to whom hehad at first appealed, that the last chance and hope of his lifedepended on his being instantly removed from London. That partof Devonshire in which Nicholas had been himself bred wasnamed as the most favourable78 spot; but this advice was cautiouslycoupled with the information, that whoever accompanied himthither must be prepared for the worst; for every token of rapidconsumption had appeared, and he might never return alive.
The kind brothers, who were acquainted with the poorcreature’s sad history, dispatched old Tim to be present at thisconsultation. That same morning, Nicholas was summoned bybrother Charles into his private room, and thus addressed:
‘My dear sir, no time must be lost. This lad shall not die, if suchhuman means as we can use can save his life; neither shall he diealone, and in a strange place. Remove him tomorrow morning, seethat he has every comfort that his situation requires, and don’tleave him; don’t leave him, my dear sir, until you know that thereis no longer any immediate79 danger. It would be hard, indeed, topart you now. No, no, no! Tim shall wait upon you tonight, sir; Timshall wait upon you tonight with a parting word or two. BrotherNed, my dear fellow, Mr Nickleby waits to shake hands and saygoodbye; Mr Nickleby won’t be long gone; this poor chap will soonget better, very soon get better; and then he’ll find out some nicehomely country-people to leave him with, and will go backwardsand forwards sometimes—backwards and forwards you know,Ned. And there’s no cause to be downhearted, for he’ll very soonget better, very soon. Won’t he, won’t he, Ned?’
What Tim Linkinwater said, or what he brought with him that 1028night, needs not to be told. Next morning Nicholas and his feeblecompanion began their journey.
And who but one—and that one he who, but for those whocrowded round him then, had never met a look of kindness, orknown a word of pity—could tell what agony of mind, whatblighted thoughts, what unavailing sorrow, were involved in thatsad parting?
‘See,’ cried Nicholas eagerly, as he looked from the coachwindow, ‘they are at the corner of the lane still! And now there’sKate, poor Kate, whom you said you couldn’t bear to say goodbyeto, waving her handkerchief. Don’t go without one gesture offarewell to Kate!’
‘I cannot make it!’ cried his trembling companion, falling backin his seat and covering his eyes. ‘Do you see her now? Is she therestill?’
‘Yes, yes!’ said Nicholas earnestly. ‘There! She waves her handagain! I have answered it for you—and now they are out of sight.
Do not give way so bitterly, dear friend, don’t. You will meet themall again.’
He whom he thus encouraged, raised his withered80 hands andclasped them fervently81 together.
‘In heaven. I humbly82 pray to God in heaven.’
It sounded like the prayer of a broken heart.
收听单词发音 |
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bray
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| n.驴叫声, 喇叭声；v.驴叫 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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spoke
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| 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 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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subsided
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| 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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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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stoutest
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| 粗壮的( stout的最高级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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lobsters
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| 龙虾( lobster的名词复数 )； 龙虾肉 | |
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oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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frigidity
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| n.寒冷；冷淡；索然无味；（尤指妇女的）性感缺失 | |
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impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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laudatory
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| adj.赞扬的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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entrapped
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| v.使陷入圈套，使入陷阱( entrap的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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