He was now so correct in his attitude of husband and son-in-law, so entertaining and amusing, that he rang hard and clear like some finely constructed machine full of little silver bells. Mrs. Cutting was charmed, but Mabel was often faint with fear. Her brain might be young and small and ignorant, but it was in a constant steel-blue glare of intuitions these days. She had been the bride of a young man comparatively candid11 and open despite his diplomatic temperament12; she now felt herself the honoured consort13 of a man of unthinkable age, wearing a vizor of youth which might drop at any moment and reveal unknown horrors, hatreds14, diabolical16 purposes. Ordham played his part well, but he guessed that the face of the man she married was too deeply bitten into her memory for his present mask to deceive her. He did not care. He was doing his best; more could be asked of no man.
Possibly the fascination17 of the Ordhams of the old civilizations resides in those deep artificial layers which are the result of centuries of selection, rejection18, experimentation19. But deep in these organic edifications there may be more unbridled human nature than in the newer races; these, more or less conscious of a certain transparency, are, warily20 or intuitively, making and shaping their characters, always adapting themselves to their shifting conditions. Moreover, the man to whom leisure is but one more toy for his family lives on his practical surfaces. In men of Ordham’s class practical surfaces might almost be said to be nonexistent. When thrown on their own resources and scattered21 over an inhospitable globe, they wring22 a living out of it if their natural intelligence chimes with opportunity; but they are so generally failures that it is possible Darwin saw many of them during his voyages, and they, not the lower forms, suggested the immortal23 phrase, “survival of the fittest.” In the Ordhams, protected either by the law of primogeniture or other kindly24 energies of fate, those deep and multitudinous layers are not only full of charm, of delight to themselves and society, not only do they give them a sense or security which would betray itself in arrogance25 were they less well-bred, but, so deeply buried are such qualities as worthlessness, savagery26, brutal27 selfishness, that only exceptional circumstances magnetize them to the surface. And even then it is only some final and terrible impetus28 that reveals them to their fellows in all their nakedness. No men are so protected by circumstance; in other words, by the world’s—their world’s—conventions.
Ordham, during these four weeks, when, as much from the instinct of noblesse oblige as pity for his young wife, whose very voice set his nerves on edge, whose every effort to please him served to remind that he was tied for life to a woman as transparent29 as a window-pane, was unable to stifle30 an unceasing whisper in the back of his brain that this could not last, that mortal endurance was not equal to three months more of this unnatural31 self-control, of a sullen32 defiance33 of desire for the woman who had made him feel as if he were a masculine Galatea and she a female Pygmalion. Had he but conceived one of those passions for her to which men are always liable, he would either have conquered it or have induced her to remain in England until tired of her. But he had given her his heart; he was filled not only with the imperious desires of the predatory male, but his brain, with pitiless logic34, portrayed35 and reiterated36 every phase of the perfect union. Two powerful correlated personalities37 had met, and each was the helpless victim of the other.
It was still incomprehensible to him that he could fail to obtain anything he craved38, much less what was beginning to seem of more value to him than life. “More than life,” indeed, was but a phrase; in his case, “more than career” represented the alternative. The forecasting of a blighting39 scandal held him in leash40 as effectively as his sense of duty to the girl he had married; married, when all was said, with his eyes open, for, whether deceived or not in the woman, he knew that he was yielding his liberty and had not hesitated a moment.
But specious41 arguments were not wanting half to convince him that both he and Styr were clever enough to blind the world until truth had escaped in such vagrant42 jets that people would have accepted the situation almost before they knew it existed. Mabel, he was now convinced, would never get a divorce, and the busy world, unless slapped in the face, is very lenient43 to the bearer of a great name, the dispenser of large hospitalities, and the owner of rare gifts. Nevertheless, Ordham was able to consider the possible reverse of the picture and to be thankful that circumstances kept him for the present in England. He half hoped that by the time he was free his worldly sense would wholly have conquered the primitive44 force of this newly realized passion, or that the latter would sink under his natural indolence and taste for procrastination45. Indeed he had almost concluded that, intolerable as the strain was, he should emerge triumphant46, when he met his mother entering the house in Grosvenor Square one afternoon as he was about to leave it. She told him that she had just received a telegram from Bridgminster’s servant stating that his master believed himself about to die and had expressed a wish to see her. All that had been consigned47 to the deepest pit in Ordham’s mind during the last few days rose instantly and quite calmly to the surface. He did not even hesitate.
“Insist that I go with you,” he said, turning to go upstairs with her. “Insist that you are not able to stand the ordeal48 alone.”
“But, Johnny—”
“I am going to ring for Hines to pack. Of course you start at once. When I join you in the family circle, I hope you will have impressed them with the fact that you cannot go without me.”
She recalled—perhaps it was his cool steady gaze above the sudden pallor of his face that evoked49 the memory—that however she may have managed this son of hers, she had never governed him; shrugging her shoulders, she went up to inform Mrs. Cutting and Mabel as volubly as a French woman of her terrible upset over the telegram, and her insistence50 to Johnny, whom she had providentially met as he was leaving the house, that he should go with her.
He had changed his clothes for a travelling suit and was giving his final directions to the distracted Hines when there was a tap at his door. He opened it himself, and seeing his mother-in-law, stepped out and closed it behind him. Mrs. Cutting’s face was pale and there was fear in her eyes.
“You are not really going!” she exclaimed.
“Has not my mother explained?”
“Your mother can take Stanley with her. It is not possible that you will leave Mabel now—when—almost any minute—”
“Oh, I shall be gone but a few days. Surely—”
“Mabel, poor child, is persuading herself that you ought to go, but she overrates her power of endurance. I know—I know—that after you are gone there will be a reaction—she will break down. I would not answer for the consequences.”
Ordham sighed. He was hardly aware of the woman’s presence, save in so far as she forced him to talk when he would have preferred not to open his mouth for twenty-four hours. “Surely you and the doctor—”
“Of course you know practically nothing about such things.” Mrs. Cutting actually blushed; woman of society as she was, she would be a prude until the end. “But it is dangerous to agitate—”
“Why in heaven’s name should she be agitated51 because I absent myself for a few days? It has struck me that she grows more sensible every day.”
“Oh, men! I repeat that I am convinced that she will break down as soon as she realizes that she cannot see you constantly,—that you have actually deserted52 her at a time like this!”
“Deserted! Dear Mrs. Cutting, is not that rather a strong word? I shall not be gone more than a week at most.”
“A week! Oh, how shall I make you understand?”
“Perhaps it is because there is really nothing to make clear. You are agitating53 yourself for nothing.” There was no nervousness, no abstraction, even, in his manner. He smiled into her eyes and stood quite at his ease, with all that blend of charm and formality that had won her approval the day she met him in Princess Nachmeister’s park. A memory struggled upward in her mind. It was ghostly, evasive; then it took form. She recalled that fleeting54 moment in which she had responded to the cool ruthless kernel55 of this young man, so elaborately endowed for public service. Her own ambitions might be dust before the week was out, but he—he would survive more than the knowledge that he had been the death of his young wife. She shook from head to foot in the first real terror and agitation56 she had ever known.
“You will kill her,” she stammered57. “If there should be any complication—”
He ceased to smile and, taking her hand, drew it through his arm and led her to the door of her own room. “You know that no girl could be stronger than Mabel,” he said soothingly58, and in so impersonal59 a manner that Mrs. Cutting felt as if the blood in her veins60 were freezing. “And there is nothing in the world as natural as this sort of thing. Think of the thousands of women that bring their children into the world, every month in the year, who are in every sort of trouble; from the Brittany women, whose husbands have gone on the grand pêche, and are more likely than not to return no more, to the poor creatures in Whitechapel, beaten and kicked up to the last minute. Women were made to bring children into the world and to survive far worse ordeals61 than a separation of a few days from their devoted husbands. What on earth could I do if I were here? It seems to me, for that matter, rather nicer that I should not be.”
“Mabel is not inured62 to suffering like those women,” Mrs. Cutting began, but Ordham opened her door and gently pushed her in. He went on to the drawing-room. Mabel, although perhaps a shade sallower than common, was quite alert and cheerful. He understood her tactics, but if the time was past when she could deceive him in any way, he was not only grateful to her now but moved to admiration63; for after all she was very young. No doubt in time she would make a clever woman of sorts. And although he believed his mother-in-law’s fears to be sheer nonsense, he was quite aware that Mabel (like all women, of course!) would fancy herself unhappy during his absence.
“It is too dreadful to think that I must part with you, even for a few days,” she said brightly. “You keep me up so! But of course if Lady Pat feels that you are necessary, I gracefully64 yield. But do make it as short as possible. You will, won’t you?”
“Of course!” He stooped and kissed her with more warmth than usual. “Lady Pat is quite right. I don’t fancy Bridg will make a pathetic death-bed scene and try her nerves; that is not in his line; but there may be other details—she is quite right. For the matter of that, this may be but a false alarm—in any case we need not be away too long.”
“No, indeed!” Lady Bridgminster rose. “I shall return in less than a week. But go I must, and Johnny owes me a filial duty once in a while. Has your four-wheeler come? Mine was to follow me here.”
“I am quite ready.”
They drove to Paddington station, followed by two four-wheelers with luggage atop and servant within. “What is your game, Johnny?” asked Lady Bridgminster, with lively curiosity. “Why inflict65 yourself with Bridg if you had to take a holiday? No doubt Mabel, who is a model wife, if she is a fright at present, would have given you a few days at Ordham. You never wanted for excuses.”
“I had no intention until you came in of making any excuse.”
“But why Bridg? I doubt if he will be glad to see you.”
“That is not of the slightest consequence.”
Her curiosity was not relieved until she was in her reserved compartment66, and the maid, having arranged her pillows, had gone to her second-class carriage. Then Ordham closed the door and shook hands through the window with his mother.
“Good-by for the present,” he said. “I have just time to catch my train at Victoria.”
“John Ordham!”
“If you write to Mabel or her mother, you might comment upon my hatred15 of letter writing. I am going to the Continent and shall remain away exactly a week. If I think best, I shall write or telegraph Mabel from there, but it hardly matters. I shall have returned before she will have had time to think much about it.”
Lady Bridgminster was given no opportunity to remonstrate67, for he walked swiftly to his waiting hansom and drove off. But considering that she was a lady too philosophical68 to cut wrinkles in her complexion69 by worrying over the inevitable70, she looked almost blanched71 and thoughtful as she settled herself with a magazine and recalled all she had heard of her son’s friendship this year and last for Margarethe Styr.
“Johnny!” she thought. “Of all men! It must be serious indeed.”
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1
debonair
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adj.殷勤的,快乐的 | |
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devoted
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adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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punctilious
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adj.谨慎的,谨小慎微的 | |
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frankly
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adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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technically
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adv.专门地,技术上地 | |
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6
scribbling
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n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 );乱画;草草地写;匆匆记下 | |
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7
aberrations
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n.偏差( aberration的名词复数 );差错;脱离常规;心理失常 | |
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abraded
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adj.[医]刮擦的v.刮擦( abrade的过去式和过去分词 );(在精神方面)折磨(人);消磨(意志、精神等);使精疲力尽 | |
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9
varied
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adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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minor
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adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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candid
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adj.公正的,正直的;坦率的 | |
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temperament
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n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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13
consort
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v.相伴;结交 | |
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14
hatreds
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n.仇恨,憎恶( hatred的名词复数 );厌恶的事 | |
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hatred
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n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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16
diabolical
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adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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17
fascination
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n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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18
rejection
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n.拒绝,被拒,抛弃,被弃 | |
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experimentation
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n.实验,试验,实验法 | |
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20
warily
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adv.留心地 | |
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21
scattered
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adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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22
wring
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n.扭绞;v.拧,绞出,扭 | |
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23
immortal
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adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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24
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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25
arrogance
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n.傲慢,自大 | |
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savagery
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n.野性 | |
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brutal
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adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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impetus
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n.推动,促进,刺激;推动力 | |
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transparent
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adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
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stifle
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vt.使窒息;闷死;扼杀;抑止,阻止 | |
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31
unnatural
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adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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32
sullen
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adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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33
defiance
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n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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logic
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n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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portrayed
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v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 );描述;描绘;描画 | |
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reiterated
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反复地说,重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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personalities
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n. 诽谤,(对某人容貌、性格等所进行的)人身攻击; 人身攻击;人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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38
craved
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渴望,热望( crave的过去式 ); 恳求,请求 | |
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39
blighting
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使凋萎( blight的现在分词 ); 使颓丧; 损害; 妨害 | |
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40
leash
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n.牵狗的皮带,束缚;v.用皮带系住 | |
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41
specious
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adj.似是而非的;adv.似是而非地 | |
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42
vagrant
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n.流浪者,游民;adj.流浪的,漂泊不定的 | |
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43
lenient
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adj.宽大的,仁慈的 | |
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primitive
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adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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procrastination
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n.拖延,耽搁 | |
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46
triumphant
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adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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consigned
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v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的过去式和过去分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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48
ordeal
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n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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49
evoked
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[医]诱发的 | |
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50
insistence
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n.坚持;强调;坚决主张 | |
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51
agitated
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adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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52
deserted
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adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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53
agitating
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搅动( agitate的现在分词 ); 激怒; 使焦虑不安; (尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而)激烈争论 | |
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54
fleeting
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adj.短暂的,飞逝的 | |
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55
kernel
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n.(果实的)核,仁;(问题)的中心,核心 | |
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56
agitation
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n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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57
stammered
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v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
soothingly
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adv.抚慰地,安慰地;镇痛地 | |
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59
impersonal
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adj.无个人感情的,与个人无关的,非人称的 | |
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60
veins
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n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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61
ordeals
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n.严峻的考验,苦难的经历( ordeal的名词复数 ) | |
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62
inured
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adj.坚强的,习惯的 | |
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63
admiration
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n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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64
gracefully
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ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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65
inflict
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vt.(on)把…强加给,使遭受,使承担 | |
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66
compartment
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n.卧车包房,隔间;分隔的空间 | |
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67
remonstrate
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v.抗议,规劝 | |
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philosophical
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adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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69
complexion
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n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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70
inevitable
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adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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71
blanched
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v.使变白( blanch的过去式 );使(植物)不见阳光而变白;酸洗(金属)使有光泽;用沸水烫(杏仁等)以便去皮 | |
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