He Is Set upon by Adversities but He Sings a Song
The result of that unpropitious interview was that Eustacia, instead of passing the afternoon with her grandfather, hastily returned home to Clym, where she arrived three hours earlier than she had been expected.
She came indoors with her face flushed, and her eyes still showing traces of her recent excitement. Yeobright looked up astonished; he had never seen her in any way approaching to that state before. She passed him by, and would have gone upstairs unnoticed, but Clym was so concerned that he immediately followed her.
"What is the matter, Eustacia?" he said. She was standing1 on the hearthrug in the bedroom, looking upon the floor, her hands clasped in front of her, her bonnet2 yet unremoved. For a moment she did not answer; and then she replied in a low voice-
"I have seen your mother; and I will never see her again!" A weight fell like a stone upon Clym. That same morning, when Eustacia had arranged to go and see her grandfather, Clym had expressed a wish that she would drive down to Blooms-End and inquire for her mother-in-law, or adopt any other means she might think fit to bring about a reconciliation3. She had set out gaily4; and he had hoped for much.
"Why is this?" he asked.
"I cannot tell--I cannot remember. I met your mother. And I will never meet her again."
"Why?"
"What do I know about Mr. Wildeve now? I won't have wicked opinions passed on me by anybody. O! it was too humiliating to be asked if I had received any money from him, or encouraged him, or something of the sort-I don't exactly know what!"
"How could she have asked you that?"
"She did."
"Then there must have been some meaning in it. What did my mother say besides?"
"I don't know what she said, except in so far as this, that we both said words which can never be forgiven!"
"Oh, there must be some misapprehension. Whose fault was it that her meaning was not made clear?"
"I would rather not say. It may have been the fault of the circumstances, which were awkward at the very least. O Clym--I cannot help expressing it--this is an unpleasant position that you have placed me in. But you must improve it--yes, say you will--for I hate it all now! Yes, take me to Paris, and go on with your old occupation, Clym! I don't mind how humbly5 we live there at first, if it can only be Paris, and not Egdon Heath."
"But I have quite given up that idea," said Yeobright, with surprise. "Surely I never led you to expect such a thing?"
"I own it. Yet there are thoughts which cannot be kept out of mind, and that one was mine. Must I not have a voice in the matter, now I am your wife and the sharer of your doom6?"
"Well, there are things which are placed beyond the pale of discussion; and I thought this was specially7 so, and by mutual8 agreement."
"Clym, I am unhappy at what I hear," she said in a low voice; and her eyes drooped9, and she turned away.
This indication of an unexpected mine of hope in Eustacia's bosom10 disconcerted her husband. It was the first time that he had confronted the fact of the indirectness of a woman's movement towards her desire. But his intention was unshaken, though he loved Eustacia well. All the effect that her remark had upon him was a resolve to chain himself more closely than ever to his books, so as to be the sooner enabled to appeal to substantial results from another course in arguing against her whim11.
Next day the mystery of the guineas was explained. Thomasin paid them a hurried visit, and Clym's share was delivered up to him by her own hands. Eustacia was not present at the time.
"Then this is what my mother meant," exclaimed Clym. "Thomasin, do you know that they have had a bitter quarrel?"
There was a little more reticence12 now than formerly13 in Thomasin's manner towards her cousin. It is the effect of marriage to engender14 in several directions some of the reserve it annihilates15 in one. "Your mother told me," she said quietly. "She came back to my house after seeing Eustacia."
"The worst thing I dreaded16 has come to pass. Was Mother much disturbed when she came to you, Thomasin?"
"Yes."
"Very much indeed?"
"Yes."
Clym leant his elbow upon the post of the garden gate, and covered his eyes with his hand.
"Don't trouble about it, Clym. They may get to be friends."
He shook his head. "Not two people with inflammable natures like theirs. Well, what must be will be."
"One thing is cheerful in it--the guineas are not lost."
"I would rather have lost them twice over than have had this happen."
Amid these jarring events Yeobright felt one thing to be indispensable--that he should speedily make some show of progress in his scholastic17 plans. With this view he read far into the small hours during many nights.
One morning, after a severer strain than usual, he awoke with a strange sensation in his eyes. The sun was shining directly upon the window-blind, and at his first glance thitherward a sharp pain obliged him to close his eyelids18 quickly. At every new attempt to look about him the same morbid19 sensibility to light was manifested, and excoriating20 tears ran down his cheeks. He was obliged to tie a bandage over his brow while dressing21; and during the day it could not be abandoned. Eustacia was thoroughly22 alarmed. On finding that the case was no better the next morning they decided23 to send to Anglebury for a surgeon.
Towards evening he arrived, and pronounced the disease to be acute inflammation induced by Clym's night studies, continued in spite of a cold previously24 caught, which had weakened his eyes for the time.
Fretting25 with impatience26 at this interruption to a task he was so anxious to hasten, Clym was transformed into an invalid27. He was shut up in a room from which all light was excluded, and his condition would have been one of absolute misery28 had not Eustacia read to him by the glimmer29 of a shaded lamp. He hoped that the worst would soon be over; but at the surgeon's third visit he learnt to his dismay that although he might venture out of doors with shaded eyes in the course of a month, all thought of pursuing his work, or of reading print of any description, would have to be given up for a long time to come.
One week and another week wore on, and nothing seemed to lighten the gloom of the young couple. Dreadful imaginings occurred to Eustacia, but she carefully refrained from uttering them to her husband. Suppose he should become blind, or, at all events, never recover sufficient strength of sight to engage in an occupation which would be congenial to her feelings, and conduce to her removal from this lonely dwelling30 among the hills? That dream of beautiful Paris was not likely to cohere31 into substance in the presence of this misfortune. As day after day passed by, and he got no better, her mind ran more and more in this mournful groove32, and she would go away from him into the garden and weep despairing tears.
Yeobright thought he would send for his mother; and then he thought he would not. Knowledge of his state could only make her the more unhappy; and the seclusion33 of their life was such that she would hardly be likely to learn the news except through a special messenger. Endeavouring to take the trouble as philosophically34 as possible, he waited on till the third week had arrived, when he went into the open air for the first time since the attack. The surgeon visited him again at this stage, and Clym urged him to express a distinct opinion. The young man learnt with added surprise that the date at which he might expect to resume his labours was as uncertain as ever, his eyes being in that peculiar35 state which, though affording him sight enough for walking about, would not admit of their being strained upon any definite object without incurring36 the risk of reproducing ophthalmia in its acute form.
Clym was very grave at the intelligence, but not despairing. A quiet firmness, and even cheerfulness, took possession of him. He was not to be blind; that was enough. To be doomed37 to behold38 the world through smoked glass for an indefinite period was bad enough, and fatal to any kind of advance; but Yeobright was an absolute stoic39 in the face of mishaps40 which only affected41 his social standing; and, apart from Eustacia, the humblest walk of life would satisfy him if it could be made to work in with some form of his culture scheme. To keep a cottage night-school was one such form; and his affliction did not master his spirit as it might otherwise have done.
He walked through the warm sun westward42 into those tracts43 of Egdon with which he was best acquainted, being those lying nearer to his old home. He saw before him in one of the valleys the gleaming of whetted44 iron, and advancing, dimly perceived that the shine came from the tool of a man who was cutting furze. The worker recognized Clym, and Yeobright learnt from the voice that the speaker was Humphrey.
Humphrey expressed his sorrow at Clym's condition, and added, "Now, if yours was low-class work like mine, you could go on with it just the same."
"Yes, I could," said Yeobright musingly45. "How much do you get for cutting these faggots?"
"Half-a-crown a hundred, and in these long days I can live very well on the wages."
During the whole of Yeobright's walk home to Alderworth he was lost in reflections which were not of an unpleasant kind. On his coming up to the house Eustacia spoke46 to him from the open window, and he went across to her.
"Darling," he said, "I am much happier. And if my mother were reconciled to me and to you I should, I think, be happy quite."
"I fear that will never be," she said, looking afar with her beautiful stormy eyes. "How CAN you say 'I am happier,' and nothing changed?"
"It arises from my having at last discovered something I can do, and get a living at, in this time of misfortune."
"Yes?"
"I am going to be a furze- and turf-cutter."
"No, Clym!" she said, the slight hopefulness previously apparent in her face going off again, and leaving her worse than before.
"Surely I shall. Is it not very unwise in us to go on spending the little money we've got when I can keep down expenditures47 by an honest occupation? The outdoor exercise will do me good, and who knows but that in a few months I shall be able to go on with my reading again?"
"But my grandfather offers to assist us, if we require assistance."
"We don't require it. If I go furze-cutting we shall be fairly well off."
"In comparison with slaves, and the Israelites in Egypt, and such people!" A bitter tear rolled down Eustacia's face, which he did not see. There had been nonchalance48 in his tone, showing her that he felt no absolute grief at a consummation which to her was a positive horror.
The very next day Yeobright went to Humphrey's cottage, and borrowed of him leggings, gloves, a whetstone, and a hook, to use till he should be able to purchase some for himself. Then he sallied forth49 with his new fellow-labourer and old acquaintance, and selecting a spot where the furze grew thickest he struck the first blow in his adopted calling. His sight, like the wings in Rasselas, though useless to him for his grand purpose, sufficed for this strait, and he found that when a little practice should have hardened his palms against blistering50 he would be able to work with ease.
Day after day he rose with the sun, buckled51 on his leggings, and went off to the rendezvous53 with Humphrey. His custom was to work from four o'clock in the morning till noon; then, when the heat of the day was at its highest, to go home and sleep for an hour or two; afterwards coming out again and working till dusk at nine.
This man from Paris was now so disguised by his leather accoutrements, and by the goggles55 he was obliged to wear over his eyes, that his closest friend might have passed by without recognizing him. He was a brown spot in the midst of an expanse of olive-green gorse, and nothing more. Though frequently depressed56 in spirit when not actually at work, owing to thoughts of Eustacia's position and his mother's estrangement57, when in the full swing of labour he was cheerfully disposed and calm.
His daily life was of a curious microscopic58 sort, his whole world being limited to a circuit of a few feet from his person. His familiars were creeping and winged things, and they seemed to enroll59 him in their band. Bees hummed around his ears with an intimate air, and tugged60 at the heath and furze-flowers at his side in such numbers as to weigh them down to the sod. The strange amber-coloured butterflies which Egdon produced, and which were never seen elsewhere, quivered in the breath of his lips, alighted upon his bowed back, and sported with the glittering point of his hook as he flourished it up and down. Tribes of emerald-green grasshoppers61 leaped over his feet, falling awkwardly on their backs, heads, or hips62, like unskilful acrobats63, as chance might rule; or engaged themselves in noisy flirtations under the fern-fronds with silent ones of homely64 hue65. Huge flies, ignorant of larders66 and wire-netting, and quite in a savage67 state, buzzed about him without knowing that he was a man. In and out of the fern-dells snakes glided68 in their most brilliant blue and yellow guise54, it being the season immediately following the shedding of their old skins, when their colours are brightest. Litters of young rabbits came out from their forms to sun themselves upon hillocks, the hot beams blazing through the delicate tissue of each thin-fleshed ear, and firing it to a blood-red transparency in which the veins69 could be seen. None of them feared him. The monotony of his occupation soothed70 him, and was in itself a pleasure. A forced limitation of effort offered a justification71 of homely courses to an unambitious man, whose conscience would hardly have allowed him to remain in such obscurity while his powers were unimpeded. Hence Yeobright sometimes sang to himself, and when obliged to accompany Humphrey in search of brambles for faggot-bonds he would amuse his companion with sketches72 of Parisian life and character, and so while away the time.
On one of these warm afternoons Eustacia walked out alone in the direction of Yeobright's place of work. He was busily chopping away at the furze, a long row of faggots which stretched downward from his position representing the labour of the day. He did not observe her approach, and she stood close to him, and heard his undercurrent of song.
It shocked her. To see him there, a poor afflicted73 man, earning money by the sweat of his brow, had at first moved her to tears; but to hear him sing and not at all rebel against an occupation which, however satisfactory to himself, was degrading to her, as an educated lady-wife, wounded her through. Unconscious of her presence, he still went on singing:-
"Le point du jour A nos bosquets rend52 toute leur parure; Flore est plus belle75 a son retour; L'oiseau reprend doux chant d'amour; Tout74 celebre dans la nature Le point du jour.
"Le point du jour Cause parfois, cause douleur extreme; Que l'espace des nuits est court Pour le berger brulant d'amour, Force de quitter ce qu'il aime Au point du jour!"
It was bitterly plain to Eustacia that he did not care much about social failure; and the proud fair woman bowed her head and wept in sick despair at thought of the blasting effect upon her own life of that mood and condition in him. Then she came forward.
"I would starve rather than do it!" she exclaimed vehemently76. "And you can sing! I will go and live with my grandfather again!"
"Eustacia! I did not see you, though I noticed something moving," he said gently. He came forward, pulled off his huge leather glove, and took her hand. "Why do you speak in such a strange way? It is only a little old song which struck my fancy when I was in Paris, and now just applies to my life with you. Has your love for me all died, then, because my appearance is no longer that of a fine gentleman?"
"Dearest, you must not question me unpleasantly, or it may make me not love you."
"Do you believe it possible that I would run the risk of doing that?"
"Well, you follow out your own ideas, and won't give in to mine when I wish you to leave off this shameful77 labour. Is there anything you dislike in me that you act so contrarily to my wishes? I am your wife, and why will you not listen? Yes, I am your wife indeed!"
"I know what that tone means."
"What tone?"
"The tone in which you said, 'Your wife indeed.' It meant, 'Your wife, worse luck.'"
"It is hard in you to probe me with that remark. A woman may have reason, though she is not without heart, and if I felt 'worse luck,' it was no ignoble78 feeling-it was only too natural. There, you see that at any rate I do not attempt untruths. Do you remember how, before we were married, I warned you that I had not good wifely qualities?"
"You mock me to say that now. On that point at least the only noble course would be to hold your tongue, for you are still queen of me, Eustacia, though I may no longer be king of you."
"You are my husband. Does not that content you?"
"Not unless you are my wife without regret."
"I cannot answer you. I remember saying that I should be a serious matter on your hands."
"Yes, I saw that."
"Then you were too quick to see! No true lover would have seen any such thing; you are too severe upon me, Clym--I won't like your speaking so at all."
"Well, I married you in spite of it, and don't regret doing so. How cold you seem this afternoon! and yet I used to think there never was a warmer heart than yours."
"Yes, I fear we are cooling--I see it as well as you," she sighed mournfully. "And how madly we loved two months ago! You were never tired of contemplating79 me, nor I of contemplating you. Who could have thought then that by this time my eyes would not seem so very bright to yours, nor your lips so very sweet to mine? Two months--is it possible? Yes, 'tis too true!"
"You sigh, dear, as if you were sorry for it; and that's a hopeful sign."
"No. I don't sigh for that. There are other things for me to sigh for, or any other woman in my place."
"That your chances in life are ruined by marrying in haste an unfortunate man?"
"Why will you force me, Clym, to say bitter things? I deserve pity as much as you. As much?--I think I deserve it more. For you can sing! It would be a strange hour which should catch me singing under such a cloud as this! Believe me, sweet, I could weep to a degree that would astonish and confound such an elastic80 mind as yours. Even had you felt careless about your own affliction, you might have refrained from singing out of sheer pity for mine. God! if I were a man in such a position I would curse rather than sing."
Yeobright placed his hand upon her arm. "Now, don't you suppose, my inexperienced girl, that I cannot rebel, in high Promethean fashion, against the gods and fate as well as you. I have felt more steam and smoke of that sort than you have ever heard of. But the more I see of life the more do I perceive that there is nothing particularly great in its greatest walks, and therefore nothing particularly small in mine of furze-cutting. If I feel that the greatest blessings81 vouchsafed82 to us are not very valuable, how can I feel it to be any great hardship when they are taken away? So I sing to pass the time. Have you indeed lost all tenderness for me, that you begrudge83 me a few cheerful moments?"
"I have still some tenderness left for you."
"Your words have no longer their old flavour. And so love dies with good fortune!"
"I cannot listen to this, Clym--it will end bitterly," she said in a broken voice. "I will go home."
1 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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2 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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3 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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4 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
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5 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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6 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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7 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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8 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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9 drooped | |
弯曲或下垂,发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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11 whim | |
n.一时的兴致,突然的念头;奇想,幻想 | |
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12 reticence | |
n.沉默,含蓄 | |
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13 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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14 engender | |
v.产生,引起 | |
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15 annihilates | |
n.(彻底)消灭( annihilate的名词复数 );使无效;废止;彻底击溃v.(彻底)消灭( annihilate的第三人称单数 );使无效;废止;彻底击溃 | |
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16 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) | |
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17 scholastic | |
adj.学校的,学院的,学术上的 | |
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18 eyelids | |
n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 );眼睛也不眨一下;不露声色;面不改色 | |
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19 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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20 excoriating | |
v.擦伤( excoriate的现在分词 );擦破(皮肤);剥(皮);严厉指责 | |
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21 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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22 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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23 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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24 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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25 fretting | |
n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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26 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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27 invalid | |
n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
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28 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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29 glimmer | |
v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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30 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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31 cohere | |
vt.附着,连贯,一致 | |
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32 groove | |
n.沟,槽;凹线,(刻出的)线条,习惯 | |
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33 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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34 philosophically | |
adv.哲学上;富有哲理性地;贤明地;冷静地 | |
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35 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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36 incurring | |
遭受,招致,引起( incur的现在分词 ) | |
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37 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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38 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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39 stoic | |
n.坚忍克己之人,禁欲主义者 | |
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40 mishaps | |
n.轻微的事故,小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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41 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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42 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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43 tracts | |
大片土地( tract的名词复数 ); 地带; (体内的)道; (尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的)短文 | |
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44 whetted | |
v.(在石头上)磨(刀、斧等)( whet的过去式和过去分词 );引起,刺激(食欲、欲望、兴趣等) | |
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45 musingly | |
adv.沉思地,冥想地 | |
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46 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 | |
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47 expenditures | |
n.花费( expenditure的名词复数 );使用;(尤指金钱的)支出额;(精力、时间、材料等的)耗费 | |
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48 nonchalance | |
n.冷淡,漠不关心 | |
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49 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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50 blistering | |
adj.酷热的;猛烈的;使起疱的;可恶的v.起水疱;起气泡;使受暴晒n.[涂料] 起泡 | |
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51 buckled | |
a. 有带扣的 | |
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52 rend | |
vt.把…撕开,割裂;把…揪下来,强行夺取 | |
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53 rendezvous | |
n.约会,约会地点,汇合点;vi.汇合,集合;vt.使汇合,使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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54 guise | |
n.外表,伪装的姿态 | |
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55 goggles | |
n.护目镜 | |
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56 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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57 estrangement | |
n.疏远,失和,不和 | |
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58 microscopic | |
adj.微小的,细微的,极小的,显微的 | |
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59 enroll | |
v.招收;登记;入学;参军;成为会员(英)enrol | |
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60 tugged | |
v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61 grasshoppers | |
n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 );蝗虫;蚂蚱;(孩子)矮小的 | |
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62 hips | |
abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯,耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 );[建筑学]屋脊;臀围(尺寸);臀部…的 | |
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63 acrobats | |
n.杂技演员( acrobat的名词复数 );立场观点善变的人,主张、政见等变化无常的人 | |
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64 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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65 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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66 larders | |
n.(家中的)食物贮藏室,食物橱( larder的名词复数 ) | |
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67 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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68 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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69 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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70 soothed | |
v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
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71 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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72 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
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73 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74 tout | |
v.推销,招徕;兜售;吹捧,劝诱 | |
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75 belle | |
n.靓女 | |
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76 vehemently | |
adv. 热烈地 | |
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77 shameful | |
adj.可耻的,不道德的 | |
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78 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
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79 contemplating | |
深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
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80 elastic | |
n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的 | |
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81 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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82 vouchsafed | |
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 );允诺 | |
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83 begrudge | |
vt.吝啬,羡慕 | |
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