***** Place Zagloul — silverware and caged doves. A vaulted77 cave lined with black barrels and choking with the smoke from frying whitebait and the smell of retzinnato. A message scribbled on the edge of a newspaper. Here I spilt wine on her cloak, and while attempting to help her repair the damage, accidentally touched her breasts. No word was spoken. While Pursewarden spoke so brilliantly of Alexandria and the burning library. In the room above a poor wretch78 screaming with meningitis…. ***** Today, unexpectedly, comes a squinting79 spring shower, stiffening80 the dust and pollen81 of the city, nailing the glass roof of the studio where Nessim sits over his croquis for his wife’s portrait. He has captured her sitting before the fire with a guitar in her hands, her throat snatched up by a spotted82 scarf, her singing head bent83. The noise of her voice is jumbled84 in the back of his brain like the sound-track of an earthquake run backwards85. Prodigious86 archery over the parks where the palm-trees have been dragged back taut87; a mythology88 of yellow-maned waves attacking the Pharos. At night the city is full of new sounds, the pulls and stresses of the wind, until you feel it has become a ship, its old timbers groaning and creaking with every assault of the weather. This is the weather Scobie loves. Lying in bed will he fondle his telescope lovingly, turning a wistful eye on the blank wall of rotting mud-brick which shuts off his view of the sea. Scobie is getting on for seventy and still afraid to die; his one fear is that he will awake one morning and find himself lying dead — Lieutenant-Commander Scobie. Consequently it gives him a severe shock every morning when the water-carriers shriek89 under his window before dawn, waking him up. For a moment, he says, he dare not open his eyes. Keeping them fast shut (for fear that they might open on the heavenly host or the cherubims hymning) he gropes along the cake-stand beside his bed and grabs his pipe. It is always loaded from the night before and an open matchbox stands beside it. The first whiff of seaman’s plug restores both his composure and his eyesight. He breathes deeply, grateful for the reassurance90. He smiles. He gloats. Drawing the heavy sheepskin which serves him as a bedcover up to his ears he sings his little triumphal paean91 to the morning, his voice crackling like tinfoil92. ‘Taisez-vous, petit babouin: laissez parler votre mère.’ His pendulous93 trumpeter’s cheeks become rosy94 with the effort. Taking stock of himself he discovers that he has the inevitable95 headache. His tongue is raw from last night’s brandy. But against these trifling96 discomforts97 the prospect98 of another day in life weighs heavily. ‘Taisez-vous, petit babouin’, and so on, pausing to slip in his false teeth. He places his wrinkled fingers to his chest and is comforted by the sound of his heart at work, maintaining a tremulous circulation in that venous system whose deficiencies (real or imaginary I do not know) are only offset99 by brandy in daily and ail-but lethal100 doses. He is rather proud of his heart. If you ever visit him when he is in bed he is almost sure to grasp your hand in a horny mandible and ask you to feel it: ‘Strong as a bullock, what? Ticking over nicely’, is the way he puts it, in spite of the brandy. Swallowing a little you shove your hand inside his cheap night-jacket to experience those sad, blunt, far-away little bumps of life — like a foetal heart in the seventh month. He buttons up his pyjamas with a touching pride and gives his imitation roar of animal health. ‘Bounding from my bed like a lion’ — that is another of his phrases. You have not experienced the full charm of the man until you have actually seen him, bent double with rheumatism102, crawling out from between his coarse cotton sheets like a derelict. Only in the warmest months of the year do his bones thaw103 out sufficiently104 to enable him to stand fully26 erect105. In the summer afternoons he walks the Park, his little cranium glowing like a minor106 sun, his briar canted to heaven, his jaw107 set in a violent grimace108 of lewd109 health. No mythology of the city would be complete without its Scobie, and Alexandria will be the poorer for it when his sun-cured body wrapped in a union Jack101 is finally lowered into the shallow grave which awaits him at the Roman Catholic cemetery110 by the tram-line. His exiguous111 nautical112 pension is hardly enough to pay for the one cockroach-infested room which he inhabits in the slum-area behind Tatwig Street; he ekes113 it out with an equally exiguous salary from the Egyptian Government which carries with it the proud title of Bimbashi in the Police Force. Clea has painted a wonderful portrait of him in his police uniform with the scarlet114 tarbush on his head, and the great fly-whisk, as thick as a horse’s tail, laid gracefully115 across his bony knees. It is Clea who supplies him with tobacco and I with admiration116, company, and weather permitting, brandy. We take it in turns to applaud his health, and to pick him up when he has struck himself too hard on the chest in enthusiastic demonstration117 of it. Origins he has none — his past proliferates118 through a dozen continents like a true subject of myth. And his presence is so rich with imaginary health that he needs nothing more — except perhaps an occasional trip to Cairo during Ramadan when his office is closed and when presumably all crime comes to a standstill because of the fast. Youth is beardless, so is second childhood. Scobie tugs119 tenderly at the remains of a once handsome and bushy torpedo-beard — but very gently, caressingly120, for fear of pulling it out altogether and leaving himself quite naked. He clings to life like a limpet, each year bringing its hardly visible sea-change. It is as if his body were being reduced, shrunk, by the passing of the winters; his cranium will soon be the size of a baby’s. A year or two more and we will be able to squeeze it into a bottle and pickle121 it forever. The wrinkles become ever more heavily indented122. Without his teeth his face is the face of an ancient ape; above the meagre beard his two cherry-red cheeks known affectionately as ‘port’ and ‘starboard’, glow warm in all weathers. Physically123 he has drawn124 heavily on the replacement125 department; in nineteen-ten a fall from the mizzen threw his jaw two points west by south-west, and smashed the frontal sinus. When he speaks his denture behaves like a moving staircase, travelling upwards126 and round inside his skull127 in a jerky spiral. His smile is capricious; it might appear from anywhere, like that of the Cheshire Cat. In ninety-eight he made eyes at another man’s wife (so he says) and lost one of them. No one except Clea is supposed to know about this, but the replacement in this case was rather a crude one. In repose128 it is not very noticeable, but the minute he becomes animated129 a disparity between his two eyes becomes obvious. There is also a small technical problem — his own eye is almost permanently130 bloodshot. On the very first occasion when he treated me to a reedy rendering131 of ‘Watchman, What of the Night?’, while he stood in the corner of the room with an ancient chamber-pot in his hand, I noticed that his right eye moved a trifle slower than his left. It seemed then to be a larger imitation of the stuffed eagle’s eye which lours so glumly132 from a niche133 in the public library. In winter, however, it is the false eye and not the true which throbs134 unbearably135 making him morose136 and foul-mouthed until he has applied137 a little brandy to his stomach. Scobie is a sort of protozoic profile in fog and rain, for he carries with him a sort of English weather, and he is never happier than when he can sit over a microscopic138 wood-fire in winter and talk. One by one his memories leak through the faulty machinery139 of his mind until he no longer knows them for his own. Behind him I see the long grey rollers of the Atlantic at work, curling up over his memories, smothering140 them in spray, blinding him. When he speaks of the past it is in a series of short dim telegrams — as if already communications were poor, the weather inimical to transmission. In Dawson City the ten who went up the river were frozen to death. Winter came down like a hammer, beating them senseless: whisky, gold, murder — it was like a new crusade northward141 into the timberlands. At this time his brother fell over the falls in Uganda; in his dream he saw the tiny figure, like a fly, fall and at once get smoothed out by the yellow claw of water. No: that was later when he was already staring along the sights of a carbine into the very brain-box of a Boer. He tries to remember exactly when it must have been, dropping his polished head into his hands; but the grey rollers intervene, the long effortless tides patrol the barrier between himself and his memory. That is why the phrase came to me: a sea-change for the old pirate: his skull looks palped and sucked down until only the thinnest integument142 separates his smile from the smile of the hidden skeleton. Observe the brain-case with its heavy indentations: the twigs143 of bone inside his wax fingers, the rods of tallow which support his quivering shins…. Really, as Clea has remarked, old Scobie is like some little old experimental engine left over from the last century, something as pathetic and friendly as Stephenson’s first Rocket. He lives in his little sloping attic144 like an anchorite. ‘An anchorite!’ that is another favourite phrase; he will pop his cheek vulgarly with his finger as he utters it, allowing his rolling eye to insinuate145 all the feminine indulgences he permits himself in secret. This is for Clea’s benefit, however; in the presence of ‘a perfect lady’ he feels obliged to assume a protective colouring which he sheds the moment she leaves. The truth is somewhat sadder. ‘I’ve done quite a bit of scout-mastering’ he admits to me sotto voce ‘with the Hackney Troop. That was after I was invalided146 out. But I had to keep out of England, old boy. The strain was too much for me. Every week I expected to see a headline in the News of the World, “Another youthful victim of scoutmaster’s dirty wish.” Down in Hackney things didn’t matter so much. My kids were experts in woodcraft. Proper young Etonians I used to call them. The scoutmaster before me got twenty years. It’s enough to make one have Doubts. These things made you think. Somehow I couldn’t settle down in Hackney. Mind you, I’m a bit past everything now but I do like to have my peace of mind — just in case. And somehow in England one doesn’t feel free any more. Look at the way they are pulling up clergymen, respected churchmen and so on. I used to lie awake worrying. Finally I came abroad as a private tooter — Tony Mannering, his father was an M.P., wanted an excuse to travel. They said he had to have a tooter. He wanted to go into the Navy. That’s how I fetched up here. I saw at once it was nice and free-and-easy here. Got a job right off with the Vice147 Squad148 under Nimrod Pasha. And here I am, dear boy. And no complaints do you see? Looking from east to west over this fertile Delta149 what do I see? Mile upon mile of angelic little black bottoms.’ The Egyptian Government, with the typical generous quixotry the Levant lavishes150 on any foreigner who shows a little warmth and friendliness151, had offered him a means to live on in Alexandria. It is said that after his appointment to the Vice Squad vice assumed such alarming proportions that it was found necessary to up-grade and transfer him; but he himself always maintained that his transfer to the routine C.I.D. branch of the police had been a deserved promotion152 — and I for my part have never had the courage to tease him on the subject. His work is not onerous153. For a couple of hours every morning he works in a ramshackle office in the upper quarter of the town, with the fleas154 jumping out of the rotten woodwork of his old-fashioned desk. He lunches modestly at the Lutetia and, funds permitting, buys himself an apple and a bottle of brandy for his evening meal there. The long fierce summer afternoons are spent in sleep, in turning over the newspapers which he borrows from a friendly Greek newsvendor. (As he reads the pulse in the top of his skull beats softly.) Ripeness is all. The furnishing of his little room suggests a highly eclectic spirit; the few objects which adorn155 the anchorite’s life have a severely156 personal flavour, as if together they composed the personality of their owner. That is why Clea’s portrait gives such a feeling of completeness, for she has worked into the background the whole sum of the old man’s possessions. The shabby little crucifix on the wall behind the bed, for example; it is some years since Scobie accepted the consolations157 of the Holy Roman Church against old age and those defects of character which had by this time become second nature. Nearby hangs a small print of the Mona Lisa whose enigmatic smile has always reminded Scobie of his mother. (For my part the famous smile has always seemed to me to be the smile of a woman who has just dined off her husband.) However this too has somehow incorporated itself into the existence of Scobie, established a special and private relationship. It is as if his Mona Lisa were like no other; it is a deserter from Leonardo. Then, of course, there is the ancient cake-stand which serves as his commode, bookcase and escritoire in one. Clea has accorded it the ungrudging treatment it deserves, painting it with a microscopic fidelity158. It has four tiers, each fringed with a narrow but elegant level. It cost him ninepence farthing in the Euston Road in 1911, and it has travelled twice round the world with him. He will help you admire it without a trace of humour or self-consciousness. ‘Fetching little thing, what?’ he will say jauntily159, as he takes a cloth and dusts it. The top tier, he will explain carefully, was designed for buttered toast: the middle for shortbreads: the bottom tier is for ‘two kinds of cake’. At the moment, however, it is fulfilling another purpose. On the top shelf he his telescope, compass and Bible; on the middle tier lies his correspondence which consists only of his pension envelope; on the bottom tier, with tremendous gravity, lies a chamber-pot which is always referred to as ‘the heirloom’, and to which is attached a mysterious story which he will one day confide to me. The room is lit by one weak electric-light bulb and a cluster of rush lights standing160 in a niche which also houses an earthenware161 jar full of cool drinking water. The one uncurtained window looks blindly out upon a sad peeling wall of mud. Lying in bed with the smoky feeble glare of the night-lights glinting in the glass of his compass — lying in bed after midnight with the brandy throbbing162 in his skull he reminds me of some ancient wedding-cake, waiting only for someone to lean forward and blow out the candles! His last remark at night, when one has seen him safely to bed and tucked him in — apart from the vulgar ‘Kiss Me Hardy’ which is always accompanied by a leer and a popped cheek — is more serious. ‘Tell me honestly’ he says. ‘Do I look my age?’ Frankly163 Scobie looks anybody’s age; older than the birth of tragedy, younger than the Athenian death. Spawned164 in the Ark by a chance meeting and mating of the bear and the ostrich165; delivered before term by the sickening grunt166 of the keel on Ararat. Scobie came forth167 from the womb in a wheel chair with rubber tyres, dressed in a deer-stalker and a red flannel168 binder169. On his prehensile170 toes the glossiest171 pair of elastic-sided boots. In his hand a ravaged172 family Bible whose fly-leaf bore the words ‘Joshua Samuel Scobie 1870. Honour thy father and thy mother’. To these possessions were added eyes like dead moons, a distinct curvature of the pirate’s spinal173 column, and a taste for quinqueremes. It was not blood which flowed in Scobie’s veins174 but green salt water, deep-sea stuff. His walk is the slow rolling grinding trudge175 of a saint walking on Galilee. His talk is a green-water jargon176 swept up in five oceans — an antique shop of polite fable177 bristling178 with sextants, astrolabes, porpentines and isobars. When he sings, which he so often does, it is in the very accents of the Old Man of the Sea. Like a patron saint he has left little pieces of his flesh all over the world, in Zanzibar, Colombo, Togoland, Wu Fu: the little deciduous179 morsels180 which he has been shedding for so long now, old antlers, cuff-links, teeth, hair…. Now the retreating tide has left him high and dry above the speeding currents of time, Joshua the insolvent181 weather-man, the islander, the anchorite.
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parsimony
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n.过度节俭,吝啬 | |
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sheathed
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adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的;覆盖的;铠装的;装鞘了的v.将(刀、剑等)插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 );包,覆盖 | |
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groaning
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adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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scribbled
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v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 );乱画;草草地写;匆匆记下 | |
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tenant
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n.承租人;房客;佃户;v.租借,租用 | |
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perverted
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adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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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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doctrines
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n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 );教义;学说;(政府政策的)正式声明 | |
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torment
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n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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cabal
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n.政治阴谋小集团 | |
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psychologies
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n.心理学( psychology的名词复数 );心理特点;心理影响 | |
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12
psyche
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n.精神;灵魂 | |
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investigations
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(正式的)调查( investigation的名词复数 ); 侦查; 科学研究; 学术研究 | |
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remains
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n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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realization
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n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
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refunded
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v.归还,退还( refund的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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groves
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树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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grove
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n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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corrupt
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v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
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denuded
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adj.[医]变光的,裸露的v.使赤裸( denude的过去式和过去分词 );剥光覆盖物 | |
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tilting
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倾斜,倾卸 | |
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schooner
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n.纵帆船 | |
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coveted
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adj.令人垂涎的;垂涎的,梦寐以求的v.贪求,觊觎(covet的过去分词);垂涎;贪图 | |
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clenched
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v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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guttering
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n.用于建排水系统的材料;沟状切除术;开沟 | |
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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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civilized
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a.有教养的,文雅的 | |
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mere
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adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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metaphors
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隐喻( metaphor的名词复数 ) | |
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benefactor
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n. 恩人,行善的人,捐助人 | |
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impending
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a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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maudlin
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adj.感情脆弱的,爱哭的 | |
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savage
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adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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witty
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adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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deliberately
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adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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underneath
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adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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steadily
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adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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poltroonery
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n.怯懦,胆小 | |
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provincial
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adj.省的,地方的;n.外省人,乡下人 | |
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muses
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v.沉思,冥想( muse的第三人称单数 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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rue
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n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
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swelling
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n.肿胀 | |
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wizened
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adj.凋谢的;枯槁的 | |
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tragically
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adv. 悲剧地,悲惨地 | |
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frailty
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n.脆弱;意志薄弱 | |
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ciphers
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n.密码( cipher的名词复数 );零;不重要的人;无价值的东西 | |
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motive
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n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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stipulation
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n.契约,规定,条文;条款说明 | |
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49
endearments
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n.表示爱慕的话语,亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
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50
habitually
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ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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51
drenched
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adj.湿透的;充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 );在某人(某物)上大量使用(某液体) | |
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52
cubicle
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n.大房间中隔出的小室 | |
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obstructed
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阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 ); 堵塞; 阻碍; 阻止 | |
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confide
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v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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confidential
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adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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mumble
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n./v.喃喃而语,咕哝 | |
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57
permissible
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adj.可允许的,许可的 | |
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grotesque
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adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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confidentially
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ad.秘密地,悄悄地 | |
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61
lyric
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n.抒情诗,歌词;adj.抒情的 | |
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62
alas
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int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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bulging
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膨胀; 凸出(部); 打气; 折皱 | |
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64
pyjamas
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n.(宽大的)睡衣裤 | |
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catching
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adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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exhaustion
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n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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flirtation
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n.调情,调戏,挑逗 | |
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retrospect
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n.回顾,追溯;v.回顾,回想,追溯 | |
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possessed
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adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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situated
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adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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71
exhausted
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adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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72
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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73
derisively
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adv. 嘲笑地,嘲弄地 | |
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74
hearth
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n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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75
primates
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primate的复数 | |
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76
touching
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adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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77
vaulted
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adj.拱状的 | |
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78
wretch
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n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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79
squinting
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斜视( squint的现在分词 ); 眯着眼睛; 瞟; 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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80
stiffening
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n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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81
pollen
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n.[植]花粉 | |
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82
spotted
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adj.有斑点的,斑纹的,弄污了的 | |
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83
bent
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n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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84
jumbled
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adj.混乱的;杂乱的 | |
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85
backwards
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adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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86
prodigious
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adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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87
taut
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adj.拉紧的,绷紧的,紧张的 | |
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88
mythology
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n.神话,神话学,神话集 | |
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89
shriek
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v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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90
reassurance
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n.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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91
paean
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n.赞美歌,欢乐歌 | |
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92
tinfoil
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n.锡纸,锡箔 | |
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93
pendulous
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adj.下垂的;摆动的 | |
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94
rosy
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adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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95
inevitable
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adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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96
trifling
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adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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97
discomforts
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n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 );不愉快,苦恼 | |
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98
prospect
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n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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99
offset
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n.分支,补偿;v.抵消,补偿 | |
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100
lethal
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adj.致死的;毁灭性的 | |
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101
jack
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n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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102
rheumatism
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n.风湿病 | |
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103
thaw
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v.(使)融化,(使)变得友善;n.融化,缓和 | |
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104
sufficiently
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adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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105
erect
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n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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106
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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107
jaw
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n.颚,颌,说教,流言蜚语;v.喋喋不休,教训 | |
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108
grimace
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v.做鬼脸,面部歪扭 | |
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109
lewd
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adj.淫荡的 | |
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110
cemetery
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n.坟墓,墓地,坟场 | |
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111
exiguous
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adj.不足的,太少的 | |
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112
nautical
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adj.海上的,航海的,船员的 | |
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113
ekes
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v.(靠节省用量)使…的供应持久( eke的第三人称单数 );节约使用;竭力维持生计;勉强度日 | |
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114
scarlet
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n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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115
gracefully
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ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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116
admiration
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n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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117
demonstration
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n.表明,示范,论证,示威 | |
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118
proliferates
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激增( proliferate的名词复数 ); (迅速)繁殖; 增生; 扩散 | |
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119
tugs
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n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 );猛拖;拖船v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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120
caressingly
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爱抚地,亲切地 | |
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121
pickle
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n.腌汁,泡菜;v.腌,泡 | |
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122
indented
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adj.锯齿状的,高低不平的;缩进排版 | |
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123
physically
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adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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124
drawn
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v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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125
replacement
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n.取代,替换,交换;替代品,代用品 | |
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126
upwards
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adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
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127
skull
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n.头骨;颅骨 | |
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128
repose
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v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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129
animated
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adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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130
permanently
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adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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131
rendering
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n.表现,描写 | |
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132
glumly
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adv.忧郁地,闷闷不乐地;阴郁地 | |
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133
niche
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n.壁龛;合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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134
throbs
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体内的跳动( throb的名词复数 ) | |
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135
unbearably
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adv.不能忍受地,无法容忍地;慌 | |
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136
morose
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adj.脾气坏的,不高兴的 | |
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137
applied
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adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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138
microscopic
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adj.微小的,细微的,极小的,显微的 | |
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139
machinery
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n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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140
smothering
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(使)窒息, (使)透不过气( smother的现在分词 ); 覆盖; 忍住; 抑制 | |
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141
northward
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adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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142
integument
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n.皮肤 | |
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143
twigs
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细枝,嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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144
attic
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n.顶楼,屋顶室 | |
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145
insinuate
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vt.含沙射影地说,暗示 | |
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146
invalided
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使伤残(invalid的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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147
vice
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n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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148
squad
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n.班,小队,小团体;vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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149
delta
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n.(流的)角洲 | |
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150
lavishes
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v.过分给予,滥施( lavish的第三人称单数 ) | |
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151
friendliness
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n.友谊,亲切,亲密 | |
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152
promotion
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n.提升,晋级;促销,宣传 | |
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153
onerous
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adj.繁重的 | |
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154
fleas
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n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 );爱财如命;没好气地(拒绝某人的要求) | |
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155
adorn
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vt.使美化,装饰 | |
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156
severely
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adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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157
consolations
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n.安慰,慰问( consolation的名词复数 );起安慰作用的人(或事物) | |
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158
fidelity
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n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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159
jauntily
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adv.心满意足地;洋洋得意地;高兴地;活泼地 | |
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160
standing
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n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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161
earthenware
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n.土器,陶器 | |
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162
throbbing
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a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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163
frankly
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adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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164
spawned
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(鱼、蛙等)大量产(卵)( spawn的过去式和过去分词 ); 大量生产 | |
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165
ostrich
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n.鸵鸟 | |
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166
grunt
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v.嘟哝;作呼噜声;n.呼噜声,嘟哝 | |
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167
forth
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adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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168
flannel
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n.法兰绒;法兰绒衣服 | |
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169
binder
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n.包扎物,包扎工具;[法]临时契约;粘合剂;装订工 | |
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170
prehensile
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adj.(足等)适于抓握的 | |
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171
glossiest
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光滑的( glossy的最高级 ); 虚有其表的; 浮华的 | |
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172
ravaged
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毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 ); 蹂躏; 劫掠; 抢劫 | |
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173
spinal
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adj.针的,尖刺的,尖刺状突起的;adj.脊骨的,脊髓的 | |
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174
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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175
trudge
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v.步履艰难地走;n.跋涉,费力艰难的步行 | |
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176
jargon
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n.术语,行话 | |
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177
fable
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n.寓言;童话;神话 | |
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178
bristling
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a.竖立的 | |
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179
deciduous
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adj.非永久的;短暂的;脱落的;落叶的 | |
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180
morsels
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n.一口( morsel的名词复数 );(尤指食物)小块,碎屑 | |
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181
insolvent
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adj.破产的,无偿还能力的 | |
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