THE pilgrims were human beings. Otherwise they would have acted differently. They had come a long and difficult journey, and now when the journey was nearly finished, and they learned that the main thing they had come for had ceased to exist, they didn't do as horses or cats or angle-worms would probably have done -- turn back and get at something profitable -- no, anxious as they had before been to see the miraculous2 fountain, they were as much as forty times as anxious now to see the place where it had used to be. There is no accounting3 for human beings.
We made good time; and a couple of hours before sunset we stood upon the high confines of the Valley of Holiness, and our eyes swept it from end to end and noted4 its features. That is, its large features. These were the three masses of buildings. They were distant and isolated5 temporalities shrunken to toy constructions in the lonely waste of what seemed a desert -- and was. Such a scene is always mournful, it is so impressively still, and looks so steeped in death. But there was a sound here which interrupted the stillness only to add to its mournfulness; this was the faint far sound of tolling6 bells which floated fitfully to us on the passing breeze, and so faintly, so softly, that we hardly knew whether we heard it with our ears or with our spirits.
We reached the monastery7 before dark, and there the males were given lodging8, but the women were sent over to the nunnery. The bells were close at hand now, and their solemn booming smote9 upon the ear like a message of doom10. A superstitious11 despair possessed12 the heart of every monk13 and published itself in his ghastly face. Everywhere, these black-robed, soft-sandaled, tallow-visaged specters appeared, flitted about and disappeared, noiseless as the creatures of a troubled dream, and as uncanny.
The old abbot's joy to see me was pathetic. Even to tears; but he did the shedding himself. He said:
"Delay not, son, but get to thy saving work. An we bring not the water back again, and soon, we are ruined, and the good work of two hundred years must end. And see thou do it with enchantments14 that be holy, for the Church will not endure that work in her cause be done by devil's magic."
"When I work, Father, be sure there will be no devil's work connected with it. I shall use no arts that come of the devil, and no elements not created by the hand of God. But is Merlin working strictly16 on pious17 lines?"
"Ah, he said he would, my son, he said he would, and took oath to make his promise good."
"Well, in that case, let him proceed."
"But surely you will not sit idle by, but help?"
"It will not answer to mix methods, Father; neither would it be professional courtesy. Two of a trade must not underbid each other. We might as well cut rates and be done with it; it would arrive at that in the end. Merlin has the contract; no other magician can touch it till he throws it up."
"But I will take it from him; it is a terrible emergency and the act is thereby18 justified19. And if it were not so, who will give law to the Church? The Church giveth law to all; and what she wills to do, that she may do, hurt whom it may. I will take it from him; you shall begin upon the moment."
"It may not be, Father. No doubt, as you say, where power is supreme20, one can do as one likes and suffer no injury; but we poor magicians are not so situated21. Merlin is a very good magician in a small way, and has quite a neat provincial22 reputation. He is struggling along, doing the best he can, and it would not be etiquette23 for me to take his job until he himself abandons it."
The abbot's face lighted.
"Ah, that is simple. There are ways to persuade him to abandon it."
"No-no, Father, it skills not, as these people say. If he were persuaded against his will, he would load that well with a malicious24 enchantment15 which would balk25 me until I found out its secret. It might take a month. I could set up a little enchantment of mine which I call the telephone, and he could not find out its secret in a hundred years. Yes, you perceive, he might block me for a month. Would you like to risk a month in a dry time like this?"
"A month! The mere26 thought of it maketh me to shudder27. Have it thy way, my son. But my heart is heavy with this disappointment. Leave me, and let me wear my spirit with weariness and waiting, even as I have done these ten long days, counterfeiting28 thus the thing that is called rest, the prone29 body making outward sign of repose30 where inwardly is none."
Of course, it would have been best, all round, for Merlin to waive31 etiquette and quit and call it half a day, since he would never be able to start that water, for he was a true magician of the time; which is to say, the big miracles, the ones that gave him his reputation, always had the luck to be performed when nobody but Merlin was present; he couldn't start this well with all this crowd around to see; a crowd was as bad for a magician's miracle in that day as it was for a spiritualist's miracle in mine; there was sure to be some skeptic32 on hand to turn up the gas at the crucial moment and spoil everything. But I did not want Merlin to retire from the job until I was ready to take hold of it effectively myself; and I could not do that until I got my things from Camelot, and that would take two or three days.
My presence gave the monks33 hope, and cheered them up a good deal; insomuch that they ate a square meal that night for the first time in ten days. As soon as their stomachs had been properly reinforced with food, their spirits began to rise fast; when the mead34 began to go round they rose faster. By the time everybody was half-seas over, the holy community was in good shape to make a night of it; so we stayed by the board and put it through on that line. Matters got to be very jolly. Good old questionable35 stories were told that made the tears run down and cavernous mouths stand wide and the round bellies36 shake with laughter; and questionable songs were bellowed37 out in a mighty38 chorus that drowned the boom of the tolling bells.
At last I ventured a story myself; and vast was the success of it. Not right off, of course, for the native of those islands does not, as a rule, dissolve upon the early applications of a humorous thing; but the fifth time I told it, they began to crack in places; the eight time I told it, they began to crumble39; at the twelfth repetition they fell apart in chunks40; and at the fifteenth they disintegrated41, and I got a broom and swept them up. This language is figurative. Those islanders -well, they are slow pay at first, in the matter of return for your investment of effort, but in the end they make the pay of all other nations poor and small by contrast.
I was at the well next day betimes. Merlin was there, enchanting42 away like a beaver43, but not raising the moisture. He was not in a pleasant humor; and every time I hinted that perhaps this contract was a shade too hefty for a novice44 he unlimbered his tongue and cursed like a bishop45 -- French bishop of the Regency days, I mean.
Matters were about as I expected to find them. The "fountain" was an ordinary well, it had been dug in the ordinary way, and stoned up in the ordinary way. There was no miracle about it. Even the lie that had created its reputation was not miraculous; I could have told it myself, with one hand tied behind me. The well was in a dark chamber46 which stood in the center of a cut-stone chapel47, whose walls were hung with pious pictures of a workmanship that would have made a chromo feel good; pictures historically commemorative of curative miracles which had been achieved by the waters when nobody was looking. That is, nobody but angels; they are always on deck when there is a miracle to the fore1 -- so as to get put in the picture, perhaps. Angels are as fond of that as a fire company; look at the old masters.
The well-chamber was dimly lighted by lamps; the water was drawn48 with a windlass and chain by monks, and poured into troughs which delivered it into stone reservoirs outside in the chapel -- when there was water to draw, I mean -- and none but monks could enter the well-chamber. I entered it, for I had temporary authority to do so, by courtesy of my professional brother and subordinate. But he hadn't entered it himself. He did everything by incantations; he never worked his intellect. If he had stepped in there and used his eyes, instead of his disordered mind, he could have cured the well by natural means, and then turned it into a miracle in the customary way; but no, he was an old numskull, a magician who believed in his own magic; and no magician can thrive who is handicapped with a superstition49 like that.
I had an idea that the well had sprung a leak; that some of the wall stones near the bottom had fallen and exposed fissures51 that allowed the water to escape. I measured the chain -- 98 feet. Then I called in couple of monks, locked the door, took a candle, and made them lower me in the bucket. When the chain was all paid out, the candle confirmed my suspicion; a considerable section of the wall was gone, exposing a good big fissure50.
I almost regretted that my theory about the well's trouble was correct, because I had another one that had a showy point or two about it for a miracle. I remembered that in America, many centuries later, when an oil well ceased to flow, they used to blast it out with a dynamite52 torpedo53. If I should find this well dry and no explanation of it, I could astonish these people most nobly by having a person of no especial value drop a dynamite bomb into it. It was my idea to appoint Merlin. However, it was plain that there was no occasion for the bomb. One cannot have everything the way he would like it. A man has no business to be depressed54 by a disappointment, anyway; he ought to make up his mind to get even. That is what I did. I said to myself, I am in no hurry, I can wait; that bomb will come good yet. And it did, too.
When I was above ground again, I turned out the monks, and let down a fish-line; the well was a hundred and fifty feet deep, and there was forty-one feet of water in it I I called in a monk and asked:
"How deep is the well?"
"That, sir, I wit not, having never been told."
"How does the water usually stand in it?"
"Near to the top, these two centuries, as the testimony55 goeth, brought down to us through our predecessors56."
It was true -- as to recent times at least -- for there was witness to it, and better witness than a monk; only about twenty or thirty feet of the chain showed wear and use, the rest of it was unworn and rusty57. What had happened when the well gave out that other time? Without doubt some practical person had come along and mended the leak, and then had come up and told the abbot he had discovered by divination58 that if the sinful bath were destroyed the well would flow again. The leak had befallen again now, and these children would have prayed, and processioned, and tolled59 their bells for heavenly succor60 till they all dried up and blew away, and no innocent of them all would ever have thought to drop a fish-line into the well or go down in it and find out what was really the matter. Old habit of mind is one of the toughest things to get away from in the world. It transmits itself like physical form and feature; and for a man, in those days, to have had an idea that his ancestors hadn't had, would have brought him under suspicion of being illegitimate. I said to the monk:
"It is a difficult miracle to restore water in a dry well, but we will try, if my brother Merlin fails. Brother Merlin is a very passable artist, but only in the parlor-magic line, and he may not succeed; in fact, is not likely to succeed. But that should be nothing to his discredit61; the man that can do THIS kind of miracle knows enough to keep hotel."
"Hotel? I mind not to have heard --"
"Of hotel? It's what you call hostel62. The man that can do this miracle can keep hostel. I can do this miracle; I shall do this miracle; yet I do not try to conceal63 from you that it is a miracle to tax the occult powers to the last strain."
"None knoweth that truth better than the brotherhood64, indeed; for it is of record that aforetime it was parlous65 difficult and took a year. Natheless, God send you good success, and to that end will we pray."
As a matter of business it was a good idea to get the notion around that the thing was difficult. Many a small thing has been made large by the right kind of advertising66. That monk was filled up with the difficulty of this enterprise; he would fill up the others. In two days the solicitude67 would be booming.
On my way home at noon, I met Sandy. She had been sampling the hermits68. I said:
"I would like to do that myself. This is Wednesday. Is there a matinee?"
"A which, please you, sir?"
"Matinee. Do they keep open afternoons?"
"Who?"
"The hermits, of course."
"Keep open?"
"Yes, keep open. Isn't that plain enough? Do they knock off at noon?"
"Knock off?"
"Knock off? -- yes, knock off. What is the matter with knock off? I never saw such a dunderhead; can't you understand anything at all? In plain terms, do they shut up shop, draw the game, bank the fires --"
"Shut up shop, draw --"
"There, never mind, let it go; you make me tired. You can't seem to understand the simplest thing."
I would I might please thee, sir, and it is to me dole70 and sorrow that I fail, albeit71 sith I am but a simple damsel and taught of none, being from the cradle unbaptized in those deep waters of learning that do anoint with a sovereignty him that partaketh of that most noble sacrament, investing him with reverend state to the mental eye of the humble72 mortal who, by bar and lack of that great consecration73 seeth in his own unlearned estate but a symbol of that other sort of lack and loss which men do publish to the pitying eye with sackcloth trappings whereon the ashes of grief do lie bepowdered and bestrewn, and so, when such shall in the darkness of his mind encounter these golden phrases of high mystery, these shut-up-shops, and draw-the-game, and bank-the-fires, it is but by the grace of God that he burst not for envy of the mind that can beget74, and tongue that can deliver so great and mellow-sounding miracles of speech, and if there do ensue confusion in that humbler mind, and failure to divine the meanings of these wonders, then if so be this miscomprehension is not vain but sooth and true, wit ye well it is the very substance of worshipful dear homage75 and may not lightly be misprized, nor had been, an ye had noted this complexion76 of mood and mind and understood that that I would I could not, and that I could not I might not, nor yet nor might NOR could, nor might-not nor could-not, might be by advantage turned to the desired WOULD, and so I pray you mercy of my fault, and that ye will of your kindness and your charity forgive it, good my master and most dear lord."
I couldn't make it all out -- that is, the details -- but I got the general idea; and enough of it, too, to be ashamed. It was not fair to spring those nineteenth century technicalities upon the untutored infant of the sixth and then rail at her because she couldn't get their drift; and when she was making the honest best drive at it she could, too, and no fault of hers that she couldn't fetch the home plate; and so I apologized. Then we meandered77 pleasantly away toward the hermit69 holes in sociable78 converse79 together, and better friends than ever.
I was gradually coming to have a mysterious and shuddery80 reverence81 for this girl; nowadays whenever she pulled out from the station and got her train fairly started on one of those horizonless transcontinental sentences of hers, it was borne in upon me that I was standing82 in the awful presence of the Mother of the German Language. I was so impressed with this, that sometimes when she began to empty one of these sentences on me I unconsciously took the very attitude of reverence, and stood uncovered; and if words had been water, I had been drowned, sure. She had exactly the German way; whatever was in her mind to be delivered, whether a mere remark, or a sermon, or a cyclopedia, or the history of a war, she would get it into a single sentence or die. Whenever the literary German dives into a sentence, that is the last you are going to see of him till he emerges on the other side of his Atlantic with his verb in his mouth.
We drifted from hermit to hermit all the afternoon. It was a most strange menagerie. The chief emulation83 among them seemed to be, to see which could manage to be the uncleanest and most prosperous with vermin. Their manner and attitudes were the last expression of complacent84 self-righteousness. It was one anchorite's pride to lie naked in the mud and let the insects bite him and blister85 him unmolested; it was another's to lean against a rock, all day long, conspicuous86 to the admiration87 of the throng88 of pilgrims and pray; it was another's to go naked and crawl around on all fours; it was another's to drag about with him, year in and year out, eighty pounds of iron; it was another's to never lie down when he slept, but to stand among the thorn-bushes and snore when there were pilgrims around to look; a woman, who had the white hair of age, and no other apparel, was black from crown to heel with forty-seven years of holy abstinence from water. Groups of gazing pilgrims stood around all and every of these strange objects, lost in reverent89 wonder, and envious90 of the fleckless sanctity which these pious austerities had won for them from an exacting91 heaven.
By and by we went to see one of the supremely92 great ones. He was a mighty celebrity93; his fame had penetrated94 all Christendom; the noble and the renowned95 journeyed from the remotest lands on the globe to pay him reverence. His stand was in the center of the widest part of the valley; and it took all that space to hold his crowds.
His stand was a pillar sixty feet high, with a broad platform on the top of it. He was now doing what he had been doing every day for twenty years up there -bowing his body ceaselessly and rapidly almost to his feet. It was his way of praying. I timed him with a stop watch, and he made 1,244 revolutions in 24 minutes and 46 seconds. It seemed a pity to have all this power going to waste. It was one of the most useful motions in mechanics, the pedal movement; so I made a note in my memorandum96 book, purposing some day to apply a system of elastic97 cords to him and run a sewing machine with it. I afterward98 carried out that scheme, and got five years' good service out of him; in which time he turned out upward of eighteen thousand first-rate tow-linen shirts, which was ten a day. I worked him Sundays and all; he was going, Sundays, the same as week days, and it was no use to waste the power. These shirts cost me nothing but just the mere trifle for the materials -- I furnished those myself, it would not have been right to make him do that -- and they sold like smoke to pilgrims at a dollar and a half apiece, which was the price of fifty cows or a blooded race horse in Arthurdom. They were regarded as a perfect protection against sin, and advertised as such by my knights99 everywhere, with the paint-pot and stencil-plate; insomuch that there was not a cliff or a bowlder or a dead wall in England but you could read on it at a mile distance:
"Buy the only genuine St. Stylite; patronized by the
Nobility. Patent applied100 for."
There was more money in the business than one knew what to do with. As it extended, I brought out a line of goods suitable for kings, and a nobby thing for duchesses and that sort, with ruffles101 down the forehatch and the running-gear clewed up with a featherstitch to leeward102 and then hauled aft with a back-stay and triced up with a half-turn in the standing rigging forward of the weather-gaskets. Yes, it was a daisy.
But about that time I noticed that the motive103 power had taken to standing on one leg, and I found that there was something the matter with the other one; so I stocked the business and unloaded, taking Sir Bors de Ganis into camp financially along with certain of his friends; for the works stopped within a year, and the good saint got him to his rest. But he had earned it. I can say that for him.
When I saw him that first time -- however, his personal condition will not quite bear description here. You can read it in the Lives of the Saints. *
[* All the details concerning the hermits, in this chapter, are from Lecky -- but greatly modified. This book not being a history but only a tale, the majority of the historian's frank details were too strong for reproduction in it. - EDITOR]
1 fore | |
adv.在前面;adj.先前的;在前部的;n.前部 | |
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2 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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3 accounting | |
n.会计,会计学,借贷对照表 | |
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4 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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5 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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6 tolling | |
[财]来料加工 | |
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7 monastery | |
n.修道院,僧院,寺院 | |
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8 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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9 smote | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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10 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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11 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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12 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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13 monk | |
n.和尚,僧侣,修道士 | |
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14 enchantments | |
n.魅力( enchantment的名词复数 );迷人之处;施魔法;着魔 | |
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15 enchantment | |
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
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16 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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17 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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18 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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19 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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20 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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21 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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22 provincial | |
adj.省的,地方的;n.外省人,乡下人 | |
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23 etiquette | |
n.礼仪,礼节;规矩 | |
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24 malicious | |
adj.有恶意的,心怀恶意的 | |
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25 balk | |
n.大方木料;v.妨碍;不愿前进或从事某事 | |
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26 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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27 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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28 counterfeiting | |
n.伪造v.仿制,造假( counterfeit的现在分词 ) | |
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29 prone | |
adj.(to)易于…的,很可能…的;俯卧的 | |
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30 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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31 waive | |
vt.放弃,不坚持(规定、要求、权力等) | |
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32 skeptic | |
n.怀疑者,怀疑论者,无神论者 | |
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33 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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34 mead | |
n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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35 questionable | |
adj.可疑的,有问题的 | |
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36 bellies | |
n.肚子( belly的名词复数 );腹部;(物体的)圆形或凸起部份;腹部…形的 | |
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37 bellowed | |
v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的过去式和过去分词 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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38 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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39 crumble | |
vi.碎裂,崩溃;vt.弄碎,摧毁 | |
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40 chunks | |
厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 ); (某物)相当大的数量或部分 | |
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41 disintegrated | |
v.(使)破裂[分裂,粉碎],(使)崩溃( disintegrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42 enchanting | |
a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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43 beaver | |
n.海狸,河狸 | |
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44 novice | |
adj.新手的,生手的 | |
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45 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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46 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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47 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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48 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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49 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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50 fissure | |
n.裂缝;裂伤 | |
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51 fissures | |
n.狭长裂缝或裂隙( fissure的名词复数 );裂伤;分歧;分裂v.裂开( fissure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52 dynamite | |
n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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53 torpedo | |
n.水雷,地雷;v.用鱼雷破坏 | |
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54 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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55 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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56 predecessors | |
n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 );前辈;(被取代的)原有事物;前身 | |
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57 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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58 divination | |
n.占卜,预测 | |
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59 tolled | |
鸣钟(toll的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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60 succor | |
n.援助,帮助;v.给予帮助 | |
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61 discredit | |
vt.使不可置信;n.丧失信义;不信,怀疑 | |
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62 hostel | |
n.(学生)宿舍,招待所 | |
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63 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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64 brotherhood | |
n.兄弟般的关系,手中情谊 | |
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65 parlous | |
adj.危险的,不确定的,难对付的 | |
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66 advertising | |
n.广告业;广告活动 a.广告的;广告业务的 | |
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67 solicitude | |
n.焦虑 | |
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68 hermits | |
(尤指早期基督教的)隐居修道士,隐士,遁世者( hermit的名词复数 ) | |
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69 hermit | |
n.隐士,修道者;隐居 | |
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70 dole | |
n.救济,(失业)救济金;vt.(out)发放,发给 | |
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71 albeit | |
conj.即使;纵使;虽然 | |
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72 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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73 consecration | |
n.供献,奉献,献祭仪式 | |
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74 beget | |
v.引起;产生 | |
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75 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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76 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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77 meandered | |
(指溪流、河流等)蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78 sociable | |
adj.好交际的,友好的,合群的 | |
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79 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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80 shuddery | |
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81 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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82 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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83 emulation | |
n.竞争;仿效 | |
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84 complacent | |
adj.自满的;自鸣得意的 | |
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85 blister | |
n.水疱;(油漆等的)气泡;v.(使)起泡 | |
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86 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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87 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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88 throng | |
n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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89 reverent | |
adj.恭敬的,虔诚的 | |
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90 envious | |
adj.嫉妒的,羡慕的 | |
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91 exacting | |
adj.苛求的,要求严格的 | |
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92 supremely | |
adv.无上地,崇高地 | |
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93 celebrity | |
n.名人,名流;著名,名声,名望 | |
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94 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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95 renowned | |
adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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96 memorandum | |
n.备忘录,便笺 | |
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97 elastic | |
n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的 | |
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98 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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99 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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100 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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101 ruffles | |
褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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102 leeward | |
adj.背风的;下风的 | |
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103 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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