The river's tide stole almost imperceptibly past, mirroring in its still bosom5 the sunset-painted sky, and the graver tinted6 objects of earth, with equal felicity,—like a gentle spirit, in whose well-ordered life the things of either world find their appropriate place and exquisite8 harmony. Just at that point of the upper stream where an artist would have placed it for the best pictorial9 effect, was the bridge of the main road, with rough abutments half-buried in wild foliage10, and railings overrun with vines; and at a remoter point down its shining course, the slenderer span of a narrow footbridge, with a single rustic11 railing, was also seen, idealized by distance into an aerial passway fit for fairy feet. In the earlier days of Godfrey's proprietorship12, while the half-brothers were yet on friendly terms, this latter structure had furnished the means of easy and frequent communication between the two households. On the cessation of intercourse13, however, Major Bergan had threatened its destruction, and had even begun an attack upon his own abutment; but his operations being suddenly suspended, and no convenient opportunity occurring for their resumption, he had finally left the work of demolition14 to be finished by the wear and tear of the elements, and the slow tooth of time. Though in a somewhat ruinous condition, and but insecurely poised15 on the damaged abutment, the bridge was still passable, with due caution; and, doubtless, it served for the nocturnal visits of such negroes of the two estates as were not set at odds16 by the bitterness of their masters' feud17.
At a little distance below the footbridge, the river made another graceful18 bend, and soon disappeared in the shadow of the pine forest,—behind and above the dark, swaying fringe of which, the posthumous19 glory of the sun was fading from the western sky. Against this flitting splendor20, the turret-like summits of the chimneys of Bergan Hall were distinctly visible. A little saddened by the sight, as forcing back on his mind thoughts and images which he had partially21 succeeded in flinging off, Bergan turned and walked quickly up the path to the house. Voices met him as he drew near. In one end of the broad piazza22, so shut in by interlacing vines as to constitute a kind of leaf-tapestried parlor23, two gentlemen were talking.
"I am afraid the identity is only too certain," said the smooth, sarcastic24 voice of Doctor Remy. "But I doubt if the habit be a confirmed one,—certainly, the physical indications are lacking. At any rate, as I said before, he is evidently making an effort to overcome it."
"I wish that no such effort were necessary,"—began a different voice; but with the instinct of delicacy25, Bergan set his foot upon the lower step of the piazza in a way to be distinctly heard, and would have done the same had he supposed that the conversation concerned him, which he did not. The voice ceased abruptly26, and a gentleman, whom he instantly recognized as his uncle, advanced to meet him. Though he had enough of the Bergan cast of feature to identify him at the first, casual glance, as belonging to the race, it was lost, almost as soon as seen, amid traits widely differing from the ancestral pattern. He was a much more genuine outcome of American soil than the rest of Sir Harry's descendants,—in whom a childhood fed upon old-world family traditions, and a youth spent at Oxford27 or Cambridge, had availed to preserve the English mould from all but the more unavoidable modifications28. The race had always been marked by a greater volume of muscle, a ruddier complexion29, and a sturdier texture30 of character, than was exactly native to the soil. But, in Godfrey Bergan, these characteristics were lacking. Though tall and well-formed, he was spare in figure and thin in face. His complexion had the true American sallowness of tint7. In matters of bulk, weight, and coloring,—all the purely31 animal characteristics,—he fell far below the standard of his half-brother. By way of indemnity32, his figure had more litheness33 and grace; and his features were more clearly cut, and endowed with a keener vivacity34 of expression,—apparently, they were informed by a quicker and finer intellect, as well as a gentler spirit.
Altogether, it was a thoughtful, a refined, and a benevolent35 countenance36, that confronted Bergan; yet not without certain firm lines about the mouth to indicate that its owner could be decided37, if he chose, and perhaps severe. While it invited liking38, it commanded respect.
It was with real pleasure that Bergan made his self-introduction to a relative with so many apparent claims to affection and esteem39. Yet, even while he mentioned his name and relationship, and held out his hand, as to a stranger,—albeit40 a friend,—he was beset41 by an uneasy consciousness that he had met Mr. Bergan, or somebody very like him, before. But where? Sending a swift, retrospective glance through his life, he could find no clue to the perplexing feeling; and, having scant42 time for investigation43, he quickly dismissed it as the offspring of some indefinite and elusive44 resemblance, perhaps to one of the ancestral portraits, perhaps to a half-forgotten acquaintance.
It was the more easily disposed of, that its place was soon filled by another shadowy vexation. His uncle's reception was both courteous45 and kind; yet he could not help feeling intuitively that it was lacking in some indefinable element of cordiality, even while he repudiated46 the intuition as a baseless figment of his own imagination. Certainly, there was no tangible47 coolness, not so much as a thin film of indifference48, upon which to lay a plausible49 finger-tip; nothing that did not slip away from every attempt at analysis, and seem to resolve itself into a sickly humor of his own. At worst, he told himself, there was only some less definite expression of consanguineous sympathy, in the pressure of his uncle's hand, and in the modulations of his voice, than he had allowed himself to look for; and this was a mere50 matter of mood and temperament51, the absence of which formed no good ground of complaint, whatever warmth and grace might have been contributed by its presence. No doubt, it would come in good time.
Meanwhile Doctor Remy, sending forth52 his keen glance from the shadowy end of the piazza, had recognized the new comer; and he now presented himself, hat in hand.
"The first meeting of near relatives," said he, with his indescribable mixture of seriousness and sarcasm53, "is a scene upon which a third person is bound to pronounce his blessing54, and—turn his back! Nay55, no disclaimers; he is equally bound not to listen to them. Good evening, Mr. Bergan,—allow me to remark that good influences may avail much in the matter that we were talking of. Good evening, Mr. Arling,—it gives me pleasure to leave you in such agreeable quarters; Oakstead has manifold attractions, as you are in the way to discover."
And the doctor bowed, and descended56 the steps.
Mr. Bergan turned to his nephew. "I hope you left my sister well," said he.
"Quite well. I have a letter from her for you. I am ashamed that it has not been delivered before, but—"
Bergan hesitated; a further explanation would take him upon delicate ground.
"Never mind the sequence of the 'but,'" said his uncle, smiling, albeit a little gravely;—"I am aware that the road from Bergan Hall to Oakstead is not so smooth as could be wished. I"—there was a slight hesitation57, as if a colder phrase had been sought, and not found,—"I am glad that you were able to surmount58 its difficulties so soon. A letter from Eleanor!" he went on, with a sudden change of subject,—"that will be a treat indeed! I take shame to myself that our correspondence has fallen into such desuetude59. But what one ever did survive the lapse60 of forty-two years, without the reviving impulse of an occasional meeting? I hardly dare venture a question about my sister's family, lest I make some terrific blunder. I am not even sure about the present number of her children."
"There are six of us left."
"'Left' implies 'taken,'" said Mr. Bergan, with a sigh.
"We have lost two of our number."
"So have we," replied Mr. Bergan. "But we have not six left—we have only one. However, she is a host in herself,—at least, we think so,"—he added, with a smile at his own enthusiasm. "But, will you come in and see your aunt and cousin?"
He led the way to a small room, pleasantly furnished as a library; and Bergan followed him, though not without a vague sense of a lurking61 reluctance62 and lukewarmness in the invitation,—which he sternly smothered63, nevertheless, as unworthy of himself and unjust to his uncle.
Stepping to an open French window, Mr. Bergan slightly raised his voice and called,—
"Carice!"
"Yes, father!" was the instant answer, in a voice of peculiar64 richness and melody; and the next moment a young girl stood in the window, with a light shawl wrapped round her slender figure, and her hands filled with autumn flowers, just gathered. The light was too dim to show her features clearly; but a certain indefinable freshness and sweetness seemed to enter the room with her and diffuse65 itself through the atmosphere not less perceptibly than the scent66 of the flowers. At sight of a stranger, imperfectly seen in the twilight67 obscurity of the room, she stopped abruptly.
"It is your cousin, Bergan Arling, the son of my sister Eleanor," briefly68 explained her father.
There was a little start of surprise and of pleasure; then Carice dropped her flowers on the nearest table, and gave Bergan two cordial hands. Not only was there a charming grace in the unstudied action, but also the pleasant heart-warmth, the frank recognition of kinship and its appropriate sympathies, which Bergan had so unaccountably missed from his uncle's manner, even while trying to persuade himself, either that it was there, or that its absence was no matter of surprise.
"Have I really a cousin, then!" said she, brightly. "I never believed it till now. That story of cousins at the West always sounded like a pleasant fiction to me,—I am glad to know that it is founded on fact."
"On six facts," said Bergan, smiling. "I am the fortunate representative of five other claimants to your cousinly regard."
Carice laughingly shook her head. "I believe what I see," said she,—"or rather what I should see, if it were not so dim here. By and bye,—after I have ordered lights,—I may be able to reason from the seen to the unseen." And she glided69 from the room, which seemed to grow suddenly dark and chill behind her.
Very shortly she returned, preceded by a servant bearing lights, and accompanied by her mother. Looking toward Bergan with a smile, she gave a slight start; the coming words were arrested on her parted lips; the color mounted to her brow; across her face went a swift ripple70 of disappointment and pain. Quickly recovering herself, she presented him to her mother; but the bright cordiality, the warm heart-glow, of her earlier manner, had faded, and came no more. It was as if a gray screen had suddenly been drawn71 before a cheery household fire.
Happily for Bergan, his aunt claimed his attention, before he had time to feel the full dreariness72 of the change. She was a woman of rare tact73, and much kindliness74 of heart, despite a somewhat stately manner, and a considerable degree of aristocratic chill for people not exactly in her "set." She gave Bergan a warm welcome,—almost a motherly one; there was something about him that brought a softening75 remembrance of the two sons that slept in the family burial ground, and quietly opened the way for him into her heart. Finding his entertainment left very much in her hands, she cared for it kindly76; though not without a secret wonder at the inexplicable77 indifference of her husband and daughter. But she did her best to make amends78 for it by her own friendliness79, and in part, succeeded.
Meanwhile, Bergan was beset by another tantalizing80 resemblance. Never, he thought, had he seen anything quite so lovely as his cousin Carice,—with her soft, brown hair, her clear rose-complexion, her large, limpid81, blue eyes, the lily-like droop82 of her exquisitely83 formed head, the inexhaustible grace of her attitudes and movements,—but he had certainly seen somebody a little like her. So strong, yet so puzzling was this conviction, and so frequent the glances consequently sent in her direction, that he felt a word of explanation might not be amiss.
"Excuse me," said he, "if I seem to be looking at you almost constantly; but there is something about you curiously84 familiar, though it is impossible that we should have met before. I suppose I must have seen somebody that resembled you; but I cannot tell when or where."
Carice looked down, and colored slightly. Her father came to her relief.
"There is often no accounting85 for resemblances," said he. "When there is any tie of blood, however remote, we understand them, of course; but when the face of an utter stranger startles me in the street with the very smile of my sister Eleanor, or the grave look of my dead father, what am I to think?"
"One would like to know," remarked Bergan, "if there is a mental and moral likeness86, to match the physical one. When I fix the resemblance that eludes87 me so persistently88 in you," he added, turning to Carice, "I hope it will help me to answer the question."
"I doubt if it does," replied Carice, quietly, yet not without a certain something in her tone that sounded almost like sarcasm. He looked at her in considerable surprise, but her eyes were turned away, and she said no more.
Feeling as if he were walking in a mist, which everywhere eluded89 his grasp, while it blinded his eyes, and chilled his heart, he rose to go.
"Let me see," said his aunt, kindly, as she gave him her hand, "to-morrow will be Sunday, will it not? Pray let us find you in our pew at church in the morning; and come home with us to an early dinner, before the evening service."
Bergan hesitated. He had no reasonable excuse; yet his uncle had not seconded the invitation. As if suddenly cognizant of the omission90, Mr. Bergan now spoke91.
"Come, by all means," said he, with more kindness than he had yet shown,—for he could not bring himself to give a half-hearted invitation to his sister's son,—"I have still a great deal to ask about your mother."
"And I," said his aunt, laughing, "have still a great deal to ask about yourself. Good night."
They stood on the piazza watching him, until he was out of sight. Then Carice turned to her father.
"Did he say anything about—yesterday?" she asked, gravely.
"Not a word. I should have liked him better if he had offered some explanation."
"Perhaps he did not recognize us," suggested Carice.
"How could he help it?"
"I don't know,—only—you were angry and I was frightened; probably our faces did not wear their natural expression. Besides, he was doubtless a little bewildered by his fall, and—"
"What or whom are you talking about?" here broke in the amazed Mrs. Bergan.
"About my nephew, the mad cavalier who so nearly came into collision with Carice yesterday," replied her husband.
Mrs. Bergan threw up her hands. "And you let me invite him to dinner!" she exclaimed, in a tone of deep injury.
"How could I help it, my dear? Besides, he is my sister's son."
Meanwhile, Bergan found his way back to the village through the darkness, wondering what had become of the lightness of heart and cheerfulness of hope with which he had set out—he looked at his watch—only two hours before!
点击收听单词发音
1 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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2 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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3 tawny | |
adj.茶色的,黄褐色的;n.黄褐色 | |
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4 slumberous | |
a.昏昏欲睡的 | |
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5 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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6 tinted | |
adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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7 tint | |
n.淡色,浅色;染发剂;vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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8 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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9 pictorial | |
adj.绘画的;图片的;n.画报 | |
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10 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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11 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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12 proprietorship | |
n.所有(权);所有权 | |
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13 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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14 demolition | |
n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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15 poised | |
a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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16 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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17 feud | |
n.长期不和;世仇;v.长期争斗;世代结仇 | |
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18 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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19 posthumous | |
adj.遗腹的;父亡后出生的;死后的,身后的 | |
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20 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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21 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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22 piazza | |
n.广场;走廊 | |
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23 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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24 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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25 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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26 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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27 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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28 modifications | |
n.缓和( modification的名词复数 );限制;更改;改变 | |
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29 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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30 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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31 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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32 indemnity | |
n.赔偿,赔款,补偿金 | |
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33 litheness | |
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34 vivacity | |
n.快活,活泼,精神充沛 | |
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35 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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36 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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37 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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38 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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39 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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40 albeit | |
conj.即使;纵使;虽然 | |
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41 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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42 scant | |
adj.不充分的,不足的;v.减缩,限制,忽略 | |
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43 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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44 elusive | |
adj.难以表达(捉摸)的;令人困惑的;逃避的 | |
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45 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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46 repudiated | |
v.(正式地)否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 );拒绝接受;拒绝与…往来;拒不履行(法律义务) | |
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47 tangible | |
adj.有形的,可触摸的,确凿的,实际的 | |
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48 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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49 plausible | |
adj.似真实的,似乎有理的,似乎可信的 | |
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50 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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51 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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52 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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53 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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54 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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55 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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56 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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57 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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58 surmount | |
vt.克服;置于…顶上 | |
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59 desuetude | |
n.废止,不用 | |
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60 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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61 lurking | |
潜在 | |
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62 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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63 smothered | |
(使)窒息, (使)透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 ); 覆盖; 忍住; 抑制 | |
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64 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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65 diffuse | |
v.扩散;传播;adj.冗长的;四散的,弥漫的 | |
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66 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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67 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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68 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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69 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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70 ripple | |
n.涟波,涟漪,波纹,粗钢梳;vt.使...起涟漪,使起波纹; vi.呈波浪状,起伏前进 | |
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71 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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72 dreariness | |
沉寂,可怕,凄凉 | |
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73 tact | |
n.机敏,圆滑,得体 | |
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74 kindliness | |
n.厚道,亲切,友好的行为 | |
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75 softening | |
变软,软化 | |
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76 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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77 inexplicable | |
adj.无法解释的,难理解的 | |
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78 amends | |
n. 赔偿 | |
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79 friendliness | |
n.友谊,亲切,亲密 | |
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80 tantalizing | |
adj.逗人的;惹弄人的;撩人的;煽情的v.逗弄,引诱,折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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81 limpid | |
adj.清澈的,透明的 | |
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82 droop | |
v.低垂,下垂;凋萎,萎靡 | |
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83 exquisitely | |
adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
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84 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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85 accounting | |
n.会计,会计学,借贷对照表 | |
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86 likeness | |
n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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87 eludes | |
v.(尤指机敏地)避开( elude的第三人称单数 );逃避;躲避;使达不到 | |
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88 persistently | |
ad.坚持地;固执地 | |
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89 eluded | |
v.(尤指机敏地)避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 );逃避;躲避;使达不到 | |
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90 omission | |
n.省略,删节;遗漏或省略的事物,冗长 | |
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91 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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