Algernon did not perhaps care to sympathise very keenly with other folks' pleasure, but he certainly desired that they should be pleased with what pleased him, which is not quite the same thing.
His mother informed him—perhaps with a dash of the Ancram colouring; although we have seen how unjustly the worthy4 lady was suspected of falsehood by Dr. Bodkin on a late occasion—that Mr. Diamond disapproved5 of his refusing Mr. Filthorpe's offer, and of his resolve to go to London. Dr. Bodkin, Algernon knew, did not approve it; neither did Minnie, although she had never said so in words. How unpleasantly chilly6 people were, to be sure!
Mrs. Errington did not like Mr. Diamond. She mistrusted him. His silence and gravity, his odd sarcastic7 smiles, and taciturn politeness, made her uneasy. Despite the patronising way in which she had spoken of him to Minnie Bodkin, in her heart she thought the young man to be horribly presuming.
"I'm sure he doesn't appreciate you at all, Algy," she declared, winding9 up a list of Mr. Diamond's defects and misdemeanours with this culminating accusation10.
Algy had a shrewd notion that Mr. Diamond's appreciation11 of himself was likely to be a just one, and he was a little vexed12 and discomfited13, that his tutor had given him no word of praise behind his back. Mrs. Errington saw that she had made an impression, and began to heighten and embellish14 her statements accordingly. "But, my dear boy," said she, "how can we expect him to recognise talents like yours—gentlemanly talents, so to speak? The man himself is a mere15 plodder16. Why, he was a sizar at college!"
Algy felt himself to be a very generous fellow for continuing to "stand up for old Diamond," as he phrased it.
"Well, ma'am, plenty of great men have been poor scholars. Dean Swift was a sizar."
"And Dean Swift died in a madhouse! So you see, Algy!"
Mrs. Errington plumed17 herself a good deal upon this retort, and returned to the attack upon Mr. Diamond with fresh vigour19; being one of those persons whose mode of warfare20 is elephantine, and who, never content with merely killing21 their enemy, must ponderously22 stamp and mash23 every semblance24 of humanity out of him.
Algernon did not like all this. His vanity was—at least during this period of his life—a great deal more vulnerable than his mother's. And she, although she doated on him, would say unpleasant things, indignantly repeat mortifying25 remarks which had been made, and in a hundred ways unconsciously wound the sensitive love of approbation26 which was one of Algernon's tenderest (not to say weakest) points.
It was all very disagreeable. But it was not the worst he had to look forward to. There was one person who would be so cast down, so despairing, at the news of his going away, that—that—it would be quite painful for a fellow to witness such grief. And yet it could not be expected—it could never have been expected—that he should stay in Whitford all his life! He must point that out to Rhoda.
Poor Rhoda!
For ten years, that is to say for more than half her life, Algernon Errington had been an idol27, a hero, to her. From the first day when, peeping from behind the parlour door, she had beheld28 the strangers enter—Mrs. Errington, majestic29, in a huge hat and plume18, such as young readers may have seen in obsolete30 fashion books (the mode was so absurd fifty years ago, and had none of that simple elegance31 which distinguishes your costume, my dear young lady), and Algy, a lovely fair child, in a black velvet32 suit and falling collar—from that moment the boy had been a radiant apparition33 in her imagination. How small, and poor, and shabby she felt, as she peeped out of the parlour at that beautiful, blooming mother and son! Not poor and shabby in a milliner's sense of the word, but literally34 of no account, or beauty, or value, in the world, little shy motherless thing! She had an intense delight in beauty, this Whitford grocer's daughter. And all her little life the craving35 for beauty in her had been starved: not wilfully36, but because the very conception of such food as would wholesomely37 have fed it, was wanting in the people with whom she lived.
That was a great day when she first, by chance, attracted Mrs. Errington's notice. She was too timid and too simple to scheme for that end, as many children would have done, although she tremblingly desired it. What a surprisingly splendid sight was the tortoise-shell work-box, full of amber39 satin and silver! What a delightful40 revelation the sound of the old harpsichord42, touched by Mrs. Errington's plump white fingers! What a perennial43 source of wonder and admiration44 were that lady's accomplishments45, and condescension46, and kind soft voice!
As to Algernon, there never was such a clever and brilliant little boy. At eight years old he could sing little songs to his mother's accompaniment, in the sweetest piping voice. He could recite little verses. He even drew quite so that you could tell—or Rhoda could—his trees, houses, and men from one another.
In all the stories his mother told about the greatness of her family, and in all the descriptions she gave of her ancestral home in Warwickshire, Rhoda's imagination put in the boy as the central figure of the piece. She could see him in the great hall hung round with armour47; although she knew that he had never been in the family mansion48 in his life; in the grand drawing-room, with its purple carpet and gilt49 furniture; above all, in the long portrait gallery, of which Rhoda was never tired of hearing. Heaven knows how she, innocently, and Mrs. Errington, exercising her hereditary50 talent, embellished51 and transformed the old brick house in its deer park; or what enchanted52 landscapes the child at all events conjured53 up, among the gentle slopes and tufted woods of Warwickshire!
Even the period of hobbledehoydom, fatal to beauty, to grace, almost to civilised humanity in most schoolboys, Algernon passed through triumphantly54. He had a great sense of humour, and fastidious pampered55 habits of mind and body, which enabled him to look down with more or less disdain56—a good-humoured disdain, always, Algy was never bitter—upon the obstreperous57 youth at the Whitford Grammar School.
One fight he had. He was forced into it by circumstances, against his will. Not that he was a coward, but he had a greater, and more candidly58 expressed regard for the ease and comfort of his body, than his schoolfellows conceived to be compatible with pluck. However, our young friend, if less stoical, was a great deal cleverer than the majority of his peers; and perceiving that the moment had arrived when he must either fight or lose caste altogether, he frankly59 accepted the former alternative. He fought a boy bigger and heavier than himself, got beaten (not severely60, but fairly well beaten) and bore his defeat—in the dialect of his compeers, "took his licking"—admirably. He was quite as popular afterwards, as if he had thrashed his adversary61, who was a loutish62 boy, the cock of the school, as to strength. Had he bruised63 his way to the perilous64 glory of being cock of the school himself, it would have behoved him to maintain it against all comers; which is an anxious and harassing65 position. Algy had not vanquished66 the victor, but he had "taken his licking like a trump," and, on the whole, may be said to have achieved his reputation, at the smallest cost possible under the circumstances.
His mother and Rhoda almost shrieked67 at beholding68 his bruised cheek, and bleeding lip, when he came home one half-holiday, from the field of battle. Algy laughed as well as his swollen69 features would let him, and calmed their feminine apprehensions70. Nor would he accept his fond parent's enthusiastic praise of his heroism71, mingled72 with denunciations of "that murderous young ruffian, Master Mannit."
"Pooh, ma'am," said the hero, "it's all brutal73 and low enough. We bumped and thumped74 each other as awkwardly as possible. I fought because I was obliged. And I didn't like it, and I shan't fight again if I can help it. It is so stupid!"
The young fellow's great charm was to be unaffected. Even his fine-gentlemanism sat quite easily on him, and was displayed with the frankest good humour. Some one reproached him once with being more nice than wise. "We can't all be wise, but we needn't be nasty!" returned Algy, with quaint75 gravity. His temper was, as Minnie Bodkin had said, nearly perfect. He had a singular knack76 of disarming77 anger or hostility78. You could not laugh Algernon out of any course he had set his heart upon—a rare kind of strength at his age—but it was ten to one he would laugh you into agreeing with him. Every one of his little gifts and accomplishments was worth twice as much in him as it would have been in clumsier hands.
If you had a heartache, I do not think that you would have found Algy's companionship altogether soothing79. Sorrow is apt to feel the very sunshine cruelly bright and cheerful. But if you were merry and wanted society: or bored, and wanted amusement: or dull and wanted exhilarating, no better companion could be desired.
He was genial80 with his equals, affable to his inferiors, modest towards his superiors—and had not a grain of veneration81 in his whole composition.
At seventeen years old Algernon left the Grammar School. But he continued to "read" with Mr. Diamond for nearly a twelvemonth. "My son is studying the classics with Mr. Diamond," Mrs. Errington would say; "I can't send my boy to the University, where all his forefathers82 distinguished83 themselves. But he has had the education of a gentleman."
It was a very desultory84 kind of reading at the best, and it was interrupted by the long Midsummer holidays, during which Mr. Diamond went away from Whitford, no one knew exactly whither. And during these same holidays, Mrs. Errington, who said she required change of air, had taken lodgings85 in a little quiet Welsh village, and obtained Mr. Maxfield's permission to have Rhoda with her.
That was a time of joy for the girl. It did not at all detract from Rhoda's happiness, that she was required to wait hand and foot on Mrs. Errington; to bring her her breakfast in bed; to trim her caps, to mend her stockings; to iron out scraps86 of fine lace and muslin; to walk with her when she was minded to stroll into the village; to order the dinner; to make the pudding—a culinary operation too delicate for the fingers of the rustic87 with whom they lodged—to listen to her patroness when it pleased her to talk; and to play interminable games of cribbage with her when she was tired of talking. All these things were a labour of love to Rhoda. And Mrs. Errington was kind to the girl in her own way.
And above all, was not Algy there? Those were happy days in the Welsh village. On the long delicious summer afternoons, when Mrs. Errington was asleep after dinner, Rhoda would sit out of doors with her sewing; on a bench under the parlour window, so as to be within call of her patroness; and Algy would lounge beside her with a book; or make short excursions to get her wild flowers, which he would toss into her lap, laughing at her ecstasy88 of gratitude89. "Oh, Algy!" she would cry, "Oh, how good of you! How lovely they are!" The words written down are not eloquent90, but Rhoda's looks and tones made them so.
"They are not half so lovely," Algy would answer, "as properly educated garden flowers; nor so sweet either. But I know you like that sort of herbage."
Rhoda never forgot those days. How should she forget them?—since it was at this period that Algernon first discovered that he was in love with her. Perhaps he might never have made the discovery if they had all stayed at Whitford. There he saw her, as he had seen her since her childhood, surrounded by coarse common people, and living their life, more or less. It is not every one who can be expected to recognise your diamond, if you set it in lead. Rhoda was always sweet, always gentle, always pretty, but she formed part and parcel of old Max's establishment. When the boy and girl were quite small, she used to help him with his lessons (her one year's seniority made a greater difference between them then, than it did later) and had always been used to do him sisterly service in a hundred ways. And all this was by no means favourable91 to the young gentleman's falling in love with her.
But at Llanryddan, Rhoda appeared under quite a different aspect. She looked prettier than ever before, Algernon thought. And perhaps she really was so; for there is no such cosmetic92 for the complexion93 as happiness. Apart from her vulgar relations, and treated as a lady by the few strangers with whom they came in contact, it was surprising to find how good her manners were, and how much natural grace she possessed94. Mrs. Errington had taught her what may be termed the technicalities of polite behaviour. From her own heart and native sensibility she had learnt the essentials. The people in the village turned their heads to admire her, as she walked modestly along. Who could help admiring her? Algernon decided95 that there was not one among the young ladies of Whitford who could compare with Rhoda. "She is ten times as pretty as those raw-boned McDougalls, and twenty times as well bred as Alethea Dockett, and ever so much cleverer than Miss Pawkins," he reflected. Minnie Bodkin never came into his head in the list of damsels with whom Rhoda could be compared. Minnie occupied a place apart, quite removed from any idea of love-making.
Dear Little Rhoda! How fond she was of him!
Altogether Rhoda appeared in a new light, and the new light became her mightily96. Yes; Algy was certainly in love with her, he acknowledged to himself. There was no scene, no declaration. It all came to pass very gradually. In Rhoda the sense of this love stole on as subtly as the dawn. Before she had begun to watch the glowing streaks97 of rose-colour, it was daylight! And then how warm and golden it grew in her little world! How the birds chirped98 and fluttered, and the flowers breathed sweet breath, and a thousand diamond drops stood on the humblest blades of grass!
If she had been nine years old, instead of nearly nineteen, she could scarcely have given less heed99 to the worldly aspects of the situation.
Algernon perhaps more consciously set aside considerations of the future. He was but a boy, however; and he always had a great gift of enjoying the present moment, and sending Janus-headed Care, that looks forward and backward, to the deuce. As yet there was no Lord Seely on his horizon; no London society; no diplomatic career. The latter indeed was but an Ancramism of his mother's, when she spoke8 of it to Mr. Diamond, and Algy at that time had never entertained the idea of it.
So these two young persons sat side by side, on the bench outside the Welsh cottage, and were as happy as the midsummer days were long.
But long as the midsummer days were, they passed. Then came the time for going back to Whitford. The day before their return home Rhoda received a shock of pain—the first, but not the last, which she ever felt from this love of hers—at these words, said carelessly, but in a low voice, by Algy, as he lounged at her side, watching the sunset:
"Rhoda, darling, you must not say a word to any one about—about you and me, you know."
Not say a word! What had she to say? And to whom? "No, Algy," she answered, in a faint little voice, and began to meditate100. The idea had been presented to her for the first time that it was her duty, or Algy's duty, to drag their secret from its home in Fairyland, and subject it to the eyes and tongues of mortals. But being once there, the idea stayed in her mind and would not be banished101. Her father—Mrs. Errington—what would they say if they knew that—that she had dared to love Algernon? The future began to look terribly hard to her. The glittering mist which had hidden it was drawn102 away like a gauze curtain. How could she not have seen it all before? Would any one believe for evermore that she had been such a child, such a fool, so selfishly absorbed in her pleasant day-dreams, as not to calculate the cost of it for one moment until now?
"Oh, Algy!" the poor child broke out, lifting a pale face and startled eyes to his; "if we could only go on for ever as we are! If it would be always summer, and we two could stay in this village, and never go back, or see any of the people again—except father," she added hastily. And a pang103 of remorse104 smote105 her as her conscience told her that the father who loved her so well, and was so good to her, whatever he might be to others, was not at all necessary to the happiness of her existence henceforward.
"Don't let's be miserable106 now, at all events," returned Algernon cheerfully. "Look at that purple bar of cloud on the gold! I wonder if I could paint that. I wish I had my colour-box here. The pencil sketches107 are so dreary108 after all that colour."
Rhoda had no doubt that Algernon could paint "that," or anything else he applied109 his brush to. After a while she said, with her heart beating violently, and the colour coming and going in her cheeks: "Don't you think it would be wrong, deceitful—to—if we—not to tell——" Poor Rhoda could not frame her sentence, and was obliged to leave it unfinished.
"Deceitful! Am I generally deceitful, Rhoda? Oh, I say, don't cry; there's a pet! Don't, my darling! I can't bear to see you sorry. But, look here, Rhoda, dear; I'm so young yet, that it wouldn't do to talk about being in love, or anything of that sort. Though I know I shall never change, they would declare I didn't know my own mind, and would make a joke of it"—this shot told with Rhoda, who shrank from ridicule110, as a sensitive plant shrinks from the north wind—"and bother my—our lives out. Can't you see old Grimgriffin's great front teeth grinning at us?"
It was in these terms that Algy was wont111 to allude112 to that respectable spinster, Miss Elizabeth Grimshaw.
Rhoda knew that Algy wished and expected her to smile when he said that; and she tried to please him, but the smile would not come. Her lip quivered, and tears began to gather in her eyes again. She would have sobbed113 outright114 if she had tried to speak. The more she thought the sadder and more frightened she grew. Ridicule was painful, but that was not the worst. Her father! Mrs. Errington! She lay awake half the night, terrifying herself with imaginations of their wrath115.
Algy found an opportunity the next morning to whisper to her a few words. "Don't look so melancholy116, Rhoda. They'll wonder at Whitford what's the matter if you go back with such a wan38 face. And as to what you said about deceit, why we shan't pretend not to love each other! Look here, we must have patience! I shall always love you, darling, and I'm sure to get my own way with my mother in the long run; I always do."
So then there would be obstacles to contend with on Mrs. Errington's part, and Algy acknowledged that there would. Of course she had known before that it must be so. But Algy had declared that he would always love her; that was the one comforting thought to which she clung. Rhoda had grown from a child to a woman since yesterday. Algy was only older by four-and-twenty hours.
After their return to Whitford came Mr. Filthorpe's letter. Then his mother's application to Lady Seely, brought about by an old acquaintance of Mrs. Errington, who lived in London, and kept up an intermittent117 correspondence with her. Both these events were talked over in Rhoda's presence. Indeed, the girl filled the part towards Mrs. Errington that the confidant enacts118 towards the prima donna in an Italian opera. Mrs. Errington was always singing scenas to her, which, so far as Rhoda's share in them went, might just as well have been uttered in the shape of a soliloquy. But the lady was used to her confidant, and liked to have her near, to take her hand in the impressive passages, and to walk up the stage with her during the symphony.
So Rhoda heard Algernon's prospects119 canvassed120. In her heart she longed that he should accept Mr. Filthorpe's offer. It would keep him nearer to her in every sense. She had few opportunities of talking with him alone now—far fewer than at dear Llanryddan; but she was able to say a few words privately121 to him one afternoon (the very afternoon of Dr. Bodkin's whist-party), and she timidly hinted that if Algy went to Bristol, instead of to London amongst all those great folks, she would not feel that she had lost him so completely.
"My dear child!" exclaimed Algy, whose outlook on life had a good deal changed during the last three months, "how can you talk so? Fancy me on Filthorpe's office stool!"
"London is such a long way off, Algy," murmured the girl plaintively122. "And then, amongst all those grand people, lords and ladies, you—you may grow different."
"Upon my word, my dear Rhoda, your appreciation of me is highly flattering! For my part it seems to me more likely that I should grow 'different' in the society of Bristol tradesmen than amongst my own kith and kin—people like myself and my parents in education and manners. I am a gentleman, Rhoda. Lord Seely is not more."
Rhoda shrank back abashed123 before this magnificent young gentleman. Such a flourish was very unusual in Algernon. But the Ancram strain in him had been asserting itself lately. He was sorry when he saw the poor girl's hurt look and downcast eyes, from which the big tears were silently falling one by one. He took her in his arms, and kissed her pale cheeks, and brought a blush on to them, and an April smile to her lips; and called her his own dear pretty Rhoda, whom he could never, never forget.
"Perhaps it would be best to forget me, Algy," she faltered124. And although his loving words, and flatteries, and caresses125, were inexpressibly sweet to her, the pain remained at her heart.
She never again ventured to say a word to him about his plans. She would listen, meekly126 and admiringly, to his vivid pictures of all the fine things he was to do in the future: pictures in which her figure appeared—like the donor127 of a great altarpiece, full of splendid saints and golden-crowned angels—kneeling in one corner. And she would sit in silent anguish128 whilst Mrs. Errington expatiated129 on her son's prospects; wherein, of late, a "great alliance" played a large part. But she could not rouse herself to elation41 or enthusiasm. This mattered little to Mrs. Errington, who only required her confidante to stand tolerably still with her back to the audience. But it worried Algernon to see Rhoda's sad, downcast face, irresponsive to any of his bright anticipations130. It must be owned that the young fellow's position was not entirely131 pleasant. Yet his admirable temper and spirits scarcely flagged. He was never cross, except, now and then, just a very little to his mother. And if no one else in the world less deserved his ill-humour, at least no one else in the world was so absolutely certain to forgive him for it!
点击收听单词发音
1 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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2 displeasing | |
不愉快的,令人发火的 | |
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3 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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4 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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5 disapproved | |
v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6 chilly | |
adj.凉快的,寒冷的 | |
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7 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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8 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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9 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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10 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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11 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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12 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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13 discomfited | |
v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词);使狼狈;使挫折;挫败 | |
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14 embellish | |
v.装饰,布置;给…添加细节,润饰 | |
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15 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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16 plodder | |
n.沉重行走的人,辛勤工作的人 | |
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17 plumed | |
饰有羽毛的 | |
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18 plume | |
n.羽毛;v.整理羽毛,骚首弄姿,用羽毛装饰 | |
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19 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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20 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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21 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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22 ponderously | |
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23 mash | |
n.麦芽浆,糊状物,土豆泥;v.把…捣成糊状,挑逗,调情 | |
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24 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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25 mortifying | |
adj.抑制的,苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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26 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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27 idol | |
n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
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28 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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29 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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30 obsolete | |
adj.已废弃的,过时的 | |
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31 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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32 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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33 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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34 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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35 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
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36 wilfully | |
adv.任性固执地;蓄意地 | |
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37 wholesomely | |
卫生地,有益健康地 | |
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38 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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39 amber | |
n.琥珀;琥珀色;adj.琥珀制的 | |
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40 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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41 elation | |
n.兴高采烈,洋洋得意 | |
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42 harpsichord | |
n.键琴(钢琴前身) | |
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43 perennial | |
adj.终年的;长久的 | |
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44 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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45 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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46 condescension | |
n.自以为高人一等,贬低(别人) | |
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47 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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48 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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49 gilt | |
adj.镀金的;n.金边证券 | |
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50 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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51 embellished | |
v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 );装饰;修饰;润色 | |
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52 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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53 conjured | |
用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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54 triumphantly | |
ad.得意洋洋地;得胜地;成功地 | |
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55 pampered | |
adj.饮食过量的,饮食奢侈的v.纵容,宠,娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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57 obstreperous | |
adj.喧闹的,不守秩序的 | |
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58 candidly | |
adv.坦率地,直率而诚恳地 | |
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59 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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60 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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61 adversary | |
adj.敌手,对手 | |
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62 loutish | |
adj.粗鲁的 | |
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63 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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64 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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65 harassing | |
v.侵扰,骚扰( harass的现在分词 );不断攻击(敌人) | |
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66 vanquished | |
v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 );战胜;克服;抑制 | |
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67 shrieked | |
v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68 beholding | |
v.看,注视( behold的现在分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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69 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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70 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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71 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
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72 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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73 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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74 thumped | |
v.重击, (指心脏)急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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76 knack | |
n.诀窍,做事情的灵巧的,便利的方法 | |
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77 disarming | |
adj.消除敌意的,使人消气的v.裁军( disarm的现在分词 );使息怒 | |
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78 hostility | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
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79 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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80 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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81 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
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82 forefathers | |
n.祖先,先人;祖先,祖宗( forefather的名词复数 );列祖列宗;前人 | |
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83 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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84 desultory | |
adj.散漫的,无方法的 | |
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85 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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86 scraps | |
油渣 | |
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87 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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88 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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89 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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90 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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91 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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92 cosmetic | |
n.化妆品;adj.化妆用的;装门面的;装饰性的 | |
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93 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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94 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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95 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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96 mightily | |
ad.强烈地;非常地 | |
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97 streaks | |
n.(与周围有所不同的)条纹( streak的名词复数 );(通常指不好的)特征(倾向);(不断经历成功或失败的)一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 );使布满条纹 | |
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98 chirped | |
鸟叫,虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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99 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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100 meditate | |
v.想,考虑,(尤指宗教上的)沉思,冥想 | |
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101 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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103 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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104 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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105 smote | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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106 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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107 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
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108 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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109 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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110 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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111 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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112 allude | |
v.提及,暗指 | |
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113 sobbed | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
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114 outright | |
adv.坦率地;彻底地;立即;adj.无疑的;彻底的 | |
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115 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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116 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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117 intermittent | |
adj.间歇的,断断续续的 | |
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118 enacts | |
制定(法律),通过(法案)( enact的第三人称单数 ) | |
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119 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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120 canvassed | |
v.(在政治方面)游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 );调查(如选举前选民的)意见;为讨论而提出(意见等);详细检查 | |
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121 privately | |
adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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122 plaintively | |
adv.悲哀地,哀怨地 | |
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123 abashed | |
adj.窘迫的,尴尬的v.使羞愧,使局促,使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124 faltered | |
(嗓音)颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
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125 caresses | |
爱抚,抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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126 meekly | |
adv.温顺地,逆来顺受地 | |
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127 donor | |
n.捐献者;赠送人;(组织、器官等的)供体 | |
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128 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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129 expatiated | |
v.详述,细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130 anticipations | |
预期( anticipation的名词复数 ); 预测; (信托财产收益的)预支; 预期的事物 | |
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131 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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