Mrs. Errington announced to the whole Maxfield family that Algernon was going away from Whitford, and accompanied the announcement with florid descriptions of the glory that awaited her son, in the highest Ancram style of embellishment.
"Well," said old Max, after listening awhile, "and will this lord get Mr. Algernon a place?"
Mrs. Errington could not answer this question very definitely. The future was vague, though splendid. But of course Algy would distinguish himself. That was a matter of course. Perhaps he might begin as Lord Seely's private secretary.
"A sekketary! Humph! I don't think much o' that!" grunted3 Mr. Maxfield.
"My dear man, you don't understand these things. How should you? Many noblemen's sons would only be too delighted to get the position of private secretary to Lord Seely. A man of such distinction! Hand and glove with the sovereign!"
Maxfield did not altogether dislike to hear his lodger4 hold forth5 in this fashion. He had a certain pleasure in contemplating6 the future grandeur7 of Mr. Algernon, whose ears he had boxed years ago, on the occasion of finding him enacting8 the battle of Waterloo, with a couple of schoolfellows, in the warehouse9 behind the shop, and attacking a Hougoumont of tea-chests and flour-barrels, so briskly, as to threaten their entire demolition10.
Maxfield was weaving speculations11 in connection with the young man, of so wild and fanciful a nature as would have astonished his most familiar friends, could they have peeped into the brain inside his grizzled old head.
But this rose-coloured condition of things did not last.
One afternoon, Mrs. Errington looked into his little sitting-room12, on her way upstairs, and finding him with an account-book, in which he was, not making, but reading entries, she stepped in, and began to chat; if any speech so laboriously13 condescending14 as hers to Mr. Maxfield may be thus designated. Her theme, of course, was her son, and her son's prospects15.
"That'll be all very fine for Mr. Algernon, to be sure," said old Max, slowly, after some time, "but—it'll cost money."
"Not so much as you think for. Low persons who feel themselves in a false position, no doubt find it necessary to make a show. But a real gentleman can afford to be simple."
"But I take it he'll have to afford other things besides being simple! He'll have to afford clothes, and lodging16, and maybe food. You aren't rich."
Mrs. Errington admitted the fact.
"Algernon ought to find a wife with a bit o' money," said the old man, looking straight and hard into the lady's eyes. Those round orbs17 sustained the gaze as unflinchingly as if they had been made of blue china.
"It is not at all a bad idea," Mrs. Errington said, graciously.
"But then he wouldn't just take the first ugly woman as had a fort'n."
"Oh dear no!"
"No; nor yet an old 'un."
"Good gracious, man! of course not!"
"Young, pretty, good, and a bit o' money. That's about his mark, eh?"
Mrs. Errington shook her head pathetically. "She ought to have birth, too," she said. "But the woman takes her husband's rank; unless," she added, correcting herself, and with much emphasis, "unless she happens to be the better born of the two."
"Oh, she does, eh? The woman takes her husband's rank? Ah! well, that's script'ral. I have never troubled my head about these vain worldly distinctions; but that is script'ral."
Mrs. Errington was not there to discuss her landlord's opinions or to listen to them; but he served as well as another to be the recipient18 of her talk about Algernon, which accordingly she resumed, and indulged in ever-higher flights of boasting. Her mendacity, like George Wither's muse19,
As it made wing, so it made power.
"The fact is, there is more than one young lady on whom my connections in London have cast their eye for Algy. Miss Pickleham, only daughter of the great drysalter, who is such an eminent20 member of Parliament; Blanche Fitzsnowdon, Judge Whitelamb's lovely niece; one of Major-General Indigo's charming girls, all of them perfect specimens21 of the Eastern style of beauty—their mother was an Indian princess, and enormously wealthy. But I am in no hurry for my boy to bind22 himself in an engagement: it hampers23 a young man's career."
"Career!" broke out old Max, who had listened to all this, and much more, with an increasingly dismayed and lowering expression of countenance24. "Why, what's his career to be? He's been brought up to do nothing! It 'ud be his only chance to get hold of a wife with a bit o' money. Then he might act the gentleman at his ease; and maybe his fine friends 'ud help him when they found he didn't want it. But as for career—it's my opinion as he'll never earn his salt!"
And with that the old man marched across the passage into the shop, taking no further notice of his lodger; and she heard him slam the little half-door, giving access to the storehouse, with such force as to set the jingling25 bell on it tinkling26 for full five minutes.
Mrs. Errington was so surprised by this sally, that she stood staring after him for some time before she was able to collect herself sufficiently27 to walk majestically28 upstairs.
"Maxfield's temper becomes more and more extraordinary," she said to her son, with an air of great solemnity. "The man really forgets himself altogether. Do you suppose that he drinks, Algy? or is he, do you think, a little touched?" She put her finger to her forehead. "Really I should not wonder. There has been a great deal of preaching and screeching29 lately, since this Powell came; and, you know, they do say that these Ranters and Methodists sometimes go raving30 mad at their field-meetings and love-feasts. You need not laugh, my dear boy; I have often heard your father say that nothing was more contagious31 than that sort of hysterical32 excitement. And your father was a physician; and certainly knew his profession if he didn't know the world, poor man!"
"Was old Max hysterical, ma'am?" asked Algernon, his whole face lighted up with mischievous33 amusement. And the notion so tickled34 him, that he burst out laughing at intervals35, as it recurred36 to him, all the rest of the day.
Betty Grimshaw, and Sarah, the servant-maid, and James, helping37 his father to serve in the shop, and the customers who came to buy, all suffered from the unusual exacerbation38 of Maxfield's temper for some time after that conversation of his with Mrs. Errington.
It increased, also, the resentful feeling which had been growing in his mind towards David Powell. The young man's tone of rebuke39, in speaking of Rhoda's associating with the Erringtons, had taken Maxfield by surprise at the time; and he had not, he afterwards thought, been sufficiently trenchant40 in his manner of putting down the presumptuous41 reprover. He blew up his wrath42 until it burned hot within him; and, the more so, inasmuch as he could give no vent1 to it in direct terms. To question and admonish43 was the acknowledged duty of a Methodist preacher. Conference made no exceptions in favour even of so select a vessel44 as Jonathan Maxfield. But Maxfield thought, nevertheless, that Powell ought to have had modesty45 and discernment to make the exception himself.
No inquisitor—no priest, sitting like a mysterious Eastern idol46 in the inviolate47 shrine48 of the confessional—ever exercised a more tremendous power over the human conscience than was laid in the hands of the Methodist preacher or leader according to Wesley's original conception of his functions. But besides the essential difference between the Romish and Methodist systems that the latter could bring no physical force to bear on the refractory50, there was this important point to be noted51: namely, that the inquisitor might be subjected to inquisition by his flock. The priest might be made to come forth from the confessional-box, and answer to a pressing catechism before all the congregation. In the band-meetings and select societies each individual bound himself to answer the most searching questions "concerning his state, sins, and temptations." It was a mutual52 inquisition, to which, of course, those who took part in it voluntarily submitted themselves.
But the spiritual power wielded53 by the chiefs was very great, as their own subordination to the conference was very complete. Its pernicious effects were, however, greatly kept in check by the system of itinerancy54, which required the preachers to move frequently from place to place.
There are few human virtues55 or weaknesses to which, on one side or the other, Methodism in its primitive56 manifestations57 did not appeal. Benevolence58, self-sacrifice, fervent59 piety60, temperance, charity, were all called into play by its teachings. But so also were spiritual pride, narrow-mindedness, fanaticism61, gloom, and pharisaical self-righteousness. Only to the slothful, and such as loved their ease above all things, early Methodism had no seductions to offer.
Jonathan Maxfield's father and grandfather had been disciples62 of John Wesley. The grandfather was born in 1710, seven years before Wesley, and had been among the great preacher's earliest adherents63 in Bristol.
Traditions of John Wesley's sayings and doings were cherished and handed down in the family. They claimed kindred with Thomas Maxfield, Wesley's first preacher, and conveniently forgot or ignored—as greater families have done—those parts of their kinsman's career which ran counter to the present course of their creed64 and conduct. For Thomas Maxfield seceded65 from Wesley, but the grandfather and father of Jonathan continued true to Methodism all their lives. They married within the "society" (as was strictly66 enjoined67 at the first conference), and assisted the spread of its tenets throughout their part of the West of England.
In the third generation, however, the original fire of Methodism had nearly burnt itself out, and a few charred68 sticks remained to attest69 the brightness that had been. Never, perhaps, in the case of the Maxfields—a cramp-natured, harsh breed—had the fire become a hearth-glow to warm their homes with. It had rather been like the crackling of thorns under a pot. The dryest and sharpest will flare70 for a while.
Old Max, nevertheless, looked upon himself as an exemplary Methodist. He made no mental analyses of himself or of his neighbours. He merely took cognisance of facts as they appeared to him through the distorting medium of his prejudices, temper, ignorance, and the habits of a lifetime. When he did or said disagreeable things, he prided himself on doing his duty. And his self-approval was never troubled by the reflection that he did not altogether dislike a little bitter flavour in his daily life, as some persons prefer their wine rough.
But to do and say disagreeable things because it is your duty is a very different matter from accepting, or listening to, disagreeable things, because it is somebody else's duty to do and say them! It was not to be expected that Jonathan Maxfield should meekly72 endure rebuke from a young man like David Powell.
And now crept in the exasperating73 suspicion that the young man might have been right in his warning! Maxfield watched his daughter with more anxiety than he had ever felt about her in his life, looking to see symptoms of dejection at Algernon's approaching departure. He did not know that she had been aware of it before it was announced to himself.
One day her father said to her abruptly74, "Rhoda, you're looking very pale and out o' sorts. Your eyes are heavy" (they were swollen75 with crying), "and your face is the colour of a turnip76. I think I shall send you off to Duckwell for a bit of a change."
Duckwell Farm was owned by Seth, Maxfield's eldest77 son.
"I don't want a change, indeed, father," said the girl, looking up quickly and eagerly. "I had a headache this morning, but it is quite gone now. That's what made me look so pale."
From that time forward she exerted herself to appear cheerful, and to shake off the dull pain at the heart which weighed her down, until her father began to persuade himself that he had been mistaken, and over-anxious. She always declared herself to be quite well and free from care. "And I know she would not tell me a lie," thought the old man.
Alas78, she had learned to lie in her words and her manner. She had, for the first time in her life, a motive79 for concealment80, and she used the natural armour81 of the weak—duplicity.
Rhoda had been "good" hitherto, because her nature was gentle, and her impulses affectionate. She had no strong religious fervour, but she lived blamelessly, and prayed reverently82, and was docile83 and humble-minded. She had never professed84 to have attained85 that sudden and complete regeneration of spirit which is the prime glory of Methodism. But then many good persons lived and died without attaining86 "assurance." Whenever Rhoda thought on the subject—which, to say the truth, was not often, for her nature, though sweet and pure, was not capable of much spiritual aspiration87, and was altogether incapable88 of fervent self-searching and fiery89 enthusiasm—she hoped with simple faith that she should be saved if she did nothing wicked.
Her father and David Powell would have pointed90 out to her, that her "doing," or leaving undone91, could have no influence on the matter. But their words bore small fruit in her mind. Her father's religious teaching had the dryness of an accustomed formality to her ears. It had been poured into them before she had sense to comprehend it, and had grown to be nearly meaningless, like the everyday salutation we exchange a hundred times, without expecting or thinking of the answer.
David Powell was certainly neither dry nor formal, but he frightened her. She shut her understanding against the disturbing influence of his words, as she would have pressed her fingers into her pretty ears to keep out the thunder. And then her dream of love had come and filled her life.
In most of us it wonderfully alters the focus of the mind's eye with its glamour92, that dream. To Rhoda it seemed the one thing beautiful and desirable. And—to say all the truth—the pain of mind which she felt, other than that connected with her lover's going away, and which she attributed to remorse93 for the little deceptions94 and concealments she practised, was occasioned almost entirely95 by the latent dread96, lest the time should come when she should sit lonely, looking at the cold ashes of Algy's burnt-out love. For she did mistrust his constancy, although no power would have forced the confession49 from her. This blind, obstinate97 clinging to the beloved was, perhaps, the only form in which self-esteem ever strongly manifested itself in that soft, timid nature.
There was one person who watched Rhoda more understandingly than her father did, and who had more serious apprehensions98 on her account. David Powell knew, as did nearly all Whitford by this time, that young Errington was going away; and he clearly saw that the change in Rhoda was connected with that departure. He marked her pallor, her absence of mind, her fits of silence, broken by forced bursts of assumed cheerfulness. Her feigning99 did not deceive him.
Albeit100 of almost equally narrow education with Jonathan Maxfield, Powell had gained, in his frequent changes of place and contact with many strange people, a wider knowledge of the world than the Whitford tradesman possessed101. He perceived how unlikely it was, that people like the Erringtons should seriously contemplate102 allying themselves by marriage with "old Max;" but that was not the worst. To the preacher's mind, the girl's position was, in the highest degree, perilous103; for he conceived that what would be accounted by the world the happiest possible solution to such a love as Rhoda's, would involve nothing less than the putting in jeopardy104 her eternal welfare. He could not look forward with any hope to a union between Rhoda and such a one as Algernon Errington.
"The son is a shallow-hearted, fickle105 youth, with the vanity of a boy and the selfishness of a man; the mother, a mere71 worldling, living in decent godlessness."
Such was David Powell's judgment106. He reflected long and earnestly. What was his calling—his business in life? To save souls. He had no concern with anything else. He must seek out and help, not only those who needed him, but those who most needed him.
All conventional rules of conduct, all restraining considerations of a merely social or worldly kind, were as threads of gossamer107 to this man whensoever they opposed the higher commands which he believed to have been laid upon him.
Jonathan Maxfield was falling away from godliness. He, too evidently, was willing to give up his daughter into the tents of the heathen. The pomps and vanities of this wicked world had taken hold of the old man. Satan had ensnared and bribed108 him with the bait of worldly ambition. From Jonathan there was no real help to be expected.
In the little garret-chamber, where he lodged109 in the house of a widow—one of the most devout110 of the Methodist congregation—the preacher rose from his knees one midnight, and took from his breast the little, worn pocket-Bible, which he always carried. A bright cold moon shone in at the uncurtained window, but its beams did not suffice to enable him to read the small print of his Bible. He had no candle; but he struck a light with a match, and, by its brief flare, read these words, on which his finger had fallen as he opened the book:
"How hast thou counselled him that hath no wisdom? And how hast thou plentifully111 declared the thing as it is?
"To whom hast thou uttered words? and whose spirit came from thee?"
He had drawn112 a lot, and this was the answer. The leading was clear. He would speak openly with Rhoda himself. He would pray and wrestle113; he would argue and exhort114. He would awaken115 her spirit, lulled116 to sleep by the sweet voice of the tempter.
It would truly be little less than a miracle, should he succeed by the mere force of his earnest eloquence117, in persuading a young girl like Rhoda to renounce118 her first love.
But, then, David Powell believed in miracles.
点击收听单词发音
1 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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2 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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3 grunted | |
(猪等)作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 ); (指人)发出类似的哼声; 咕哝着说 | |
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4 lodger | |
n.寄宿人,房客 | |
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5 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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6 contemplating | |
深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
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7 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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8 enacting | |
制定(法律),通过(法案)( enact的现在分词 ) | |
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9 warehouse | |
n.仓库;vt.存入仓库 | |
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10 demolition | |
n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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11 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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12 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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13 laboriously | |
adv.艰苦地;费力地;辛勤地;(文体等)佶屈聱牙地 | |
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14 condescending | |
adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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15 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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16 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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17 orbs | |
abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球,天体,圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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18 recipient | |
a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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19 muse | |
n.缪斯(希腊神话中的女神),创作灵感 | |
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20 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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21 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
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22 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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23 hampers | |
妨碍,束缚,限制( hamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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24 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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25 jingling | |
叮当声 | |
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26 tinkling | |
n.丁当作响声 | |
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27 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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28 majestically | |
雄伟地; 庄重地; 威严地; 崇高地 | |
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29 screeching | |
v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 );发出粗而刺耳的声音;高叫 | |
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30 raving | |
adj.说胡话的;疯狂的,怒吼的;非常漂亮的;令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话;疯话adv.胡言乱语地;疯狂地 | |
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31 contagious | |
adj.传染性的,有感染力的 | |
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32 hysterical | |
adj.情绪异常激动的,歇斯底里般的 | |
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33 mischievous | |
adj.调皮的,恶作剧的,有害的,伤人的 | |
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34 tickled | |
(使)发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)愉快,逗乐 | |
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35 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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36 recurred | |
再发生,复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 ); 治愈 | |
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37 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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38 exacerbation | |
n.恶化,激怒,增剧;转剧 | |
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39 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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40 trenchant | |
adj.尖刻的,清晰的 | |
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41 presumptuous | |
adj.胆大妄为的,放肆的,冒昧的,冒失的 | |
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42 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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43 admonish | |
v.训戒;警告;劝告 | |
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44 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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45 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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46 idol | |
n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
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47 inviolate | |
adj.未亵渎的,未受侵犯的 | |
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48 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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49 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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50 refractory | |
adj.倔强的,难驾驭的 | |
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51 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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52 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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53 wielded | |
手持着使用(武器、工具等)( wield的过去式和过去分词 ); 具有; 运用(权力); 施加(影响) | |
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54 itinerancy | |
n.外勤公务 | |
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55 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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56 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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57 manifestations | |
n.表示,显示(manifestation的复数形式) | |
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58 benevolence | |
n.慈悲,捐助 | |
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59 fervent | |
adj.热的,热烈的,热情的 | |
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60 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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61 fanaticism | |
n.狂热,盲信 | |
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62 disciples | |
n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 );门徒;耶稣的信徒;(尤指)耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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63 adherents | |
n.支持者,拥护者( adherent的名词复数 );党羽;徒子徒孙 | |
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64 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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65 seceded | |
v.脱离,退出( secede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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67 enjoined | |
v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68 charred | |
v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式);烧焦 | |
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69 attest | |
vt.证明,证实;表明 | |
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70 flare | |
v.闪耀,闪烁;n.潮红;突发 | |
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71 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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72 meekly | |
adv.温顺地,逆来顺受地 | |
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73 exasperating | |
adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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74 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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75 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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76 turnip | |
n.萝卜,芜菁 | |
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77 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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78 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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79 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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80 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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81 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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82 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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83 docile | |
adj.驯服的,易控制的,容易教的 | |
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84 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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85 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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86 attaining | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的现在分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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87 aspiration | |
n.志向,志趣抱负;渴望;(语)送气音;吸出 | |
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88 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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89 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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90 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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91 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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92 glamour | |
n.魔力,魅力;vt.迷住 | |
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93 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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94 deceptions | |
欺骗( deception的名词复数 ); 骗术,诡计 | |
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95 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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96 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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97 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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98 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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99 feigning | |
假装,伪装( feign的现在分词 ); 捏造(借口、理由等) | |
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100 albeit | |
conj.即使;纵使;虽然 | |
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101 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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102 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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103 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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104 jeopardy | |
n.危险;危难 | |
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105 fickle | |
adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的,不坚定的 | |
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106 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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107 gossamer | |
n.薄纱,游丝 | |
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108 bribed | |
v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂 | |
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109 lodged | |
v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 );暂住;埋入;(权利、权威等)归属 | |
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110 devout | |
adj.虔诚的,虔敬的,衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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111 plentifully | |
adv. 许多地,丰饶地 | |
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112 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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113 wrestle | |
vi.摔跤,角力;搏斗;全力对付 | |
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114 exhort | |
v.规劝,告诫 | |
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115 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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116 lulled | |
vt.使镇静,使安静(lull的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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117 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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118 renounce | |
v.放弃;拒绝承认,宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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