Minnie's maid, Jane Gibbs; Mrs. Errington; and Mr. Diamond, had all given her the news about Mr. Powell; and all in different keys, and with such variations of detail as universally attend contemporaneous viva voce transmissions.
Jane Gibbs had a strong feeling of respect and gratitude1 towards the preacher for his having "converted" her brother. And, being herself a member of the Church of England, she looked upon his secession from the main body of the Methodists with great leniency2. She dared to say that Mr. Powell would do as much good in Lady Lane as he had done in the Wesleyan Chapel3. And seeing that whether you called 'em Wesleyans, or Ranters, or Baptists, or Quakers, or Calvinists, they were all Dissenters4, it could not so much matter whether they disagreed among each other or not.
Mrs. Errington, without entering into that question, considered herself peculiarly aggrieved5 by the circumstance that Powell had come to lodge6 in the same house with her. "I am doomed7, it seems, to be a victim to that man!" said she to Minnie Bodkin. "At Maxfield's house I was frequently disturbed by his hymns8 and his preachments; and even now, it appears, I am not to escape from him. He absorbs Mrs. Thimbleby's attention to a ludicrous extent. If you will credit the fact, my dear Minnie, only yesterday morning my egg was sent up at breakfast greatly over-boiled; and when I remonstrated9 with Mrs. Thimbleby on this piece of negligence10, what excuse do you suppose she made? She answered that she was very sorry, but she had been getting ready a 'little snack'—that was her expression—for Mr. Powell after his early preaching, and it had slipped her memory that my breakfast-egg was still in the saucepan! I have no doubt the man stuffs and crams11 himself at her cost. All these dissenting12 preachers do, my dear."
Whereunto Minnie answered gravely, that it was a great comfort to Church people to reflect that moderation in eating and drinking was entirely13 confined to the orthodox clergy14.
Mr. Diamond, again, took a different and more sympathising view of the poor preacher. But even he was very far from entertaining the same exalted15 admiration16 for Powell's character as was felt by Minnie. Matthew Diamond had an Englishman's ingrained antipathy17 to the uncontrolled display of feeling, from which Powell's Welsh blood by no means revolted. Diamond could never divest18 himself of a lurking19 notion that no man would publicly exhibit deep emotion if he could help it; and consequently he looked on all such exhibitions as rather pitiable manifestations20 of infirmity, or else as mere21 clap-trap and play-acting. Of the latter it was impossible to suspect Powell. Diamond had the touchstone of truthfulness22 within himself; and it sufficed to convince him that the preacher, however wild and mistaken, was sincere. "Yes," he said to Miss Bodkin, "there can be no doubt that the man's soul is as clear from guile23 as an infant's. But it is a pity he cannot suppress the outbursts of enthusiasm which exhaust him so much."
"He does not wish to suppress them," answered Minnie. "He looks on them as a means specially24 vouchsafed25 to him for moving others, and—to use his own words—saving souls. Some sober, sensible persons remind me, when they speak of David Powell, of a covey of barn-door fowls26, complacently27 staring up at a lark28, and exclaiming, 'Poor creature, how unpleasant it must be for it to have to soar and gyrate in that giddy fashion; and making that shrill29 noise all the time, too! How it must envy us our constitutions!'"
"I suppose I am one of the barn-door fowls, Miss Bodkin?"
"Well—perhaps! Or, rather, you have lived among them until it seems to you that higher-flying creatures have something a little ridiculous about them. And you forcibly restrain any upward tendencies of wing—at least in the presence of your mates of the barn-door."
"I am flattered to be credited with some upward tendencies, at any rate! But, Miss Bodkin, to drop metaphor30, in which I cannot attempt to compete with you, I must be allowed to maintain that Powell's outbursts of excitement are neither good for himself nor others. They are morbid31, and not the healthy expression of a healthy nature, like the lark's singing and soaring."
"You have seen Powell since his return. How does he seem to be in health?"
"In bodily health not, perhaps, so much amiss, although he is greatly emaciated32 and startlingly pale. But his mind is in a strange state."
"He was always enthusiastic."
"He is enthusiastic for others, but as regards himself his mind is a prey33 to overwhelming gloom. I see a great change for the worse in him in that respect."
Minnie felt a strong desire to see the preacher again. She compassionated34 him from her heart, and thought she might be able to administer some comfort to him, as regarded Rhoda Maxfield. There were days when Minnie was able to walk from one room to another with the assistance of a crutched36 stick; and it occurred to her that if Mrs. Thimbleby would allow her house to be made the place of meeting, she might see and speak with Powell there more privately37, and with less danger of exciting gossiping remark, than elsewhere. Minnie had once or twice latterly driven to the widow Thimbleby's house to see Mrs. Errington, or leave a message for her, although she had never mounted to her sitting-room38. For the ladder-like staircase, which was an imaginary difficulty in the way of Castalia's visits to her mother-in-law, was a very real obstacle to Minnie Bodkin.
The project of seeing Powell in this way took possession of her mind. She sent a note to Mrs. Thimbleby, by her maid Jane, asking at what hour Mr. Powell was most likely to be in the house; and saying that she should like to come there and say a few words to him about a person in whose welfare he was interested.
The widow saw nothing very singular in this. She knew that Powell had been to see Miss Bodkin before he left Whitford. And it was quite in accordance with the known characters of the Methodist preacher and the rector's daughter that they should meet and combine on the common ground of charity. "For sure Mr. Powell have recommended some poor afflicted39 person to the young lady, and she have assisted 'em, whosoever they may be!" thought Mrs. Thimbleby. "And she begs me not to mention her coming to anybody. For sure and certain she's not one o' them as boasts of their good deeds. No, no; like our blessed Mr. Powell, she don't let her left hand know what her right hand doeth. I wonder if she's under conviction! Such a good, charitable lady, it seems as if she must belong to the elect. But, there, all our good works are filthy40 rags, I s'pose, the best on us. But I can't help thinking as Miss Bodkin's works must be more pleasing to the Lord than Brother Jackson's, as lives among the Wesleyans on the fat of the land, and don't do much in return, except condemning41 all those folks as isn't Wesleyans. Lord forgive me if I'm wrong!"
Mrs. Thimbleby returned a verbal message to Miss Bodkin, as the latter had desired her to do: Mrs. Thimbleby's duty, and the most likely time would be between four and five o'clock in the afternoon; and she would be sure to obey Miss Bodkin's instructions. "And I'm ever so much obliged to her for excusing me writing, my dear," said the widow to Jane; "for my hands is so stiff and rough with hard work, as holding a pen seems to be a great difficulty. I'd far rather mop out my back yard any day than write the receipt for the lodgers42' rent. And 'tis but a smudgy business when all's done."
On the following day Dr. Bodkin's sober green carriage, drawn43 by a stout44, sober-paced horse, was seen standing45 at Mrs. Thimbleby's door. It was a few minutes after four o'clock in the afternoon. The street was very quiet. There was scarcely a passer-by to be seen from one end of it to the other, when Jane and the old man-servant assisted Miss Bodkin to alight from the carriage, and supported her into the clean, flagged room on the ground floor, which served Mrs. Thimbleby for parlour, kitchen, and dining-hall, all in one. The coachman had orders to return and fetch his young mistress at six o'clock. "Will you give me house-room so long, Mrs. Thimbleby?" asked Minnie with a sweet smile, which so captivated the good woman that she stood staring at her visitor in a kind of rapture46, unable to reply for a minute or two.
Minnie was placed in Mrs. Thimbleby's own high-backed chair, with the clean patchwork-covered cushions piled behind her. A horsehair footstool, borrowed for the purpose from Mr. Diamond's parlour, was under her feet. And she declared that she found herself as comfortable as in her own lounging-chair at home.
"You see, miss, I couldn't say to the minute when Mr. Powell would be back, but between four and five he generally do come in, and I make him swallow a cup of herb tea, or something. And I will not deny that I sometimes puts a pinch of China tea in. But he don't know. This is but a poor place, miss," added the widow, glancing round, "but so long as you can make yourself content to stay in it, so long you will be welcome as the flowers in May, if 'twas to be for a twelvemonth?"
Then Minnie praised the brilliant cleanliness of the little kitchen, took notice of the cat that rubbed its velvet47 head confidingly48 against her hand, and asked Mrs. Thimbleby how she prospered49 in her lodging-letting.
The widow was loquacious50 in her mild slow way; and she was pleased at this opportunity for a little harmless gossip. It was a propensity51 which received frequent checks from those around her. Mr. Diamond was too taciturn, too grave, too much absorbed in his books, to give any heed52 to his landlady's conversation, beyond listening to the few particulars of his weekly expenses, which she insisted on explaining to him. Mrs. Errington, on the other hand, was not at all taciturn, but she desired to have the talk chiefly to herself. She loved to harangue53 Mrs. Thimbleby on a variety of subjects, and to place, in vivid colours before her, the inadequacy54 of all her domestic arrangements to satisfy a lady of Mrs. Errington's quality. As to gossiping with David Powell, Mrs. Thimbleby would as soon have thought of attempting to gossip with the sculptured figure of a saint, which stood in a niche55 at one side of the portal of St. Chad's! So the good woman, finding Miss Bodkin more compliant56 and affable than the two first-named of her lodgers, and nearer to the level of common humanity than the last, indulged herself with an outpouring of chat, as the two sat waiting for Powell's return.
Minnie listened to her at first with but a drowsy57 kind of attention. Her own thoughts were wandering away from the present time and place. And, for a while, the quiet of the room, where the gathering58 twilight59 seemed to bring a deeper hush60, was only broken by the monotonous61 murmur62 of the widow's voice. But by-and-by Mrs. Thimbleby spoke63 words which effectually aroused Minnie's attention.
There was, she said, a deal of talk in Whitford about young Mr. Errington. He was such a very nice-spoken gentleman, and most people seemed to like him so much! But yet he had enemies in the town. Folks said he was extravagant64. And his wife gave herself such airs as there was no bearing with 'em; she not paying ready money, but almost expecting tradespeople to be satisfied with the honour of serving her. Poor lady, she wasn't used to be pinched for money herself, and knew no better, most likely! But many Whitford shopkeepers grumbled65 as Mr. Errington got goods on credit from them, and yet sent orders to London with ready money for expensive articles, and it didn't seem fair. There was no use saying anything to old Mrs. Errington about the matter, because, though she was, no doubt, a very good-hearted lady, she was rather "high." And if you mentioned to her, as Mr. Gladwish, the shoemaker, said, unpleasant things about her son's bill, why she would tell you that her grandfather drove four horses to his coach, and that Mr. Algernon's wife's uncle was a great nobleman up in London, as paid his butler a bigger salary than all Gladwish could earn in a year. And if such sayings got abroad, they would not be soothing66 to the feelings of a respectable shoemaker, would they now? Not to say that they wouldn't help to pay Gladwish's bill; nor yet the fly bill at the "Blue Bell;" nor yet the bill for young madam at Ravell and Sarsnet's; nor yet the bill at the fishmonger and poulterer's; as she (Mrs. Thimbleby) was credibly67 informed that Ivy68 Lodge consumed the best of everything, and at a great rate. In the beginning, tradespeople believed all that was said about young Mr. and Mrs. Errington's fine friends and fine prospects69, and seemed inclined to trust 'em to any amount. But latterly there had growed up a feeling against 'em. And—if Miss Bodkin wouldn't think it a liberty in her to ask her not to mention it again, seeing it was but a guess on her part—she would go so far as to say that she believed an enemy was at work, and that enemy old Jonathan Maxfield. Why or wherefore old Max should be so set against young Mr. Algernon, as he had known him from a little child, she could not say. But there was rumours70 about that young Errington owed old Max money. And old Max was that near and fond of his pelf71, as nothing was so likely to make him mad against any one as losing money by 'em; and old Max was a harsh man and a bitter where he took a dislike. Only see how he had persecuted72 Mr. Powell! And though he let his daughter go to Ivy Lodge—and they did say young Mrs. Errington had taken quite a fancy to the girl—yet that didn't prevent old Max sneering73 and snarling74, and saying all manner of sharp words against the Erringtons. And old Max was a man of substance, and his words had weight in the town. "And you see, miss," said Mrs. Thimbleby, in conclusion, "young Mr. and Mrs. Errington are gentlefolks, and they don't hear what's said in Whitford, and they may think things are all right when they're all wrong. Of course, I daresay they have great friends and good prospects, miss. And very likely they could settle everything to-morrow if they thought fit. Only the tale here is, that not a tradesman in the place has seen the colour of their money, and they deny theirselves nothing, and the lady so high in her manners, and altogether there is a feeling against 'em, miss. And as I know you're a old friend, and a kind friend, I'm sure, and not one as takes pleasure in the troubles of their neighbours, I thought I would mention it to you, in case you should like to say a word to the young lady and gentleman private-like. A word from you would have a deal of weight. And I do assure you, miss, 'tis of no use trying to speak to old Mrs. Errington, for she'll only go on about her grandfather's coach-and-four; and, between you and me, miss, there is some as takes it amiss."
All this pained and surprised Minnie. She understood at once how Castalia's ungracious manner was resented in the little town; and set down a great deal of the hostility75 which the widow had described to the score of the Honourable76 Mrs. Algernon's personal unpopularity.
Still there must be something seriously wrong at Ivy Lodge. Debt was a Slough77 of Despond into which such a one as Algernon Errington would easily put his foot, from sheer thoughtlessness and the habit of refusing himself no gratification within his reach. But he might not find it so easy to extricate78 himself. A word of warning might possibly do good. At least it could do no harm, beyond drawing forth79 some languid impertinence from Castalia. And Minnie would not for an instant weigh that chance against the hope of doing some good to her old friend Algy.
Besides, in truth, she had, as has been said, an undefined feeling of compassion35 for Castalia herself, which rendered her singularly forbearing towards the latter's manifestations of fretful jealousy80 or haughty81 dislike. In the first days of his return to Whitford Algernon had many a time shot one of his quick, questioning glances at Minnie, when his wife uttered some coolly insolent82 speech, directed at, rather than to, the rector's daughter. But instead of the keen sarcasm83, or scornful irony84, which he had expected, Minnie had, nine times out of ten, replied with a quiet matter-of-fact observation calculated to extinguish anything like a war of words. At first Algernon had attributed such forbearance on the part of the brilliant, high-spirited Minnie entirely to her strong regard for himself. But this flattering illusion did not last long. He soon perceived that Minnie regarded his wife with pity, and that she refrained from using the keen weapons of her wit against Castalia, much as a nurse might refrain from scolding or arguing with a sick child.
Now this discovery was not pleasant to Algernon. If any sympathy were to be expended85 on the inmates86 of Ivy Lodge, he was persuaded that much the larger share of it ought to be given to himself. If there were troubles; if there were mortifications; if there was disappointment—who suffered from them as he did? And by whom were they so unmerited? He was not far, sometimes, from resenting any show of compassion for Castalia as a direct injury to himself. After having sacrificed himself, by making a marriage so inadequate87 to his deserts, it was a little too much to hear his wife pitied for the contrast between her past and present position?
And yet, by a queer strain of inconsistency running through the warp88 and woof of his character, he would often boast of Castalia's aristocratic antecedents, and ask, with a smile and a shrug89, how the deuce his wife could be expected to stand the petty privations and discomforts90 of Whitford, after having lived all her life in a sphere as remote from such things as the planet Saturn91 from the earth?
Minnie partly saw, partly guessed, these movements of Algernon's mind. But she judged him with leniency, and put a kind interpretation92 on his words and ways, whenever such an interpretation was possible. At all events, if a word in season could be useful to him, she would not refrain from speaking that word.
This young woman had latterly passed into regions of thought and feeling, from which much of her old life, with its old pains, and pleasures, and aims, seemed shrunken into insignificance93. One solid good she was able to grasp and to enjoy; the satisfaction of serving her fellow-creatures. All else grew poor and paltry94 as the years rolled by.
Not that Minnie had attained95 to any saint-like heights of self-abnegation; not that she did not still "desire and admire" many sublunary things. But she had got a hurt that had stricken down her pride. She bore an ache in her heart for which "self-culture," and all the activities and aspirations96 of her bright intellect, afforded no balm.
But she did not grow sour and selfish in her grief. The example of the poor, unlettered Methodist preacher (whom in former days she would have thought the unlikeliest of human beings to teach her any profitable lesson) had roused the noblest part of her nature to emulation97. David Powell had started from a lofty theory to a life of beautiful deeds. Minnie Bodkin, vaguely98 groping after a theory, had seized on practical benevolence99 as a means to climb to some higher ideal.
In morals, as in thought, the Deductive and Inductive stand, like the ladders of Jacob's dream, reaching from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; and the angels of the Lord descend100 and ascend101 them continually.
Minnie was roused from a reverie by the entrance of the preacher's tall figure into the kitchen, where the fire was now beginning to throw ruddy lights and fantastic shadows on to the white-washed walls.
"Don't be startled, Mr. Powell," she said, in her clear, sweet tones. "It is I—Minnie Bodkin. I thought I should like to see you, and to say a few words to you, quietly."
Powell advanced, and took her outstretched hand reverently102 in his hand. "The blessing103 of our Father in Heaven be on you, lady," he said. "Your kind face is very welcome to me."
点击收听单词发音
1 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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2 leniency | |
n.宽大(不严厉) | |
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3 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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4 dissenters | |
n.持异议者,持不同意见者( dissenter的名词复数 ) | |
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5 aggrieved | |
adj.愤愤不平的,受委屈的;悲痛的;(在合法权利方面)受侵害的v.令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式);令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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6 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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7 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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8 hymns | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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9 remonstrated | |
v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 );告诫 | |
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10 negligence | |
n.疏忽,玩忽,粗心大意 | |
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11 crams | |
v.塞入( cram的第三人称单数 );填塞;塞满;(为考试而)死记硬背功课 | |
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12 dissenting | |
adj.不同意的 | |
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13 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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14 clergy | |
n.[总称]牧师,神职人员 | |
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15 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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16 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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17 antipathy | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
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18 divest | |
v.脱去,剥除 | |
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19 lurking | |
潜在 | |
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20 manifestations | |
n.表示,显示(manifestation的复数形式) | |
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21 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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22 truthfulness | |
n. 符合实际 | |
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23 guile | |
n.诈术 | |
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24 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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25 vouchsafed | |
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 );允诺 | |
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26 fowls | |
鸟( fowl的名词复数 ); 禽肉; 既不是这; 非驴非马 | |
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27 complacently | |
adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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28 lark | |
n.云雀,百灵鸟;n.嬉戏,玩笑;vi.嬉戏 | |
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29 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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30 metaphor | |
n.隐喻,暗喻 | |
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31 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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32 emaciated | |
adj.衰弱的,消瘦的 | |
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33 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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34 compassionated | |
v.同情(compassionate的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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35 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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36 crutched | |
用拐杖支持的,有丁字形柄的,有支柱的 | |
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37 privately | |
adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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38 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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39 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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41 condemning | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的现在分词 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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42 lodgers | |
n.房客,租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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43 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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45 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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46 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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47 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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48 confidingly | |
adv.信任地 | |
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49 prospered | |
成功,兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50 loquacious | |
adj.多嘴的,饶舌的 | |
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51 propensity | |
n.倾向;习性 | |
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52 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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53 harangue | |
n.慷慨冗长的训话,言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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54 inadequacy | |
n.无法胜任,信心不足 | |
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55 niche | |
n.壁龛;合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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56 compliant | |
adj.服从的,顺从的 | |
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57 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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58 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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59 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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60 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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61 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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62 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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63 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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64 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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65 grumbled | |
抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
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66 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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67 credibly | |
ad.可信地;可靠地 | |
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68 ivy | |
n.常青藤,常春藤 | |
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69 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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70 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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71 pelf | |
n.金钱;财物(轻蔑语) | |
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72 persecuted | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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73 sneering | |
嘲笑的,轻蔑的 | |
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74 snarling | |
v.(指狗)吠,嗥叫, (人)咆哮( snarl的现在分词 );咆哮着说,厉声地说 | |
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75 hostility | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
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76 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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77 slough | |
v.蜕皮,脱落,抛弃 | |
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78 extricate | |
v.拯救,救出;解脱 | |
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79 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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80 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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81 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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82 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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83 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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84 irony | |
n.反语,冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事,嘲弄 | |
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85 expended | |
v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 );使用(钱等)做某事;用光;耗尽 | |
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86 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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87 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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88 warp | |
vt.弄歪,使翘曲,使不正常,歪曲,使有偏见 | |
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89 shrug | |
v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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90 discomforts | |
n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 );不愉快,苦恼 | |
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91 Saturn | |
n.农神,土星 | |
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92 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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93 insignificance | |
n.不重要;无价值;无意义 | |
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94 paltry | |
adj.无价值的,微不足道的 | |
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95 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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96 aspirations | |
强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
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97 emulation | |
n.竞争;仿效 | |
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98 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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99 benevolence | |
n.慈悲,捐助 | |
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100 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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101 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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102 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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103 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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