AUGUST 8.
Believe me, dear Wilhelm, I did not allude1 to you when I spoke2 so severely3 of those who advise resignation to inevitable4 fate. I did not think it possible for you to indulge such a sentiment. But in fact you are right. I only suggest one objection. In this world one is seldom reduced to make a selection between two alternatives. There are as many varieties of conduct and opinion as there are turns of feature between an aquiline5 nose and a flat one.
You will, therefore, permit me to concede your entire argument, and yet contrive6 means to escape your dilemma7.
Your position is this, I hear you say: "Either you have hopes of obtaining Charlotte, or you have none. Well, in the first case, pursue your course, and press on to the fulfilment of your wishes. In the second, be a man, and shake off a miserable8 passion, which will enervate9 and destroy you." My dear friend, this is well and easily said.
But would you require a wretched being, whose life is slowly wasting under a lingering disease, to despatch10 himself at once by the stroke of a dagger11? Does not the very disorder12 which consumes his strength deprive him of the courage to effect his deliverance?
You may answer me, if you please, with a similar analogy, "Who would not prefer the amputation13 of an arm to the periling14 of life by doubt and procrastination15!" But I know not if I am right, and let us leave these comparisons.
Enough! There are moments, Wilhelm, when I could rise up and shake it all off, and when, if I only knew where to go, I could fly from this place.
THE SAME EVENING.
My diary, which I have for some time neglected, came before me today; and I am amazed to see how deliberately16 I have entangled17 myself step by step. To have seen my position so clearly, and yet to have acted so like a child! Even still I behold18 the result plainly, and yet have no thought of acting19 with greater prudence20.
AUGUST lO.
If I were not a fool, I could spend the happiest and most delightful21 life here. So many agreeable circumstances, and of a kind to ensure a worthy22 man's happiness, are seldom united. Alas23! I feel it too sensibly, -- the heart alone makes our happiness! To be admitted into this most charming family, to be loved by the father as a son, by the children as a father, and by Charlotte! then the noble Albert, who never disturbs my happiness by any appearance of ill-humour, receiving me with the heartiest24 affection, and loving me, next to Charlotte, better than all the world! Wilhelm, you would be delighted to hear us in our rambles25, and conversations about Charlotte. Nothing in the world can be more absurd than our connection, and yet the thought of it often moves me to tears.
He tells me sometimes of her excellent mother; how, upon her death-bed, she had committed her house and children to Charlotte, and had given Charlotte herself in charge to him; how, since that time, a new spirit had taken possession of her; how, in care and anxiety for their welfare, she became a real mother to them; how every moment of her time was devoted26 to some labour of love in their behalf, -- and yet her mirth and cheerfulness had never forsaken27 her. I walk by his side, pluck flowers by the way, arrange them carefully into a nosegay, then fling them into the first stream I pass, and watch them as they float gently away. I forget whether I told you that Albert is to remain here. He has received a government appointment, with a very good salary; and I understand he is in high favour at court. I have met few persons so punctual and methodical in business.
AUGUST 12.
Certainly Albert is the best fellow in the world. I had a strange scene with him yesterday. I went to take leave of him; for I took it into my head to spend a few days in these mountains, from where I now write to you. As I was walking up and down his room, my eye fell upon his pistols. "Lend me those pistols," said I, "for my journey." "By all means," he replied, "if you will take the trouble to load them; for they only hang there for form." I took down one of them; and he continued, "Ever since I was near suffering for my extreme caution, I will have nothing to do with such things." I was curious to hear the story. "I was staying," said he, "some three months ago, at a friend's house in the country. I had a brace29 of pistols with me, unloaded; and I slept without any anxiety. One rainy afternoon I was sitting by myself, doing nothing, when it occurred to me I do not know how that the house might be attacked, that we might require the pistols, that we might in short, you know how we go on fancying, when we have nothing better to do. I gave the pistols to the servant, to clean and load. He was playing with the maid, and trying to frighten her, when the pistol went off -- God knows how! -- the ramrod was in the barrel; and it went straight through her right hand, and shattered the thumb. I had to endure all the lamentation30, and to pay the surgeon's bill; so, since that time, I have kept all my weapons unloaded. But, my dear friend, what is the use of prudence? We can never be on our guard against all possible dangers. However," -- now, you must know I can tolerate all men till they come to "however;" -- for it is self-evident that every universal rule must have its exceptions. But he is so exceedingly accurate, that, if he only fancies he has said a word too precipitate31, or too general, or only half true, he never ceases to qualify, to modify, and extenuate32, till at last he appears to have said nothing at all. Upon this occasion, Albert was deeply immersed in his subject: I ceased to listen to him, and became lost in reverie. With a sudden motion, I pointed33 the mouth of the pistol to my forehead, over the right eye. "What do vou mean?" cried Albert, turning back the pistol. "It is not loaded," said I. "And even if not," he answered with impatience34, "what can you mean? I cannot cornprehend how a man can be so mad as to shoot himself, and the bare idea of it shocks me."
"But why should any one," said I, "in speaking of an action, venture to pronounce it mad or wise, or good or bad? What is the meaning of all this? Have you carefully studied the secret motives35 of our actions? Do you understand -- can you explain the causes which occasion them, and make them inevitable? If you can, you will be less hasty with your decision."
"But you will allow," said Albert; "that some actions are criminal, let them spring from whatever motives they may." I granted it, and shrugged36 my shoulders.
"But still, my good friend," I continued, "there are some exceptions here too. Theft is a crime; but the man who commits it from extreme poverty, with no design but to save his family from perishing, is he an object of pity, or of punishment? Who shall throw the first stone at a husband, who, in the heat of just resentment37, sacrifices his faithless wife and her perfidious38 seducer39? or at the young maiden40, who, in her weak hour of rapture41, forgets herself in the impetuous joys of love? Even our laws, cold and cruel as they are, relent in such cases, and withhold42 their punishment."
"That is quite another thing," said Albert; "because a man under the influence of violent passion loses alI power of reflection, and is regarded as intoxicated43 or insane."
"Oh! you people of sound understandings," I replied, smiling, "are ever ready to exclaim 'Extravagance, and madness, and intoxication44!' You moral men are so calm and so subdued45! You abhor46 the drunken man, and detest47 the extravagant48; you pass by, like the Levite, and thank God, like the Pharisee, that you are not like one of them. I have been more than once intoxicated, my passions have always bordered on extravagance: I am not ashamed to confess it; for I have learned, by my own experience, that all extraordinary men, who have accomplished49 great and astonishing actions, have ever been decried50 by the world as drunken or insane. And in private life, too, is it not intolerable that no one can undertake the execution of a noble or generous deed, without giving rise to the exclamation51 that the doer is intoxicated or mad? Shame upon you, ye sages52!"
"This is another of your extravagant humours," said Albert: "you always exaggerate a case, and in this matter you are undoubtedly53 wrong; for we were speaking of suicide, which you compare with great actions, when it is impossible to regard it as anything but a weakness. It is much easier to die than to bear a life of misery54 with fortitude55."
I was on the point of breaking off the conversation, for nothing puts me so completely out of patience as the utterance56 of a wretched commonplace when I am talking from my inmost heart. However, I composed myself, for I had often heard the same observation with sufficient vexation; and I answered him, therefore, with a little warmth, "You call this a weakness -- beware of being led astray by appearances. When a nation, which has long groaned57 under the intolerable yoke58 of a tyrant59, rises at last and throws off its chains, do you call that weakness? The man who, to rescue his house from the flames, finds his physical strength redoubled, so that he lifts burdens with ease, which, in the absence of excitement, he could scarcely move; he who, under the rage of an insult, attacks and puts to flight half a score of his enemies, are such persons to be called weak? My good friend, if resistance be strength, how can the highest degree of resistance be a weakness?"
Albert looked steadfastly60 at me, and said, "Pray forgive me, but I do not see that the examples you have adduced bear any relation to the question." "Very likely," I answered; "for I have often been told that my style of illustration borders a little on the absurd. But let us see if we cannot place the matter in another point of view, by inquiring what can be a man's state of mind who resolves to free himself from the burden of life, -- a burden often so pleasant to bear, -- for we cannot otherwise reason fairly upon the subject.
"Human nature," I continued, "has its limits. It is able to endure a certain degree of joy, sorrow, and pain, but becomes annihilated61 as soon as this measure is exceeded. The question, therefore, is, not whether a man is strong or weak, but whether he is able to endure the measure of his sufferings. The suffering may be moral or physical; and in my opinion it is just as absurd to call a man a coward who destroys himself, as to call a man a coward who dies of a malignant62 fever."
"Paradox63, all paradox!" exclaimed Albert. "Not so paradoxical as you imagine," I replied. "You allow that we designate a disease as mortal when nature is so severely attacked, and her strength so far exhausted64, that she cannot possibly recover her former condition under any change that may take place.
"Now, my good friend, apply this to the mind; observe a man in his natural, isolated65 condition; consider how ideas work, and how impressions fasten on him, till at length a violent passion seizes him, destroying all his powers of calm reflection, and utterly66 ruining him.
"It is in vain that a man of sound mind and cool temper understands the condition of such a wretched being, in vain he counsels him. He can no more communicate his own wisdom to him than a healthy man can instil67 his strength into the invalid68, by whose bedside he is seated."
Albert thought this too general. I reminded him of a girl who had drowned herself a short time previously69, and I related her history.
She was a good creature, who had grown up in the narrow sphere of household industry and weekly appointed labour; one who knew no pleasure beyond indulging in a walk on Sundays, arrayed in her best attire70, accompanied by her friends, or perhaps joining in the dance now and then at some festival, and chatting away her spare hours with a neighbour, discussing the scandal or the quarrels of the village, trifles sufficient to occupy her heart. At length the warmth of her nature is influenced by certain new and unknown wishes. Inflamed71 by the flatteries of men, her former pleasures become by degrees insipid72, till at length she meets with a youth to whom she is attracted by an indescribable feeling; upon him she now rests all her hopes; she forgets the world around her; she sees, hears, desires nothing but him, and him only. He alone occupies all her thoughts. Uncorrupted by the idle indulgence of an enervating73 vanity, her affection moving steadily74 toward its object, she hopes to become his, and to realise, in an everlasting75 union with him, all that happiness which she sought, all that bliss76 for which she longed. His repeated promises confirm her hopes: embraces and endearments77, which increase the ardour of her desires, overmaster her soul. She floats in a dim, delusive78 anticipation79 of her happiness; and her feelings become excited to their utmost tension. She stretches out her arms finally to embrace the object of all her wishes and her lover forsakes80 her. Stunned81 and bewildered, she stands upon a precipice82. All is darkness around her. No prospect83, no hope, no consolation84 -- forsaken by him in whom her existence was centred! She sees nothing of the wide world before her, thinks nothing of the many individuals who might supply the void in her heart; she feels herself deserted85, forsaken by the world; and, blinded and impelled86 by the agony which wrings87 her soul, she plunges88 into the deep, to end her sufferings in the broad embrace of death. See here, Albert, the history of thousands; and tell me, is not this a case of physical infirmity? Nature has no way to escape from the labyrinth89: her powers are exhausted: she can contend no longer, and the poor soul must die.
"Shame upon him who can look on calmly, and exclaim, 'The foolish girl! she should have waited; she should have allowed time to wear off the impression; her despair would have been softened90, and she would have found another lover to comfort her.' One might as well say, 'The fool, to die of a fever! why did he not wait till his strength was restored, till his blood became calm? all would then have gone well, and he would have been alive now.'"
Albert, who could not see the justice of the comparison, offered some further objections, and, amongst others, urged that I had taken the case of a mere91 ignorant girl. But how any man of sense, of more enlarged views and experience, could be excused, he was unable to comprehend. "My friend!" I exclaimed, "man is but man; and, whatever be the extent of his reasoning powers, they are of little avail when passion rages within, and he feels himself confined by the narrow limits of nature. It were better, then -- but we will talk of this some other time," I said, and caught up my hat. Alas! my heart was full; and we parted without conviction on either side. How rarely in this world do men understand each other!
AUGUST 15.
There can be no doubt that in this world nothing is so indispensable as love. I observe that Charlotte could not lose me without a pang92, and the very children have but one wish; that is, that I should visit them again to-morrow. I went this afternoon to tune93 Charlotte's piano. But I could not do it, for the little ones insisted on my telling them a story; and Charlotte herself urged me to satisfy them. I waited upon them at tea, and they are now as fully28 contented94 with me as with Charlotte; and I told them my very best tale of the princess who was waited upon by dwarfs95. I improve myself by this exercise, and am quite surprised at the impression my stories create. If I sometimes invent an incident which I forget upon the next narration96, they remind one directly that the story was different before; so that I now endeavour to relate with exactness the same anecdote97 in the same monotonous98 tone, which never changes. I find by this, how much an author injures his works by altering them, even though they be improved in a poetical99 point of view. The first impression is readily received. We are so constituted that we believe the most incredible things; and, once they are engraved100 upon the memory, woe101 to him who would endeavour to efface102 them.
AUGUST 18.
Must it ever be thus, -- that the source of our happiness must also be the fountain of our misery? The full and ardent103 sentiment which animated104 my heart with the love of nature, overwhelming me with a torrent105 of delight, and which brought all paradise before me, has now become an insupportable torment106, a demon107 which perpetually pursues and harasses108 me. When in bygone days I gazed from these rocks upon yonder mountains across the river, and upon the green, flowery valley before me, and saw alI nature budding and bursting around; the hills clothed from foot to peak with tall, thick forest trees; the valleys in all their varied109 windings110, shaded with the loveliest woods; and the soft river gliding111 along amongst the lisping reeds, mirroring the beautiful clouds which the soft evening breeze wafted112 across the sky, -- when I heard the groves113 about me melodious114 with the music of birds, and saw the million swarms115 of insects dancing in the last golden beams of the sun, whose setting rays awoke the humming beetles116 from their grassy117 beds, whilst the subdued tumult118 around directed my attention to the ground, and I there observed the arid119 rock compelled to yield nutriment to the dry moss120, whilst the heath flourished upon the barren sands below me, all this displayed to me the inner warmth which animates121 all nature, and filled and glowed within my heart. I felt myself exalted122 by this overflowing123 fulness to the perception of the Godhead, and the glorious forms of an infinite universe became visible to my soul! Stupendous mountains encompassed124 me, abysses yawned at my feet, and cataracts125 fell headlong down before me; impetuous rivers rolled through the plain, and rocks and mountains resounded126 from afar. In the depths of the earth I saw innumerable powers in motion, and multiplying to infinity127; whilst upon its surface, and beneath the heavens, there teemed128 ten thousand varieties of living creatures. Everything around is alive with an infinite number of forms; while mankind fly for security to their petty houses, from the shelter of which they rule in their imaginations over the wide-extended universe. Poor fool! in whose petty estimation all things are little. From the inaccessible129 mountains, across the desert which no mortal foot has trod, far as the confines of the unknown ocean, breathes the spirit of the eternal Creator; and every atom to which he has given existence finds favour in his sight. Ah, how often at that time has the flight of a bird, soaring above my head, inspired me with the desire of being transported to the shores of the immeasurable waters, there to quaff130 the pleasures of life from the foaming131 goblet132 of the Infinite, and to partake, if but for a moment even, with the confined powers of my soul, the beatitude of that Creator who accomplishes all things in himself, and through himself!
My dear friend, the bare recollection of those hours still consoles me. Even this effort to recall those ineffable133 sensations, and give them utterance, exalts135 my soul above itself, and makes me doubly feel the intensity136 of my present anguish137.
It is as if a curtain had been drawn138 from before my eyes, and, instead of prospects139 of eternal life, the abyss of an ever open grave yawned before me. Can we say of anything that it exists when all passes away, when time, with the speed of a storm, carries all things onward140, -- and our transitory existence, hurried along by the torrent, is either swallowed up by the waves or dashed against the rocks? There is not a moment but preys141 upon you, -- and upon all around you, not a moment in which you do not yourself become a destroyer. The most innocent walk deprives of life thousands of poor insects: one step destroys the fabric142 of the industrious143 ant, and converts a little world into chaos144. No: it is not the great and rare calamities145 of the world, the floods which sweep away whole villages, the earthquakes which swallow up our towns, that affect me. My heart is wasted by the thought of that destructive power which lies concealed146 in every part of universal nature. Nature has formed nothing that does not consume itself, and every object near it: so that, surrounded by earth and air, and all the active powers, I wander on my way with aching heart; and the universe is to me a fearful monster, for ever devouring147 its own offspring.
AUGUST 21.
In vain do I stretch out my arms toward her when I awaken148 in the morning from my weary slumbers149. In vain do I seek for her at night in my bed, when some innocent dream has happily deceived me, and placed her near me in the fields, when I have seized her hand and covered it with countless150 kisses. And when I feel for her in the half confusion of sleep, with the happy sense that she is near, tears flow from my oppressed heart; and, bereft151 of all comfort, I weep over my future woes152.
AUGUST 22.
What a misfortune, Wilhelm! My active spirits have degenerated153 into contented indolence. I cannot be idle, and yet I am unable to set to work. I cannot think: I have no longer any feeling for the beauties of nature, and books are distasteful to me. Once we give ourselves up, we are totally lost. Many a time and oft I wish I were a common labourer; that, awakening154 in the morning, I might have but one prospect, one pursuit, one hope, for the day which has dawned. I often envy Albert when I see him buried in a heap of papers and parchments, and I fancy I should be happy were I in his place. Often impressed with this feeling I have been on the point of writing to you and to the minister, for the appointment at the embassy, which you think I might obtain. I believe I might procure155 it. The minister has long shown a regard for me, and has frequently urged me to seek employment. It is the business of an hour only. Now and then the fable134 of the horse recurs156 to me. Weary of liberty, he suffered himself to be saddled and bridled157, and was ridden to death for his pains. I know not what to determine upon. For is not this anxiety for change the consequence of that restless spirit which would pursue me equally in every situation of life?
AUGUST 28.
If my ills would admit of any cure, they would certainly be cured here. This is my birthday, and early in the morning I received a packet from Albert. Upon opening it, I found one of the pink ribbons which Charlotte wore in her dress the first time I saw her, and which I had several times asked her to give me. With it were two volumes in duodecimo of Wetstein's "Homer," a book I had often wished for, to save me the inconvenience of carrying the large Ernestine edition with me upon my walks. You see how they anticipate my wishes, how well they understand all those little attentions of friendship, so superior to the costly158 presents of the great, which are humiliating. I kissed the ribbon a thousand times, and in every breath inhaled159 the remembrance of those happy and irrevocable days which filled me with the keenest joy. Such, Wilhelm, is our fate. I do not murmur160 at it: the flowers of life are but visionary. How many pass away, and leave no trace behind -- how few yield any fruit -- and the fruit itself, how rarely does it ripen161! And yet there are flowers enough! and is it not strange, my friend, that we should suffer the little that does really ripen, to rot, decay, and perish unenjoyed? Farewell! This is a glorious summer. I often climb into the trees in Charlotte's orchard162, and shake down the pears that hang on the highest branches. She stands below, and catches them as they fall.
AUGUST 3O.
Unhappy being that I am! Why do I thus deceive myself? What is to come of all this wild, aimless, endless passion? I cannot pray except to her. My imagination sees nothing but her: all surrounding objects are of no account, except as they relate to her. In this dreamy state I enjoy many happy hours, till at length I feel compelled to tear myself away from her. Ah, Wilhelm, to what does not my heart often compel me! When I have spent several hours in her company, till I feel completely absorbed by her figure, her grace, the divine expression of her thoughts, my mind becomes gradually excited to the highest excess, my sight grows dim, my hearing confused, my breathing oppressed as if by the hand of a murderer, and my beating heart seeks to obtain relief for my aching senses. I am sometimes unconscious whether I really exist. If in such moments I find no sympathy, and Charlotte does not allow me to enjoy the melancholy163 consolation of bathing her hand with my tears, I feel compelled to tear myself from her, when I either wander through the country, climb some precipitous cliff, or force a path through the trackless thicket164, where I am lacerated and torn by thorns and briers; and thence I find relief. Sometimes I lie stretched on the ground, overcome with fatigue165 and dying with thirst; sometimes, late in the night, when the moon shines above me, I recline against an aged166 tree in some sequestered167 forest, to rest my weary limbs, when, exhausted and worn, I sleep till break of day. O Wilhelm! the hermit's cell, his sackcloth, and girdle of thorns would be luxury and indulgence compared with what I suffer. Adieu! I see no end to this wretchedness except the grave.
1 allude | |
v.提及,暗指 | |
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2 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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3 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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4 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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5 aquiline | |
adj.钩状的,鹰的 | |
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6 contrive | |
vt.谋划,策划;设法做到;设计,想出 | |
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7 dilemma | |
n.困境,进退两难的局面 | |
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8 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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9 enervate | |
v.使虚弱,使无力 | |
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10 despatch | |
n./v.(dispatch)派遣;发送;n.急件;新闻报道 | |
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11 dagger | |
n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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12 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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13 amputation | |
n.截肢 | |
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14 periling | |
置…于危险中(peril的现在分词形式) | |
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15 procrastination | |
n.拖延,耽搁 | |
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16 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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17 entangled | |
adj.卷入的;陷入的;被缠住的;缠在一起的v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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19 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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20 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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21 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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22 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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23 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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24 heartiest | |
亲切的( hearty的最高级 ); 热诚的; 健壮的; 精神饱满的 | |
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25 rambles | |
(无目的地)漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 ); (喻)漫谈; 扯淡; 长篇大论 | |
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26 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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27 Forsaken | |
adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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28 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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29 brace | |
n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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30 lamentation | |
n.悲叹,哀悼 | |
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31 precipitate | |
adj.突如其来的;vt.使突然发生;n.沉淀物 | |
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32 extenuate | |
v.减轻,使人原谅 | |
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33 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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34 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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35 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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36 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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37 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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38 perfidious | |
adj.不忠的,背信弃义的 | |
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39 seducer | |
n.诱惑者,骗子,玩弄女性的人 | |
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40 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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41 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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42 withhold | |
v.拒绝,不给;使停止,阻挡 | |
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43 intoxicated | |
喝醉的,极其兴奋的 | |
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44 intoxication | |
n.wild excitement;drunkenness;poisoning | |
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45 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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46 abhor | |
v.憎恶;痛恨 | |
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47 detest | |
vt.痛恨,憎恶 | |
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48 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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49 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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50 decried | |
v.公开反对,谴责( decry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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52 sages | |
n.圣人( sage的名词复数 );智者;哲人;鼠尾草(可用作调料) | |
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53 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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54 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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55 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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56 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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57 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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58 yoke | |
n.轭;支配;v.给...上轭,连接,使成配偶 | |
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59 tyrant | |
n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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60 steadfastly | |
adv.踏实地,不变地;岿然;坚定不渝 | |
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61 annihilated | |
v.(彻底)消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 );使无效;废止;彻底击溃 | |
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62 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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63 paradox | |
n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法;自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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64 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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65 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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66 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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67 instil | |
v.逐渐灌输 | |
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68 invalid | |
n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
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69 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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70 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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71 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72 insipid | |
adj.无味的,枯燥乏味的,单调的 | |
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73 enervating | |
v.使衰弱,使失去活力( enervate的现在分词 ) | |
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74 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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75 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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76 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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77 endearments | |
n.表示爱慕的话语,亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
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78 delusive | |
adj.欺骗的,妄想的 | |
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79 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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80 forsakes | |
放弃( forsake的第三人称单数 ); 弃绝; 抛弃; 摒弃 | |
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81 stunned | |
adj. 震惊的,惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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82 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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83 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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84 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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85 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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86 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87 wrings | |
绞( wring的第三人称单数 ); 握紧(尤指别人的手); 把(湿衣服)拧干; 绞掉(水) | |
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88 plunges | |
n.跳进,投入vt.使投入,使插入,使陷入vi.投入,跳进,陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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89 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
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90 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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91 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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92 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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93 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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94 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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95 dwarfs | |
n.侏儒,矮子(dwarf的复数形式)vt.(使)显得矮小(dwarf的第三人称单数形式) | |
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96 narration | |
n.讲述,叙述;故事;记叙体 | |
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97 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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98 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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99 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
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100 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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101 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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102 efface | |
v.擦掉,抹去 | |
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103 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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104 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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105 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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106 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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107 demon | |
n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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108 harasses | |
v.侵扰,骚扰( harass的第三人称单数 );不断攻击(敌人) | |
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109 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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110 windings | |
(道路、河流等)蜿蜒的,弯曲的( winding的名词复数 ); 缠绕( wind的现在分词 ); 卷绕; 转动(把手) | |
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111 gliding | |
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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112 wafted | |
v.吹送,飘送,(使)浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113 groves | |
树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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114 melodious | |
adj.旋律美妙的,调子优美的,音乐性的 | |
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115 swarms | |
蜂群,一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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116 beetles | |
n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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117 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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118 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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119 arid | |
adj.干旱的;(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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120 moss | |
n.苔,藓,地衣 | |
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121 animates | |
v.使有生气( animate的第三人称单数 );驱动;使栩栩如生地动作;赋予…以生命 | |
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122 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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123 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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124 encompassed | |
v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 );包围;包含;包括 | |
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125 cataracts | |
n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 );白内障 | |
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126 resounded | |
v.(指声音等)回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 );产生回响;(指某处)回荡着声音 | |
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127 infinity | |
n.无限,无穷,大量 | |
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128 teemed | |
v.充满( teem的过去式和过去分词 );到处都是;(指水、雨等)暴降;倾注 | |
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129 inaccessible | |
adj.达不到的,难接近的 | |
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130 quaff | |
v.一饮而尽;痛饮 | |
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131 foaming | |
adj.布满泡沫的;发泡 | |
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132 goblet | |
n.高脚酒杯 | |
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133 ineffable | |
adj.无法表达的,不可言喻的 | |
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134 fable | |
n.寓言;童话;神话 | |
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135 exalts | |
赞扬( exalt的第三人称单数 ); 歌颂; 提升; 提拔 | |
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136 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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137 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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138 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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139 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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140 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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141 preys | |
v.掠食( prey的第三人称单数 );掠食;折磨;(人)靠欺诈为生 | |
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142 fabric | |
n.织物,织品,布;构造,结构,组织 | |
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143 industrious | |
adj.勤劳的,刻苦的,奋发的 | |
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144 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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145 calamities | |
n.灾祸,灾难( calamity的名词复数 );不幸之事 | |
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146 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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147 devouring | |
吞没( devour的现在分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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148 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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149 slumbers | |
睡眠,安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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150 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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151 bereft | |
adj.被剥夺的 | |
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152 woes | |
困境( woe的名词复数 ); 悲伤; 我好苦哇; 某人就要倒霉 | |
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153 degenerated | |
衰退,堕落,退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
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155 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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156 recurs | |
再发生,复发( recur的第三人称单数 ) | |
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157 bridled | |
给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 ); 控制; 昂首表示轻蔑(或怨忿等); 动怒,生气 | |
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158 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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159 inhaled | |
v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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160 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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161 ripen | |
vt.使成熟;vi.成熟 | |
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162 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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163 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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164 thicket | |
n.灌木丛,树林 | |
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165 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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166 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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167 sequestered | |
adj.扣押的;隐退的;幽静的;偏僻的v.使隔绝,使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 );扣押 | |
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