That day was rainy like its predecessor1; but towards evening it began to clear up a little, and the next morning was fair and promising2. I was out on the hill with the reapers3. A light wind swept over the corn, and all nature laughed in the sunshine. The lark4 was rejoicing among the silvery floating clouds. The late rain had so sweetly freshened and cleared the air, and washed the sky, and left such glittering gems5 on branch and blade, that not even the farmers could have the heart to blame it. But no ray of sunshine could reach my heart, no breeze could freshen it; nothing could fill the void my faith, and hope, and joy in Helen Graham had left, or drive away the keen regrets and bitter dregs of lingering love that still oppressed it.
While I stood with folded arms abstractedly gazing on the undulating swell6 of the corn, not yet disturbed by the reapers, something gently pulled my skirts, and a small voice, no longer welcome to my ears, aroused me with the startling words, - 'Mr. Markham, mamma wants you.'
'Wants me, Arthur?'
'Yes. Why do you look so queer?' said he, half laughing, half frightened at the unexpected aspect of my face in suddenly turning towards him, - 'and why have you kept so long away? Come! Won't you come?'
'I'm busy just now,' I replied, scarce knowing what to answer.
He looked up in childish bewilderment; but before I could speak again the lady herself was at my side.
'Gilbert, I must speak with you!' said she, in a tone of suppressed vehemence7.
I looked at her pale cheek and glittering eye, but answered nothing.
'Only for a moment,' pleaded she. 'Just step aside into this other field.' She glanced at the reapers, some of whom were directing looks of impertinent curiosity towards her. 'I won't keep you a minute.'
I accompanied her through the gap.
'Arthur, darling, run and gather those bluebells,' said she, pointing to some that were gleaming at some distance under the hedge along which we walked. The child hesitated, as if unwilling8 to quit my side. 'Go, love!' repeated she more urgently, and in a tone which, though not unkind, demanded prompt obedience9, and obtained it.
'Well, Mrs. Graham?' said I, calmly and coldly; for, though I saw she was miserable10, and pitied her, I felt glad to have it in my power to torment11 her.
She fixed12 her eyes upon me with a look that pierced me to the heart; and yet it made me smile.
'I don't ask the reason of this change, Gilbert,' said she, with bitter calmness: 'I know it too well; but though I could see myself suspected and condemned13 by every one else, and bear it with calmness, I cannot endure it from you. - Why did you not come to hear my explanation on the day I appointed to give it?'
'Because I happened, in the interim14, to learn all you would have told me - and a trifle more, I imagine.'
'Impossible, for I would have told you all!' cried she, passionately16 - 'but I won't now, for I see you are not worthy17 of it!'
And her pale lips quivered with agitation18.
'Why not, may I ask?'
She repelled19 my mocking smile with a glance of scornful indignation.
'Because you never understood me, or you would not soon have listened to my traducers - my confidence would be misplaced in you - you are not the man I thought you. Go! I won't care what you think of me.'
She turned away, and I went; for I thought that would torment her as much as anything; and I believe I was right; for, looking back a minute after, I saw her turn half round, as if hoping or expecting to find me still beside her; and then she stood still, and cast one look behind. It was a look less expressive20 of anger than of bitter anguish21 and despair; but I immediately assumed an aspect of indifference22, and affected23 to be gazing carelessly around me, and I suppose she went on; for after lingering awhile to see if she would come back or call, I ventured one more glance, and saw her a good way off, moving rapidly up the field, with little Arthur running by her side and apparently24 talking as he went; but she kept her face averted25 from him, as if to hide some uncontrollable emotion. And I returned to my business.
But I soon began to regret my precipitancy in leaving her so soon. It was evident she loved me - probably she was tired of Mr. Lawrence, and wished to exchange him for me; and if I had loved and reverenced26 her less to begin with, the preference might have gratified and amused me; but now the contrast between her outward seeming and her inward mind, as I supposed, - between my former and my present opinion of her, was so harrowing - so distressing27 to my feelings, that it swallowed up every lighter28 consideration.
But still I was curious to know what sort of an explanation she would have given me - or would give now, if I pressed her for it - how much she would confess, and how she would endeavour to excuse herself. I longed to know what to despise, and what to admire in her; how much to pity, and how much to hate; - and, what was more, I would know. I would see her once more, and fairly satisfy myself in what light to regard her, before we parted. Lost to me she was, for ever, of course; but still I could not bear to think that we had parted, for the last time, with so much unkindness and misery29 on both sides. That last look of hers had sunk into my heart; I could not forget it. But what a fool I was! Had she not deceived me, injured me - blighted30 my happiness for life? 'Well, I'll see her, however,' was my concluding resolve, 'but not to-day: to-day and to-night she may think upon her sins, and be as miserable as she will: to-morrow I will see her once again, and know something more about her. The interview may be serviceable to her, or it may not. At any rate, it will give a breath of excitement to the life she has doomed31 to stagnation32, and may calm with certainty some agitating33 thoughts.'
I did go on the morrow, but not till towards evening, after the business of the day was concluded, that is, between six and seven; and the westering sun was gleaming redly on the old Hall, and flaming in the latticed windows, as I reached it, imparting to the place a cheerfulness not its own. I need not dilate34 upon the feelings with which I approached the shrine35 of my former divinity - that spot teeming36 with a thousand delightful37 recollections and glorious dreams - all darkened now by one disastrous38 truth
Rachel admitted me into the parlour, and went to call her mistress, for she was not there: but there was her desk left open on the little round table beside the high-backed chair, with a book laid upon it. Her limited but choice collection of books was almost as familiar to me as my own; but this volume I had not seen before. I took it up. It was Sir Humphry Davy's 'Last Days of a Philosopher,' and on the first leaf was written, 'Frederick Lawrence.' I closed the book, but kept it in my hand, and stood facing the door, with my back to the fire-place, calmly waiting her arrival; for I did not doubt she would come. And soon I heard her step in the hall. My heart was beginning to throb39, but I checked it with an internal rebuke40, and maintained my composure - outwardly at least. She entered, calm, pale, collected.
'To what am I indebted for this favour, Mr. Markham?' said she, with such severe but quiet dignity as almost disconcerted me; but I answered with a smile, and impudently41 enough, -
'Well, I am come to hear your explanation.'
'I told you I would not give it,' said she. 'I said you were unworthy of my confidence.'
'Oh, very well,' replied I, moving to the door.
'Stay a moment,' said she. 'This is the last time I shall see you: don't go just yet.'
I remained, awaiting her further commands.
'Tell me,' resumed she, 'on what grounds you believe these things against me; who told you; and what did they say?'
I paused a moment. She met my eye as unflinchingly as if her bosom42 had been steeled with conscious innocence43. She was resolved to know the worst, and determined44 to dare it too. 'I can crush that bold spirit,' thought I. But while I secretly exulted45 in my power, I felt disposed to dally46 with my victim like a cat. Showing her the book that I still held, in my hand, and pointing to the name on the fly-leaf, but fixing my eye upon her face, I asked, - 'Do you know that gentleman?'
'Of course I do,' replied she; and a sudden flush suffused47 her features - whether of shame or anger I could not tell: it rather resembled the latter. 'What next, sir?'
'How long is it since you saw him?'
'Who gave you the right to catechize me on this or any other subject?'
'Oh, no one! - it's quite at your option whether to answer or not. And now, let me ask - have you heard what has lately befallen this friend of yours? - because, if you have not - '
'I will not be insulted, Mr. Markham!' cried she, almost infuriated at my manner. 'So you had better leave the house at once, if you came only for that.'
'I did not come to insult you: I came to hear your explanation.'
'And I tell you I won't give it!' retorted she, pacing the room in a state of strong excitement, with her hands clasped tightly together, breathing short, and flashing fires of indignation from her eyes. 'I will not condescend48 to explain myself to one that can make a jest of such horrible suspicions, and be so easily led to entertain them.'
'I do not make a jest of them, Mrs. Graham,' returned I, dropping at once my tone of taunting49 sarcasm50. 'I heartily51 wish I could find them a jesting matter. And as to being easily led to suspect, God only knows what a blind, incredulous fool I have hitherto been, perseveringly52 shutting my eyes and stopping my ears against everything that threatened to shake my confidence in you, till proof itself confounded my infatuation!'
'What proof, sir?'
'Well, I'll tell you. You remember that evening when I was here last?'
'I do.'
'Even then you dropped some hints that might have opened the eyes of a wiser man; but they had no such effect upon me: I went on trusting and believing, hoping against hope, and adoring where I could not comprehend. It so happened, however, that after I left you I turned back - drawn53 by pure depth of sympathy and ardour of affection - not daring to intrude54 my presence openly upon you, but unable to resist the temptation of catching55 one glimpse through the window, just to see how you were: for I had left you apparently in great affliction, and I partly blamed my own want of forbearance and discretion56 as the cause of it. If I did wrong, love alone was my incentive57, and the punishment was severe enough; for it was just as I had reached that tree, that you came out into the garden with your friend. Not choosing to show myself, under the circumstances, I stood still, in the shadow, till you had both passed by.'
'And how much of our conversation did you hear?'
'I heard quite enough, Helen. And it was well for me that I did hear it; for nothing less could have cured my infatuation. I always said and thought, that I would never believe a word against you, unless I heard it from your own lips. All the hints and affirmations of others I treated as malignant58, baseless slanders59; your own self-accusations I believed to be overstrained; and all that seemed unaccountable in your position I trusted that you could account for if you chose.'
Mrs. Graham had discontinued her walk. She leant against one end of the chimney-piece, opposite that near which I was standing60, with her chin resting on her closed hand, her eyes - no longer burning with anger, but gleaming with restless excitement - sometimes glancing at me while I spoke61, then coursing the opposite wall, or fixed upon the carpet.
'You should have come to me after all,' said she, 'and heard what I had to say in my own justification62. It was ungenerous and wrong to withdraw yourself so secretly and suddenly, immediately after such ardent63 protestations of attachment64, without ever assigning a reason for the change. You should have told me all-no matter how bitterly. It would have been better than this silence.'
'To what end should I have done so? You could not have enlightened me further, on the subject which alone concerned me; nor could you have made me discredit65 the evidence of my senses. I desired our intimacy66 to be discontinued at once, as you yourself had acknowledged would probably be the case if I knew all; but I did not wish to upbraid67 you, - though (as you also acknowledged) you had deeply wronged me. Yes, you have done me an injury you can never repair - or any other either - you have blighted the freshness and promise of youth, and made my life a wilderness68! I might live a hundred years, but I could never recover from the effects of this withering69 blow - and never forget it! Hereafter - You smile, Mrs. Graham,' said I, suddenly stopping short, checked in my passionate15 declamation70 by unutterable feelings to behold71 her actually smiling at the picture of the ruin she had wrought72.
'Did I?' replied she, looking seriously up; 'I was not aware of it. If I did, it was not for pleasure at the thoughts of the harm I had done you. Heaven knows I have had torment enough at the bare possibility of that; it was for joy to find that you had some depth of soul and feeling after all, and to hope that I had not been utterly73 mistaken in your worth. But smiles and tears are so alike with me, they are neither of them confined to any particular feelings: I often cry when I am happy, and smile when I am sad.'
She looked at me again, and seemed to expect a reply; but I continued silent.
'Would you be very glad,' resumed she, 'to find that you were mistaken in your conclusions?'
'How can you ask it, Helen?'
'I don't say I can clear myself altogether,' said she, speaking low and fast, while her heart beat visibly and her bosom heaved with excitement, - 'but would you be glad to discover I was better than you think me?'
'Anything that could in the least degree tend to restore my former opinion of you, to excuse the regard I still feel for you, and alleviate74 the pangs75 of unutterable regret that accompany it, would be only too gladly, too eagerly received!' Her cheeks burned, and her whole frame trembled, now, with excess of agitation. She did not speak, but flew to her desk, and snatching thence what seemed a thick album or manuscript volume, hastily tore away a few leaves from the end, and thrust the rest into my hand, saying, 'You needn't read it all; but take it home with you,' and hurried from the room. But when I had left the house, and was proceeding76 down the walk, she opened the window and called me back. It was only to say, - 'Bring it back when you have read it; and don't breathe a word of what it tells you to any living being. I trust to your honour.'
Before I could answer she had closed the casement77 and turned away. I saw her cast herself back in the old oak chair, and cover her face with her hands. Her feelings had been wrought to a pitch that rendered it necessary to seek relief in tears.
Panting with eagerness, and struggling to suppress my hopes, I hurried home, and rushed up-stairs to my room, having first provided myself with a candle, though it was scarcely twilight78 yet - then, shut and bolted the door, determined to tolerate no interruption; and sitting down before the table, opened out my prize and delivered myself up to its perusal79 - first hastily turning over the leaves and snatching a sentence here and there, and then setting myself steadily80 to read it through.
I have it now before me; and though you could not, of course, peruse81 it with half the interest that I did, I know you would not be satisfied with an abbreviation of its contents, and you shall have the whole, save, perhaps, a few passages here and there of merely temporary interest to the writer, or such as would serve to encumber82 the story rather than elucidate83 it. It begins somewhat abruptly84, thus - but we will reserve its commencement for another chapter.
1 predecessor | |
n.前辈,前任 | |
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2 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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3 reapers | |
n.收割者,收获者( reaper的名词复数 );收割机 | |
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4 lark | |
n.云雀,百灵鸟;n.嬉戏,玩笑;vi.嬉戏 | |
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5 gems | |
growth; economy; management; and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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6 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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7 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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8 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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9 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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10 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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11 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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12 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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13 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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14 interim | |
adj.暂时的,临时的;n.间歇,过渡期间 | |
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15 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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16 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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17 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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18 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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19 repelled | |
v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 );使厌恶;排斥;推开 | |
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20 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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21 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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22 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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23 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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24 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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25 averted | |
防止,避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 ); 转移 | |
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26 reverenced | |
v.尊敬,崇敬( reverence的过去式和过去分词 );敬礼 | |
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27 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
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28 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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29 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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30 blighted | |
adj.枯萎的,摧毁的 | |
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31 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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32 stagnation | |
n. 停滞 | |
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33 agitating | |
搅动( agitate的现在分词 ); 激怒; 使焦虑不安; (尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而)激烈争论 | |
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34 dilate | |
vt.使膨胀,使扩大 | |
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35 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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36 teeming | |
adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 );到处都是;(指水、雨等)暴降;倾注 | |
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37 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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38 disastrous | |
adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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39 throb | |
v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
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40 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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41 impudently | |
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42 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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43 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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44 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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45 exulted | |
狂喜,欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46 dally | |
v.荒废(时日),调情 | |
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47 suffused | |
v.(指颜色、水气等)弥漫于,布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48 condescend | |
v.俯就,屈尊;堕落,丢丑 | |
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49 taunting | |
嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 ); 嘲弄; 辱骂; 奚落 | |
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50 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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51 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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52 perseveringly | |
坚定地 | |
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53 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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54 intrude | |
vi.闯入;侵入;打扰,侵扰 | |
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55 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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56 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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57 incentive | |
n.刺激;动力;鼓励;诱因;动机 | |
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58 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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59 slanders | |
诽谤,诋毁( slander的名词复数 ) | |
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60 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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61 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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62 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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63 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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64 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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65 discredit | |
vt.使不可置信;n.丧失信义;不信,怀疑 | |
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66 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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67 upbraid | |
v.斥责,责骂,责备 | |
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68 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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69 withering | |
使人畏缩的,使人害羞的,使人难堪的 | |
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70 declamation | |
n. 雄辩,高调 | |
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71 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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72 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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73 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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74 alleviate | |
v.减轻,缓和,缓解(痛苦等) | |
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75 pangs | |
突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 ); 悲痛 | |
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76 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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77 casement | |
n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
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78 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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79 perusal | |
n.细读,熟读;目测 | |
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80 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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81 peruse | |
v.细读,精读 | |
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82 encumber | |
v.阻碍行动,妨碍,堆满 | |
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83 elucidate | |
v.阐明,说明 | |
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84 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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