My greatest source of uneasiness, in this time of trial, was my son, whom his father and his father's friends delighted to encourage in all the embryo1 vices2 a little child can show, and to instruct in all the evil habits he could acquire - in a word, to 'make a man of him' was one of their staple3 amusements; and I need say no more to justify4 my alarm on his account, and my determination to deliver him at any hazard from the hands of such instructors6. I first attempted to keep him always with me, or in the nursery, and gave Rachel particular injunctions never to let him come down to dessert as long as these 'gentlemen' stayed; but it was no use: these orders were immediately countermanded8 and overruled by his father; he was not going to have the little fellow moped to death between an old nurse and a cursed fool of a mother. So the little fellow came down every evening in spite of his cross mamma, and learned to tipple9 wine like papa, to swear like Mr. Hattersley, and to have his own way like a man, and sent mamma to the devil when she tried to prevent him. To see such things done with the roguish naivete of that pretty little child, and hear such things spoken by that small infantile voice, was as peculiarly piquant11 and irresistibly12 droll13 to them as it was inexpressibly distressing15 and painful to me; and when he had set the table in a roar he would look round delightedly upon them all, and add his shrill16 laugh to theirs. But if that beaming blue eye rested on me, its light would vanish for a moment, and he would say, in some concern, 'Mamma, why don't you laugh? Make her laugh, papa - she never will.'
Hence was I obliged to stay among these human brutes17, watching an opportunity to get my child away from them instead of leaving them immediately after the removal of the cloth, as I should always otherwise have done. He was never willing to go, and I frequently had to carry him away by force, for which he thought me very cruel and unjust; and sometimes his father would insist upon my letting him remain; and then I would leave him to his kind friends, and retire to indulge my bitterness and despair alone, or to rack my brains for a remedy to this great evil.
But here again I must do Mr. Hargrave the justice to acknowledge that I never saw him laugh at the child's misdemeanours, nor heard him utter a word of encouragement to his aspirations18 after manly19 accomplishments20. But when anything very extraordinary was said or done by the infant profligate21, I noticed, at times, a peculiar10 expression in his face that I could neither interpret nor define: a slight twitching22 about the muscles of the mouth; a sudden flash in the eye, as he darted23 a sudden glance at the child and then at me: and then I could fancy there arose a gleam of hard, keen, sombre satisfaction in his countenance24 at the look of impotent wrath25 and anguish26 he was too certain to behold27 in mine. But on one occasion, when Arthur had been behaving particularly ill, and Mr. Huntingdon and his guests had been particularly provoking and insulting to me in their encouragement of him, and I particularly anxious to get him out of the room, and on the very point of demeaning myself by a burst of uncontrollable passion - Mr. Hargrave suddenly rose from his seat with an aspect of stern determination, lifted the child from his father's knee, where he was sitting half-tipsy, cocking his head and laughing at me, and execrating28 me with words he little knew the meaning of, handed him out of the room, and, setting him down in the hall, held the door open for me, gravely bowed as I withdrew, and closed it after me. I heard high words exchanged between him and his already half- inebriated29 host as I departed, leading away my bewildered and disconcerted boy.
But this should not continue: my child must not be abandoned to this corruption30: better far that he should live in poverty and obscurity, with a fugitive31 mother, that in luxury and affluence32 with such a father. These guests might not be with us long, but they would return again: and he, the most injurious of the whole, his child's worst enemy, would still remain. I could endure it for myself, but for my son it must be borne no longer: the world's opinion and the feelings of my friends must be alike unheeded here, at least - alike unable to deter5 me from my duty. But where should I find an asylum33, and how obtain subsistence for us both? Oh, I would take my precious charge at early dawn, take the coach to M-, flee to the port of -, cross the Atlantic, and seek a quiet, humble34 home in New England, where I would support myself and him by the labour of my hands. The palette and the easel, my darling playmates once, must be my sober toil35-fellows now. But was I sufficiently36 skilful37 as an artist to obtain my livelihood38 in a strange land, without friends and without recommendation? No; I must wait a little; I must labour hard to improve my talent, and to produce something worth while as a specimen39 of my powers, something to speak favourably40 for me, whether as an actual painter or a teacher. Brilliant success, of course, I did not look for, but some degree of security from positive failure was indispensable: I must not take my son to starve. And then I must have money for the journey, the passage, and some little to support us in our retreat in case I should be unsuccessful at first: and not too little either: for who could tell how long I might have to struggle with the indifference41 or neglect of others, or my own inexperience or inability to suit their tastes?
What should I do then? Apply to my brother and explain my circumstances and my resolves to him? No, no: even if I told him all my grievances42, which I should be very reluctant to do, he would be certain to disapprove43 of the step: it would seem like madness to him, as it would to my uncle and aunt, or to Milicent. No; I must have patience and gather a hoard44 of my own. Rachel should be my only confidante - I thought I could persuade her into the scheme; and she should help me, first, to find out a picture-dealer in some distant town; then, through her means, I would privately45 sell what pictures I had on hand that would do for such a purpose, and some of those I should thereafter paint. Besides this, I would contrive46 to dispose of my jewels, not the family jewels, but the few I brought with me from home, and those my uncle gave me on my marriage. A few months' arduous47 toil might well be borne by me with such an end in view; and in the interim48 my son could not be much more injured than he was already.
Having formed this resolution, I immediately set to work to accomplish it, I might possibly have been induced to wax cool upon it afterwards, or perhaps to keep weighing the pros49 and cons50 in my mind till the latter overbalanced the former, and I was driven to relinquish51 the project altogether, or delay the execution of it to an indefinite period, had not something occurred to confirm me in that determination, to which I still adhere, which I still think I did well to form, and shall do better to execute.
Since Lord Lowborough's departure I had regarded the library as entirely52 my own, a secure retreat at all hours of the day. None of our gentlemen had the smallest pretensions53 to a literary taste, except Mr. Hargrave; and he, at present, was quite contented54 with the newspapers and periodicals of the day. And if, by any chance, he should look in here, I felt assured he would soon depart on seeing me, for, instead of becoming less cool and distant towards me, he had become decidedly more so since the departure of his mother and sisters, which was just what I wished. Here, then, I set up my easel, and here I worked at my canvas from daylight till dusk, with very little intermission, saving when pure necessity, or my duties to little Arthur, called me away: for I still thought proper to devote some portion of every day exclusively to his instruction and amusement. But, contrary to my expectation, on the third morning, while I was thus employed, Mr. Hargrave did look in, and did not immediately withdraw on seeing me. He apologized for his intrusion, and said he was only come for a book; but when he had got it, he condescended55 to cast a glance over my picture. Being a man of taste, he had something to say on this subject as well as another, and having modestly commented on it, without much encouragement from me, he proceeded to expatiate56 on the art in general. Receiving no encouragement in that either, he dropped it, but did not depart.
'You don't give us much of your company, Mrs. Huntingdon,' observed he, after a brief pause, during which I went on coolly mixing and tempering my colours; 'and I cannot wonder at it, for you must be heartily57 sick of us all. I myself am so thoroughly58 ashamed of my companions, and so weary of their irrational59 conversation and pursuits - now that there is no one to humanize them and keep them in check, since you have justly abandoned us to our own devices - that I think I shall presently withdraw from amongst them, probably within this week; and I cannot suppose you will regret my departure.'
He paused. I did not answer.
'Probably,' he added, with a smile, 'your only regret on the subject will be that I do not take all my companions along with me. I flatter myself, at times, that though among them I am not of them; but it is natural that you should be glad to get rid of me. I may regret this, but I cannot blame you for it.'
'I shall not rejoice at your departure, for you can conduct yourself like a gentleman,' said I, thinking it but right to make some acknowledgment for his good behaviour; 'but I must confess I shall rejoice to bid adieu. to the rest, inhospitable as it may appear.'
'No one can blame you for such an avowal,' replied he gravely: 'not even the gentlemen themselves, I imagine. I'll just tell you,' he continued, as if actuated by a sudden resolution, 'what was said last night in the dining-room, after you left us: perhaps you will not mind it, as you're so very philosophical60 on certain points,' he added with a slight sneer61. 'They were talking about Lord Lowborough and his delectable62 lady, the cause of whose sudden departure is no secret amongst them; and her character is so well known to them all, that, nearly related to me as she is, I could not attempt to defend it. Curse me!' he muttered, par7 parenthese, 'if I don't have vengeance63 for this! If the villain64 must disgrace the family, must he blazon65 it abroad to every low-bred knave66 of his acquaintance? I beg your pardon, Mrs. Huntingdon. Well, they were talking of these things, and some of them remarked that, as she was separated from her husband, he might see her again when he pleased.'
'"Thank you," said he; "I've had enough of her for the present: I'll not trouble to see her, unless she comes to me."
'"Then what do you mean to do, Huntingdon, when we're gone?" said Ralph Hattersley. "Do you mean to turn from the error of your ways, and be a good husband, a good father, and so forth67; as I do, when I get shut of you and all these rollicking devils you call your friends? I think it's time; and your wife is fifty times too good for you, you know - "
'And he added some praise of you, which you would not thank me for repeating, nor him for uttering; proclaiming it aloud, as he did, without delicacy68 or discrimination, in an audience where it seemed profanation69 to utter your name: himself utterly70 incapable71 of understanding or appreciating your real excellences73. Huntingdon, meanwhile, sat quietly drinking his wine, - or looking smilingly into his glass and offering no interruption or reply, till Hattersley shouted out, - "Do you hear me, man?"
'"Yes, go on," said he.
'"Nay74, I've done," replied the other: "I only want to know if you intend to take my advice."
'"What advice?"
'"To turn over a new leaf, you double-dyed scoundrel," shouted Ralph, "and beg your wife's pardon, and be a good boy for the future."
'"My wife! what wife? I have no wife," replied Huntingdon, looking innocently up from his glass, "or if I have, look you, gentlemen: I value her so highly that any one among you, that can fancy her, may have her and welcome: you may, by Jove, and my blessing75 into the bargain!"
'I - hem14 - someone asked if he really meant what he said; upon which he solemnly swore he did, and no mistake. What do you think of that, Mrs. Huntingdon?' asked Mr. Hargrave, after a short pause, during which I had felt he was keenly examining my half-averted face.
'I say,' replied I, calmly, 'that what he prizes so lightly will not be long in his possession.'
'You cannot mean that you will break your heart and die for the detestable conduct of an infamous76 villain like that!'
'By no means: my heart is too thoroughly dried to be broken in a hurry, and I mean to live as long as I can.'
'Will you leave him then?'
'Yes.'
'When: and how?' asked he, eagerly.
'When I am ready, and how I can manage it most effectually.'
'But your child?'
'My child goes with me.'
'He will not allow it.'
'I shall not ask him.'
'Ah, then, it is a secret flight you meditate77! but with whom, Mrs. Huntingdon?'
'With my son: and possibly, his nurse.'
'Alone - and unprotected! But where can you go? what can you do? He will follow you and bring you back.'
'I have laid my plans too well for that. Let me once get clear of Grassdale, and I shall consider myself safe.'
Mr. Hargrave advanced one step towards me, looked me in the face, and drew in his breath to speak; but that look, that heightened colour, that sudden sparkle of the eye, made my blood rise in wrath: I abruptly78 turned away, and, snatching up my brush, began to dash away at my canvas with rather too much energy for the good of the picture.
'Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he with bitter solemnity, 'you are cruel - cruel to me - cruel to yourself.'
'Mr. Hargrave, remember your promise.'
'I must speak: my heart will burst if I don't! I have been silent long enough, and you must hear me!' cried he, boldly intercepting79 my retreat to the door. 'You tell me you owe no allegiance to your husband; he openly declares himself weary of you, and calmly gives you up to anybody that will take you; you are about to leave him; no one will believe that you go alone; all the world will say, "She has left him at last, and who can wonder at it? Few can blame her, fewer still can pity him; but who is the companion of her flight?" Thus you will have no credit for your virtue80 (if you call it such): even your best friends will not believe in it; because it is monstrous81, and not to be credited but by those who suffer, from the effects of it, such cruel torments82 that they know it to be indeed reality. But what can you do in the cold, rough world alone? you, a young and inexperienced woman, delicately nurtured83, and utterly - '
'In a word, you would advise me to stay where I am,' interrupted I. 'Well, I'll see about it.'
'By all means, leave him!' cried he earnestly; 'but NOT alone! Helen! let me protect you!'
'Never! while heaven spares my reason,' replied I, snatching away the hand he had presumed to seize and press between his own. But he was in for it now; he had fairly broken the barrier: he was completely roused, and determined84 to hazard all for victory.
'I must not be denied!' exclaimed he, vehemently85; and seizing both my hands, he held them very tight, but dropped upon his knee, and looked up in my face with a half-imploring, half-imperious gaze. 'You have no reason now: you are flying in the face of heaven's decrees. God has designed me to be your comfort and protector - I feel it, I know it as certainly as if a voice from heaven declared, "Ye twain shall be one flesh" - and you spurn86 me from you - '
'Let me go, Mr. Hargrave!' said I, sternly. But he only tightened87 his grasp.
'Let me go!' I repeated, quivering with indignation.
His face was almost opposite the window as he knelt. With a slight start, I saw him glance towards it; and then a gleam of malicious88 triumph lit up his countenance. Looking over my shoulder, I beheld89 a shadow just retiring round the corner.
'That is Grimsby,' said he deliberately90. 'He will report what he has seen to Huntingdon and all the rest, with such embellishments as he thinks proper. He has no love for you, Mrs. Huntingdon - no reverence91 for your sex, no belief in virtue, no admiration92 for its image. He will give such a version of this story as will leave no doubt at all about your character, in the minds of those who hear it. Your fair fame is gone; and nothing that I or you can say can ever retrieve93 it. But give me the power to protect you, and show me the villain that dares to insult!'
'No one has ever dared to insult me as you are doing now!' said I, at length releasing my hands, and recoiling94 from him.
'I do not insult you,' cried he: 'I worship you. You are my angel, my divinity! I lay my powers at your feet, and you must and shall accept them!' he exclaimed, impetuously starting to his feet. 'I will be your consoler and defender95! and if your conscience upbraid96 you for it, say I overcame you, and you could not choose but yield!'
I never saw a man go terribly excited. He precipitated97 himself towards me. I snatched up my palette-knife and held it against him. This startled him: he stood and gazed at me in astonishment98; I daresay I looked as fierce and resolute99 as he. I moved to the bell, and put my hand upon the cord. This tamed him still more. With a half-authoritative, half-deprecating wave of the hand, he sought to deter me from ringing.
'Stand off, then!' said I; he stepped back. 'And listen to me. I don't like you,' I continued, as deliberately and emphatically as I could, to give the greater efficacy to my words; 'and if I were divorced from my husband, or if he were dead, I would not marry you. There now! I hope you're satisfied.'
His face grew blanched100 with anger.
'I am satisfied,' he replied, with bitter emphasis, 'that you are the most cold-hearted, unnatural101, ungrateful woman I ever yet beheld!'
'Ungrateful, sir?'
'Ungrateful.'
'No, Mr. Hargrave, I am not. For all the good you ever did me, or ever wished to do, I most sincerely thank you: for all the evil you have done me, and all you would have done, I pray God to pardon you, and make you of a better mind.' Here the door was thrown open, and Messrs. Huntingdon and Hattersley appeared without. The latter remained in the hall, busy with his ramrod and his gun; the former walked in, and stood with his back to the fire, surveying Mr. Hargrave and me, particularly the former, with a smile of insupportable meaning, accompanied as it was by the impudence102 of his brazen103 brow, and the sly, malicious, twinkle of his eye.
'Well, sir?' said Hargrave, interrogatively, and with the air of one prepared to stand on the defensive104.
'Well, sir,' returned his host.
'We want to know if you are at liberty to join us in a go at the pheasants, Walter,' interposed Hattersley from without. 'Come! there shall be nothing shot besides, except a puss or two; I'll vouch105 for that.'
Walter did not answer, but walked to the window to collect his faculties106. Arthur uttered a low whistle, and followed him with his eyes. A slight flush of anger rose to Hargrave's cheek; but in a moment he turned calmly round, and said carelessly:
'I came here to bid farewell to Mrs. Huntingdon, and tell her I must go to-morrow.'
'Humph! You're mighty107 sudden in your resolution. What takes you off so soon, may I ask?'
'Business,' returned he, repelling109 the other's incredulous sneer with a glance of scornful defiance110.
'Very good,' was the reply; and Hargrave walked away. Thereupon Mr. Huntingdon, gathering111 his coat-laps under his arms, and setting his shoulder against the mantel-piece, turned to me, and, addressing me in a low voice, scarcely above his breath, poured forth a volley of the vilest112 and grossest abuse it was possible for the imagination to conceive or the tongue to utter. I did not attempt to interrupt him; but my spirit kindled113 within me, and when he had done, I replied, 'If your accusation114 were true, Mr. Huntingdon, how dare you blame me?'
'She's hit it, by Jove!' cried Hattersley, rearing his gun against the wall; and, stepping into the room, he took his precious friend by the arm, and attempted to drag him away. 'Come, my lad,' he muttered; 'true or false, you've no right to blame her, you know, nor him either; after what you said last night. So come along.'
There was something implied here that I could not endure.
'Dare you suspect me, Mr. Hattersley?' said I, almost beside myself with fury.
'Nay, nay, I suspect nobody. It's all right, it's all right. So come along, Huntingdon, you blackguard.'
'She can't deny it!' cried the gentleman thus addressed, grinning in mingled115 rage and triumph. 'She can't deny it if her life depended on it!' and muttering some more abusive language, he walked into the hall, and took up his hat and gun from the table.
'I scorn to justify myself to you!' said I. 'But you,' turning to Hattersley, 'if you presume to have any doubts on the subject, ask Mr. Hargrave.'
At this they simultaneously116 burst into a rude laugh that made my whole frame tingle117 to the fingers' ends.
'Where is he? I'll ask him myself!' said I, advancing towards them.
Suppressing a new burst of merriment, Hattersley pointed118 to the outer door. It was half open. His brother-in-law was standing72 on the front without.
'Mr. Hargrave, will you please to step this way?' said I.
He turned and looked at me in grave surprise.
'Step this way, if you please!' I repeated, in so determined a manner that he could not, or did not choose to resist its authority. Somewhat reluctantly he ascended119 the steps and advanced a pace or two into the hall.
'And tell those gentlemen,' I continued - 'these men, whether or not I yielded to your solicitations.'
'I don't understand you, Mrs. Huntingdon.'
'You do understand me, sir; and I charge you, upon your honour as a gentleman (if you have any), to answer truly. Did I, or did I not?'
'No,' muttered he, turning away.
'Speak up, sir; they can't hear you. Did I grant your request?
'You did not.'
'No, I'll be sworn she didn't,' said Hattersley, 'or he'd never look so black.'
'I'm willing to grant you the satisfaction of a gentleman, Huntingdon,' said Mr. Hargrave, calmly addressing his host, but with a bitter sneer upon his countenance.
'Go to the deuce!' replied the latter, with an impatient jerk of the head. Hargrave withdrew with a look of cold disdain120, saying, - 'You know where to find me, should you feel disposed to send a friend.'
Muttered oaths and curses were all the answer this intimation obtained.
'Now, Huntingdon, you see!' said Hattersley. 'Clear as the day.'
'I don't care what he sees,' said I, 'or what he imagines; but you, Mr. Hattersley, when you hear my name belied121 and slandered122, will you defend it?'
'I will.'
I instantly departed and shut myself into the library. What could possess me to make such a request of such a man I cannot tell; but drowning men catch at straws: they had driven me desperate between them; I hardly knew what I said. There was no other to preserve my name from being blackened and aspersed123 among this nest of boon124 companions, and through them, perhaps, into the world; and beside my abandoned wretch125 of a husband, the base, malignant126 Grimsby, and the false villain Hargrave, this boorish127 ruffian, coarse and brutal128 as he was, shone like a glow-worm in the dark, among its fellow worms.
What a scene was this! Could I ever have imagined that I should be doomed129 to bear such insults under my own roof - to hear such things spoken in my presence; nay, spoken to me and of me; and by those who arrogated130 to themselves the name of gentlemen? And could I have imagined that I should have been able to endure it as calmly, and to repel108 their insults as firmly and as boldly as I had done? A hardness such as this is taught by rough experience and despair alone.
Such thoughts as these chased one another through my mind, as I paced to and fro the room, and longed - oh, how I longed - to take my child and leave them now, without an hour's delay! But it could not be; there was work before me: hard work, that must be done.
'Then let me do it,' said I, 'and lose not a moment in vain repinings and idle chafings against my fate, and those who influence it.'
And conquering my agitation131 with a powerful effort, I immediately resumed my task, and laboured hard all day.
Mr. Hargrave did depart on the morrow; and I have never seen him since. The others stayed on for two or three weeks longer; but I kept aloof132 from them as much as possible, and still continued my labour, and have continued it, with almost unabated ardour, to the present day. I soon acquainted Rachel with my design, confiding134 all my motives135 and intentions to her ear, and, much to my agreeable surprise, found little difficulty in persuading her to enter into my views. She is a sober, cautious woman, but she so hates her master, and so loves her mistress and her nursling, that after several ejaculations, a few faint objections, and many tears and lamentations that I should be brought to such a pass, she applauded my resolution and consented to aid me with all her might: on one condition only: that she might share my exile: otherwise, she was utterly inexorable, regarding it as perfect madness for me and Arthur to go alone. With touching136 generosity137, she modestly offered to aid me with her little hoard of savings138, hoping I would 'excuse her for the liberty, but really, if I would do her the favour to accept it as a loan, she would be very happy.' Of course I could not think of such a thing; but now, thank heaven, I have gathered a little hoard of my own, and my preparations are so far advanced that I am looking forward to a speedy emancipation139. Only let the stormy severity of this winter weather be somewhat abated133, and then, some morning, Mr. Huntingdon will come down to a solitary140 breakfast-table, and perhaps be clamouring through the house for his invisible wife and child, when they are some fifty miles on their way to the Western world, or it may be more: for we shall leave him hours before the dawn, and it is not probable he will discover the loss of both until the day is far advanced.
I am fully141 alive to the evils that may and must result upon the step I am about to take; but I never waver in my resolution, because I never forget my son. It was only this morning, while I pursued my usual employment, he was sitting at my feet, quietly playing with the shreds142 of canvas I had thrown upon the carpet; but his mind was otherwise occupied, for, in a while, he looked up wistfully in my face, and gravely asked, - 'Mamma, why are you wicked?'
'Who told you I was wicked, love?'
'Rachel.'
'No, Arthur, Rachel never said so, I am certain.'
'Well, then, it was papa,' replied he, thoughtfully. Then, after a reflective pause, he added, 'At least, I'll tell you how it was I got to know: when I'm with papa, if I say mamma wants me, or mamma says I'm not to do something that he tells me to do, he always says, "Mamma be damned," and Rachel says it's only wicked people that are damned. So, mamma, that's why I think you must be wicked: and I wish you wouldn't.'
'My dear child, I am not. Those are bad words, and wicked people often say them of others better than themselves. Those words cannot make people be damned, nor show that they deserve it. God will judge us by our own thoughts and deeds, not by what others say about us. And when you hear such words spoken, Arthur, remember never to repeat them: it is wicked to say such things of others, not to have them said against you.'
'Then it's papa that's wicked,' said he, ruefully.
'Papa is wrong to say such things, and you will be very wrong to imitate him now that you know better.'
'What is imitate?'
'To do as he does.'
'Does he know better?'
'Perhaps he does; but that is nothing to you.'
'If he doesn't, you ought to tell him, mamma.'
'I have told him.'
The little moralist paused and pondered. I tried in vain to divert his mind from the subject.
'I'm sorry papa's wicked,' said he mournfully, at length, 'for I don't want him to go to hell.' And so saying he burst into tears.
I consoled him with the hope that perhaps his papa would alter and become good before he died -; but is it not time to deliver him from such a parent?
1 embryo | |
n.胚胎,萌芽的事物 | |
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2 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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3 staple | |
n.主要产物,常用品,主要要素,原料,订书钉,钩环;adj.主要的,重要的;vt.分类 | |
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4 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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5 deter | |
vt.阻止,使不敢,吓住 | |
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6 instructors | |
指导者,教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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7 par | |
n.标准,票面价值,平均数量;adj.票面的,平常的,标准的 | |
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8 countermanded | |
v.取消(命令),撤回( countermand的过去分词 ) | |
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9 tipple | |
n.常喝的酒;v.不断喝,饮烈酒 | |
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10 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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11 piquant | |
adj.辛辣的,开胃的,令人兴奋的 | |
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12 irresistibly | |
adv.无法抵抗地,不能自持地;极为诱惑人地 | |
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13 droll | |
adj.古怪的,好笑的 | |
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14 hem | |
n.贴边,镶边;vt.缝贴边;(in)包围,限制 | |
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15 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
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16 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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17 brutes | |
兽( brute的名词复数 ); 畜生; 残酷无情的人; 兽性 | |
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18 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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19 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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20 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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21 profligate | |
adj.行为不检的;n.放荡的人,浪子,肆意挥霍者 | |
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22 twitching | |
n.颤搐 | |
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23 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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24 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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25 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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26 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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27 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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28 execrating | |
v.憎恶( execrate的现在分词 );厌恶;诅咒;咒骂 | |
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29 inebriated | |
adj.酒醉的 | |
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30 corruption | |
n.腐败,堕落,贪污 | |
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31 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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32 affluence | |
n.充裕,富足 | |
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33 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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34 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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35 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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36 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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37 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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38 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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39 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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40 favourably | |
adv. 善意地,赞成地 =favorably | |
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41 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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42 grievances | |
n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 );苦衷;不满;牢骚 | |
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43 disapprove | |
v.不赞成,不同意,不批准 | |
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44 hoard | |
n./v.窖藏,贮存,囤积 | |
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45 privately | |
adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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46 contrive | |
vt.谋划,策划;设法做到;设计,想出 | |
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47 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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48 interim | |
adj.暂时的,临时的;n.间歇,过渡期间 | |
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49 pros | |
abbr.prosecuting 起诉;prosecutor 起诉人;professionals 自由职业者;proscenium (舞台)前部n.赞成的意见( pro的名词复数 );赞成的理由;抵偿物;交换物 | |
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50 cons | |
n.欺骗,骗局( con的名词复数 )v.诈骗,哄骗( con的第三人称单数 ) | |
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51 relinquish | |
v.放弃,撤回,让与,放手 | |
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52 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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53 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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54 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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55 condescended | |
屈尊,俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 ); 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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56 expatiate | |
v.细说,详述 | |
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57 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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58 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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59 irrational | |
adj.无理性的,失去理性的 | |
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60 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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61 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
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62 delectable | |
adj.使人愉快的;美味的 | |
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63 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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64 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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65 blazon | |
n.纹章,装饰;精确描绘;v.广布;宣布 | |
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66 knave | |
n.流氓;(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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67 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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68 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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69 profanation | |
n.亵渎 | |
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70 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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71 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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72 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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73 excellences | |
n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 );(只用于所修饰的名词后)杰出的;卓越的;出类拔萃的 | |
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74 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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75 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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76 infamous | |
adj.声名狼藉的,臭名昭著的,邪恶的 | |
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77 meditate | |
v.想,考虑,(尤指宗教上的)沉思,冥想 | |
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78 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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79 intercepting | |
截取(技术),截接 | |
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80 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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81 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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82 torments | |
(肉体或精神上的)折磨,痛苦( torment的名词复数 ); 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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83 nurtured | |
养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 ); 培育; 滋长; 助长 | |
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84 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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85 vehemently | |
adv. 热烈地 | |
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86 spurn | |
v.拒绝,摈弃;n.轻视的拒绝;踢开 | |
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87 tightened | |
收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)变紧; (使)绷紧; 加紧 | |
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88 malicious | |
adj.有恶意的,心怀恶意的 | |
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89 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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90 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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91 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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92 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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93 retrieve | |
vt.重新得到,收回;挽回,补救;检索 | |
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94 recoiling | |
v.畏缩( recoil的现在分词 );退缩;报应;返回 | |
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95 defender | |
n.保卫者,拥护者,辩护人 | |
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96 upbraid | |
v.斥责,责骂,责备 | |
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97 precipitated | |
v.(突如其来地)使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 );促成;猛然摔下;使沉淀 | |
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98 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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99 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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100 blanched | |
v.使变白( blanch的过去式 );使(植物)不见阳光而变白;酸洗(金属)使有光泽;用沸水烫(杏仁等)以便去皮 | |
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101 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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102 impudence | |
n.厚颜无耻;冒失;无礼 | |
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103 brazen | |
adj.厚脸皮的,无耻的,坚硬的 | |
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104 defensive | |
adj.防御的;防卫的;防守的 | |
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105 vouch | |
v.担保;断定;n.被担保者 | |
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106 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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107 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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108 repel | |
v.击退,抵制,拒绝,排斥 | |
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109 repelling | |
v.击退( repel的现在分词 );使厌恶;排斥;推开 | |
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110 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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111 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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112 vilest | |
adj.卑鄙的( vile的最高级 );可耻的;极坏的;非常讨厌的 | |
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113 kindled | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
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114 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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115 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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116 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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117 tingle | |
vi.感到刺痛,感到激动;n.刺痛,激动 | |
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118 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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119 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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121 belied | |
v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 );证明(或显示)…为虚假;辜负;就…扯谎 | |
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122 slandered | |
造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123 aspersed | |
v.毁坏(名誉),中伤,诽谤( asperse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124 boon | |
n.恩赐,恩物,恩惠 | |
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125 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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126 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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127 boorish | |
adj.粗野的,乡巴佬的 | |
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128 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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129 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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130 arrogated | |
v.冒称,妄取( arrogate的过去式和过去分词 );没来由地把…归属(于) | |
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131 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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132 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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133 abated | |
减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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134 confiding | |
adj.相信人的,易于相信的v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的现在分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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135 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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136 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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137 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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138 savings | |
n.存款,储蓄 | |
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139 emancipation | |
n.(从束缚、支配下)解放 | |
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140 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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141 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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142 shreds | |
v.撕碎,切碎( shred的第三人称单数 );用撕毁机撕毁(文件) | |
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