“My good Gaspard,” said he, in French, for Bigourdin knew little English, “I am suggesting to mademoiselle a scheme for her perfect happiness of which I have reason to know you will approve. Sit down and join our conclave11.”
“I approve of everything in advance,” said the huge man, with a smile.
“Then I suppose you’re aware of this delicious scheme?” she asked.
“His idea is that I should enter your employment as a kind of forewoman in your fabrique.”
“But that is famous!” exclaimed Bigourdin, with a sparkle in his eyes. “It could only enter into that wise head yonder. The trade is getting beyond Félise and myself. Sooner or later I must get some one, a woman, to take charge of the manufacturing department. I have told Daniel my difficulties and he comes now with this magnificent solution. Car c’est vraiment magnifique.” He beamed all over his honest face.
“You would have to learn the business from the beginning,” said Fortinbras quickly. “That would be easy, as you would have willing instructors13, and as you are not deficient14 in ordinary intelligence. You would rise every day in self-esteem15 and dignity and at last find yourself of use in the social organism.”
“You propose then,” said Corinna, restraining the annihilatory outburst owing to Bigourdin’s presence and shaking with suppressed wrath16, “you propose then that I should spend the life that God has given me in making paté de foie gras.”
“Better that than spend it in making bad pictures or a fool of yourself.”
“I’ve given up painting,” Corinna replied, “and every woman makes a fool of herself. Hence the perpetuation17 of the human species.”
“You are insulting,” she cried, her cheeks aflame.
“Tiens, tiens!” said Bigourdin, laying his great hand on his brother-in-law’s arm.
“To meet a cynical21 gibe22 with a retort implying that marriage and motherhood are woman’s commendable lot cannot be regarded as an insult.”
“Do what?”
“Talk like that.”
“By means of an education not entirely24 rudimentary,” replied Fortinbras in his blandest25 tone. “In the meanwhile you haven’t replied to my suggestion. Once you said you would like to take life by the throat and choke something big out of it. You still want to do it—but you can’t. You know you can’t, my dear Corinna. Even the people that can perform this garrotting feat26 squeeze precious little happiness out of it. Happiness comes to mortals through the most subtle channels. I suggest it might come to you through the liver of an overfed goose.”
At Corinna’s outburst, Bigourdin’s sunny face had clouded over. “Mademoiselle Corinna,” said he earnestly, “if you would deign27 to accept such a position, which after all has in it nothing dishonourable, I assure you from my heart that you would be treated with all esteem and loyalty28.”
The man’s perfect courtesy disarmed29 her. Of course she was still indignant with Fortinbras. That she, Corinna Hastings, last type of emancipated30 English womanhood, bent31 on the expression of a highly important self, should calmly be counselled to bury herself in a stuffy32 little French town and become a sort of housekeeper33 in a shabby little French hotel. The suggestion was preposterous34, an outrage35 to the highly-important self, reckoning it a thing of no account. Why not turn her into a chambermaid or a goose-herd at once? The contemptuous assumption fired her wrath. She was furious with Fortinbras. But Bigourdin, who treated the subject from the point of view of one who asked a favour, deserved a civil answer.
“Monsieur Bigourdin,” she said with a becoming air of dignity tempered by a pitying smile, “I know that you are everything that is kind, and I thank you most sincerely for your offer, but for private reasons it is one that I cannot accept. You must forgive me if I return to England, where my duty calls me.”
“Your duty—to whom?” asked Fortinbras.
“There’s everything to be said,” declared Fortinbras. “But it’s not worth while saying it.”
Corinna rose and gathered up her gloves. “I’m glad you realise the fact.”
Bigourdin rose too and detained her for a second. “If you would do me the honour of accepting our hospitality for just a day or two”—delicately he included Félise as hostess—“perhaps you might be induced to reconsider your decision.”
But she was not be moved—even by Martin who, having smoked the pipe of discreet38 silence during the discussion, begged her to postpone39 her departure.
“Anyhow, wait,” said he, “until our good counsellor tells us what he proposes to do for me. As we started in together, it’s only fair.”
“Yes,” said Corinna. “Let us hear. What ordonnance de bonheur have you for Martin?”
“Are you very anxious to know?” asked Fortinbras.
“Naturally,” said Martin, and he added hastily in English, being somewhat shy of revealing himself to Bigourdin: “Corinna can tell you that I’ve been loyal to you all through. I’ve had a sort of blind confidence in you. I’ve chucked everything. But I’m nearly at the end of the financial tether, and something must happen.”
“Sans doute,” said Fortinbras. So as to bring Bigourdin into range again, he continued in French. “To tell you what is going to happen is one of the reasons why I am here.”
“Well, tell us,” said Corinna, “I can’t stand here all day.”
“Won’t you sit down, mademoiselle?” said Bigourdin.
Corinna took her vacated chair.
“Aren’t you ever going to begin?”
“I had prepared,” replied Fortinbras benevolently41, “an exhaustive analysis of our young friend’s financial, moral and spiritual state of being. But, as you appear to be impatient, I will forego the pleasure of imparting to you this salutary instruction. So perhaps it is better that I should come to the point at once. He is practically penniless. He has abandoned all ideas of returning to his soul-stifling profession. But he must, in the commonplace way of mortals, earn his living. His soul has had a complete rest for three months. It is time now that it should be stimulated42 to effort that shall result in consequences more glorious than the poor human phenomenon that is, I can predict. My prescription43 of happiness, as you, Corinna, have so admirably put it, is that Martin shall take the place of the unclean Polydore, who, I understand, has recently been ejected with ignominy from this establishment.”
“Mon vieux, c’est idiot!” cried Bigourdin.
“What a career,” cried Corinna, with a laugh.
Fortinbras rubbed his soft hands together. “I don’t deal in the obvious.”
“Mon vieux, you are laughing at us,” said Bigourdin. “Monsieur Martin, a gentleman, a scholar, a professor——!”
“Which he’s going to find among dirty plates and dishes,” scoffed Corinna.
“In the eyes of the Distributing Department of the Soul Office of Olympus, where every little clerk is a Deuce of a High God, the clatter47 of plates and dishes is as important as the clash of armies.”
Fortinbras rose unruffled and laid a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “My excellent friend and disciple,” said he, “let us leave the company of these obscurantists, and seek enlightenment in the fresh air of heaven.”
Whereupon he led the young man to the terrace and walked up and down discoursing49 with philosophical50 plausibility51 while his white hair caught by the gusty52 breeze streamed behind like a shaggy meteor.
“My brother-in-law is an oddity.”
There was a short silence. Corinna felt that the time had come for a dignified55 retirement56. But whither repair at this unconscionably early hour? The hotel resembled now a railway station at which she was doomed57 to wait interminably, and one spot seemed as good as another. So she did not move.
“I must.”
“Is there no means by which I could persuade you to stay? I desire enormously that you should stay.”
Her glance met his and lowered. The tone of his voice thrilled her absurdly. She had at once an impulse to laugh and a queer triumphant59 little flutter of the heart.
“To make paté de foie gras? You must have unwarrantable faith in me.”
“Perhaps, in the end,” said he soberly, “it might amuse you to make paté de foie gras. Who knows? All things are possible.” He paused for a moment, then bent forward, elbow on table and chin in hand. “This is but a little hotel in a little town, but in it one might find tranquillity60 and happiness—enfin, the significance of things,—of human things. For I believe that where human beings live and love and suffer and strive, there is an eternal significance beneath the commonplace, and if we grasp it, it leads us to the root of life, which is happiness. Don’t you think so, mademoiselle?”
“I suppose you’re right,” she admitted dubiously61, never having taken the trouble to look at existence from the subjective62 standpoint. Her attitude was instinctively63 objective.
“I thank you, mademoiselle,” said he. “I said that because I want to put something before you. And it is not very easy. I repeat—this is but a little hotel in a little town. I too am but a man of the people, Mademoiselle; but this hotel—my father added to it and transformed it, but it is the same property—this hotel has been handed down from father to son for a hundred years. My great-grandfather, a simple peasant, rose to be Général de Brigade in the Grand Armée of Napoléon. After Waterloo, he would accept no favour from the Bourbons, and retired64 to Brant?me, the home of his race, and with his little economies he bought the H?tel des Grottes, at which he had worked years before as a little va-nu-pieds, turnspit, holder65 of horses—que sais-je, moi? Those were days, mademoiselle, of many revolutions of fortune.”
“And all that means——?” asked Corinna, impressed, in spite of English prejudice, by the simple yet not inglorious ancestry66 of the huge innkeeper.
“It means, mademoiselle,” said Bigourdin, “that I wish to present myself to you as an honest man. But as I am of no credit, myself, I would like to expose to you the honour of my family. My great-grandfather, as I have said, was Général de Brigade in the Grande Armée. My grandfather, simple soldat, fought side by side with the English in the Crimea. My father, Sergeant67 of Artillery68, lost a leg and an arm in the War of 1870. My younger brother was killed in Morocco. For me, I have done my service militaire. Ou fait ce qu’on peut. It is chance that I am forty years of age and live in obscurity. But my name is known and respected in all Périgord, mademoiselle——”
“And again—all that means?”
“That if a petit h?telier like me ventures to lay a proposition at the feet of a jeune fille de famille like yourself—the petit h?telier wishes to assure her of the perfect honorabilité of his family. In short, Mademoiselle Corinne, I love you very sincerely. I can make no phrases, for when I say I love you, it comes from the innermost depths of my being. I am a simple man,” he continued very earnestly, and with an air of hope, as Corinna flashed out no repulse69, but sat sphinx-like, looking away from him across the room, “a very simple man; but my heart is loyal. Such as I am, Mademoiselle Corinne—and you have had an opportunity of judging—I have the honour to ask you if you will be my wife.”
Corinne knew enough of France to realise that all this was amazing. The average Frenchman, whom Bigourdin represented, is passionate70 but not romantic. If he sets his heart on a woman, be she the angel-eyed spouse71 of another respectable citizen or the tawdry and naughty little figurante in a provincial72 company, he does his honest (or dishonest) best to get her. C’est l’amour, and there’s an end to it. But he envisages73 marriage from a totally different angle. Far be it from me to say that he does not entertain very sincere and tender sentiments towards the young lady he proposes to marry. But he only proposes to marry a young lady who can put a certain capital into the business partnership74 which is an essential feature of marriage. If he is attracted towards a damsel of pleasing ways but devoid75 of capital, he either behaves like the appalling76 Monsieur Camille Fargot, or puts his common sense, like a non-conducting material, between them, and in all simplicity77, doesn’t fall in love with her. But here was a manifestation78 of freakishness. Here was Bigourdin, man of substance, who could have gone to any one of twenty families of substance in Périgord and chosen from it an impeccable and well-dowered bride—here he was snapping his fingers at French bourgeois79 tradition—than which there is nothing more sacrosanct—putting his common sense into his cap and throwing it over the windmills, and acting80 in a manner which King Cophetua himself, had he been a Frenchman, would have condemned81 as either unconventional or insane.
Corinna’s English upper middle-class pride had revolted at the suggestion that she should become an employee in a little bourgeois inn; but her knowledge of French provincial life painfully quickened by her experience of yesterday assured her that she was the recipient82 of the greatest honour that lies in the power of a French citizen to offer. An English innkeeper daring to propose marriage she would have scorched83 with blazing indignation, and the bewildered wretch9 would have gone away wondering how he had mistaken for an angel such a Catherine-wheel of a woman. But against Bigourdin, son of other traditions so secure in his integrity, so delicate in his approach, so intensely sincere in his appeal, she could find within her not a spark of anger. All conditions were different. The plane of their relations was different. She would never have confessed to a flirtation84 with an English innkeeper. Besides, she had a really friendly feeling for Bigourdin, something of admiration85. He was so big, so simple, so genuine, so intelligent. In spite of Martin’s complaint that she could not realise the spirit of modern France, her shrewd observation had missed little of the moral and spiritual phenomena86 of Brant?me. She was well aware that Bigourdin, petit h?telier that he was, stood for many noble ideals outside her own narrow horizon. She respected him; she also derived87 feminine pleasure from his small mouth and the colour of his eyes. But the possibility of marrying him had never entered her head. She had not the remotest intention of marrying him now. The proposal was grotesque88. As soon as she got clear of the place she would throw back her head and roar with laughter at it; a gleeful little devil was already dancing at the back of her brain. For the moment, however, she did not laugh: on the contrary a queer thrill again ran through her body, and she felt a difficulty in looking him in the face. After having thrown herself at a man’s head yesterday only to be spurned89, her outraged90 spirit found solace91 in having to-day another man suppliant92 at her feet. Of his sincerity93 there could be no possible question. This big, good man loved her. For all her independent ways and rackety student experiences, no man before had come to her with the loyalty of deep love in his eyes, no man had asked her to be his wife. Absurd as it all was, she felt its flattering deliciousness in every fibre of her being.
“Eh bien, Mademoiselle Corinne, what do you answer?” asked Bigourdin, after a breathless silence during which, with head bent forward over the table, she had been nervously94 fiddling95 with her gloves.
“You are very kind, Monsieur Bigourdin. I never thought you felt like that towards me,” she said falteringly96, like any well-brought-up school-girl. “You should have told me.”
“To have expressed my feelings before, Mademoiselle, would have been to take advantage of your position under my roof.”
Suddenly there came an unprecedented97 welling of tears in her eyes, and a lump in her throat. She sprang to her feet and with rare impulsiveness98 thrust out her hand.
“Monsieur Bigourdin, you are the best man I have ever met. I am your friend, your very great friend. But I can’t marry you. It is impossible.”
He rose too, holding her and put the eternal question.
“But why?”
“You deserve a wife who loves you. I don’t love you. I never could love you”—and then from the infinite spaces of loneliness there spread about her soul a frozen desolation, and she stood as one blasted by Polar wind—“I shall never love a man all my life long. I am not made like that.”
And she seemed to shrivel in his grasp and, flitting between the snow-clad tables like a wraith99, was gone.
“Bigre!” said Bigourdin, sitting down again.
Soon afterwards, Fortinbras and Martin, coming in from the terrace, found him sprawling100 over the table a monumental mass of dejection. But, full of their own conceits101, they did not divine his misery102. Fortinbras smote103 him friendly wise on his broad back and aroused him from lethargy.
“It is all arranged, mon vieux Gaspard,” he cried heartily104. “I have been pouring into awakening105 ears all the divine distillations of my philosophy. I have initiated106 him into mysteries. He is a neophyte107 of whom I am proud.”
“What kind of imbecility are you talking?”
“The late Polydore——” Fortinbras began.
“Ah! Finish with it, I beg you,” interrupted Bigourdin, with an unusual air of impatience109.
“It isn’t a joke, I assure you,” said Martin. “I have come to the end of my resources. I must work. You will, sooner or later have to fill the place of Polydore. Give me the wages of Polydore and I am ready to fill it. I could not be more incapable110, and perhaps I am a little more intelligent.”
“It is serious?”
“As serious as can be.”
Bigourdin passed his hand over his face. “I went to sleep last night in a commonplace world, I wake up this morning to a fantastic universe in which I seem to be a leaf, like those outside”—he threw a dramatic arm—“driven by the wind. I don’t know whether I am on my head or my heels. Arrange things as seems best to you.”
“You accept me then as waiter in the H?tel des Grottes?”
“Mon cher,” said Bigourdin, “in the state of upheaval111 in which I find myself I accept everything.”
The upheaval or rather overthrow—for he used the word “bouleversement”—of the big man was evident. He sat the dejected picture of defeat. No man in the throes of sea-sickness ever cared less what happened to him. Fortinbras looked at him shrewdly and his thick lips formed themselves into a noiseless whistle. Then he exchanged a glance with Martin, who suddenly conjectured112 the reason of Bigourdin’s depression.
“She ought to be spanked,” said he in English.
Fortinbras beamed on him. “You do owe something to me, don’t you?”
“A lot,” said Martin.
Félise, her face full of affairs of high importance ran into the salle-à-manger.
“Mon Oncle, le Père Didier sends word that he has decided not to kill his calf113 till next week. What shall we do?”
“It means, my child,” said Fortinbras, “that your uncle, with a philosopher’s survey of the destiny of the brute118 creation, refuses to be moved either to ecstatic happiness or to ignoble119 anger by the information that the life of the obscure progeny120 of a bull and a cow has been spared for seven days. For myself I am glad. So is our tender-hearted Martin. So are you. The calf has before him a crowded week of frisky121 life. Send word to Père Didier that we are delighted to hear of his decision and ask him to crown the calf with flowers and send him along to-day for afternoon tea.”
He smiled and waved a dismissing hand. Félise, laughing, kissed him on the forehead and tripped away, having little time to spare for pleasantry.
The two men smoked in silence for some time. At last Fortinbras, throwing the butt122 end of his cigarette into Corinna’s coffee-bowl, rose, stretched himself and yawned heartily.
“Having now accomplished123 my benevolent40 purpose,” said he, “I shall retire and take some well-earned repose124. In the meanwhile, Monsieur Polydore Martin, you had better enter upon your new duties.”
So Martin, after he had procured125 a tray and an apron126 from the pantry, took off his coat, turned up his shirt-sleeves and set to work to clear away the breakfast things.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
fortified
|
|
| adj. 加强的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
nourishment
|
|
| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
sarcastically
|
|
| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
oracle
|
|
| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
benevolence
|
|
| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
inadequately
|
|
| ad.不够地；不够好地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
annihilate
|
|
| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
conclave
|
|
| n.秘密会议，红衣主教团 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
boundless
|
|
| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
instructors
|
|
| 指导者，教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
deficient
|
|
| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
perpetuation
|
|
| n.永存，不朽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
commendable
|
|
| adj.值得称赞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
serenity
|
|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
cynical
|
|
| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
gibe
|
|
| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
scoffed
|
|
| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
blandest
|
|
| adj.（食物）淡而无味的( bland的最高级 )；平和的；温和的；无动于衷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
26
feat
|
|
| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
deign
|
|
| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
loyalty
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
disarmed
|
|
| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
emancipated
|
|
| adj.被解放的，不受约束的v.解放某人（尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚）( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
stuffy
|
|
| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
housekeeper
|
|
| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
preposterous
|
|
| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
outrage
|
|
| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
petrified
|
|
| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
dismally
|
|
| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
discreet
|
|
| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
postpone
|
|
| v.延期，推迟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
benevolent
|
|
| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
benevolently
|
|
| adv.仁慈地，行善地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
stimulated
|
|
| a.刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
prescription
|
|
| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
thumping
|
|
| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
speck
|
|
| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
clatter
|
|
| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
raving
|
|
| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
discoursing
|
|
| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
philosophical
|
|
| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
plausibility
|
|
| n. 似有道理, 能言善辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
gusty
|
|
| adj.起大风的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
assented
|
|
| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
retirement
|
|
| n.退休，退职 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
doomed
|
|
| 命定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
triumphant
|
|
| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
tranquillity
|
|
| n. 平静, 安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
dubiously
|
|
| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
subjective
|
|
| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
instinctively
|
|
| adv.本能地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
holder
|
|
| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
ancestry
|
|
| n.祖先，家世 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
sergeant
|
|
| n.警官，中士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
artillery
|
|
| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
repulse
|
|
| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
spouse
|
|
| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
provincial
|
|
| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
envisages
|
|
| 想像，设想( envisage的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
partnership
|
|
| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
devoid
|
|
| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
appalling
|
|
| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
manifestation
|
|
| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
bourgeois
|
|
| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
recipient
|
|
| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
scorched
|
|
| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
flirtation
|
|
| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
phenomena
|
|
| n.现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
derived
|
|
| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
spurned
|
|
| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
outraged
|
|
| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
solace
|
|
| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
suppliant
|
|
| adj.哀恳的；n.恳求者，哀求者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
sincerity
|
|
| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
fiddling
|
|
| 微小的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
falteringly
|
|
| 口吃地，支吾地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
unprecedented
|
|
| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
impulsiveness
|
|
| n.冲动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
wraith
|
|
| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
sprawling
|
|
| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
conceits
|
|
| 高傲( conceit的名词复数 )； 自以为； 巧妙的词语； 别出心裁的比喻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
smote
|
|
| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
awakening
|
|
| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
initiated
|
|
| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
neophyte
|
|
| n.新信徒；开始者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
allusive
|
|
| adj.暗示的；引用典故的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
upheaval
|
|
| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
conjectured
|
|
| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
calf
|
|
| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
lumbered
|
|
| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
drizzle
|
|
| v.下毛毛雨；n.毛毛雨，蒙蒙细雨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
dire
|
|
| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
brute
|
|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
ignoble
|
|
| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
progeny
|
|
| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
frisky
|
|
| adj.活泼的，欢闹的；n.活泼，闹着玩；adv.活泼地，闹着玩地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
butt
|
|
| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
procured
|
|
| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |