SEXT
In which Adso goes hunting for truffles and sees the Minorites arriving they confer at length with William and Ubertino, and very sad things are learned about John XXII.
After these considerations my master decided3 to pro4?ceed no further. I have already said that he occasionally had moments of total inactivity, as if the ceaseless cycle of the stars had stopped, and he with it and with them. And so it was that morning. He stretched out on his pallet, staring into the void, his hands folded on his chest, barely moving his lips, as if he were reciting a prayer, but irregularly and without devotion.
I thought he was thinking, and I resolved to respect his meditation5. I returned to the courtyard and saw that the sun had grown weaker. Beautiful and clear as it had been, the morning (as the day approached the completion of its first half) was becoming damp and misty6. Heavy clouds moved from the north and were invading the top of the mountain, covering it with a light brume. It seemed to be fog, and perhaps fog was also rising from the round, but at that altitude it was difficult to distinguish the mists that rose from below and those that came down from above. It was becoming hard to discern the bulk of the more distant buildings.
I saw Severinus gaily8 assembling the swineherds and some of their animals. He told me he was going to descend9 along the mountain slopes, and into the valley, to hunt for truffles. I wasn’t familiar with that choice fruit of the underbrush, which was found in the penin?sula and seemed typical especially of the Benedictine domains10, whether at Norcia—the black ones—or in these lands—the white and more aromatic11. Severinus explained to me what a truffle was, and how tasty, when prepared in the most diverse ways. And he told me it was very difficult to find, because it was hidden underground, more secret than a mushroom, and the only animals capable of unearthing12 it were pigs, follow?ing their smell. But on finding it they wanted to devour14 it themselves, and they had to be chased off at once, so that you could step in and dig up the truffle. I learned later that many lords did not disdain15 to join this hunt, following the pigs as if they were noblest hounds, and followed, in turn, by servants with hoes. I remember, indeed, that in later years a lord of my country, know?ing I was acquainted with Italy, asked me why, as he had seen down there, some lords went out to pasture their pigs; and I laughed, realizing that, on the contrary, they were going in search of truffles. But when I told him that these lords hoped to find the “truffle” underground,. to eat it, he thought I had said they were seeking “der Teufel,” the Devil, and he blessed himself devoutly16, looking at me in amazement17. Then the misun?derstanding was cleared up and we both laughed at it. Such is the magic of human languages, that by human accord often the same sounds mean different things.
My curiosity aroused by Severinus’s preparations, I decided to follow him, also because I realized he was turning to this hunt in order to forget the sad events that oppressed everyone; and I thought that in helping18 him to forget his thoughts I would perhaps, if not forget, at least restrain my own. Nor will I deny, since I have determined19 to write always and only the truth, that I was secretly lured21 by the idea that, down in the valley, I might perhaps glimpse someone I will not mention. But to myself and almost aloud I declared that, since the two legations were expected to arrive that day, I might perhaps sight one of them.
As we gradually descended22 the curves of the mountain, the air became clearer. Not that the sun returned, for the upper part of the sky was heavy with clouds, but things stood out sharply, even as the fog remained above our heads. Indeed, when we had gone some distance, I turned to look up at the top of the mountain and could no longer see anything. From the halfway23 point upward, the summit, the high plain, the Aedi?ficium—everything had disappeared among the clouds.
The morning of our arrival, when we were already among the mountains, at certain bends it was still possible to view the sea, no more than ten miles away, perhaps even less. Our journey had been rich in surprises, because suddenly we would find ourselves on a kind of terrace in the mountain, which fell sharply down to beautiful bays, and then a little later we would enter deep chasms24, where mountains rose among mountains, and one blocked from another the sight of the distant shore, while the sun could hardly force its way into the deep valleys. Never before had I seen, as I saw in that part of Italy, such narrow and sudden juttings of sea and mountains, of shores followed by alpine26 landscapes, and in the wind that whistled among the gorges27 you could catch the alternate conflict of the marine28 balms with icy mountain gusts29.
That morning, however, all was gray, almost milky30 white, and there were no horizons even when the gorges opened out toward the distant shores. But I am dwelling31 on recollections of little interest as far as our story goes, my patient reader. So I will not narrate33 the ups and downs of our search for “der Teufel,” and I will tell, rather, of the legation of Friars Minor1, which I was the first to sight. I ran at once to the monastery34 to inform William.
My master waited till the newcomers had entered and been greeted by the abbot according to the ritual. Then he went to meet the group, and there was a series, of fraternal embraces and salutations.
The meal hour had already passed, but a table had been set for the guests, and the abbot thoughtfully left us among them; alone with William, exempted35 from the obligations of the Rule, they were free to eat and at the same time exchange their impressions. After all, it was, God forgive me the unpleasant simile36, like a coun?cil of war, to be held as quickly as possible before the enemy host, namely the Avignon legation, could arrive.
Needless to say, the newcomers also promptly37 met Ubertino, whom all greeted with surprise, joy, venera?tion inspired not only by his long absence and by the fears surrounding his disappearance38, but also by the qualities of that courageous39 warrior40 who for decades had fought their same battle.
Of the friars that made up the group I will speak later, when I tell about the next day’s meeting. For that matter, I talked very little with them at first, involved as I was in the three-man conference promptly established between William, Ubertino, and Michael of Cesena.
Michael must have been a truly strange man: most ardent41 in his Franciscan passion (he had at times the gestures, the accents of Ubertino in his moments of mystical transport); very human and jovial42 in his earth?ly nature, a man of the Romagna, capable of appreciat?ing a good table and happy to be among his friends. Subtle and evasive, he could abruptly43 become sly and clever as a fox, elusive44 as a mole45, when problems of relations among the mighty46 were touched upon; capa?ble of great outbursts of laughter, fervid47 tensions, elo?quent silences, deft48 in turning his gaze away from his interlocutor if the latter’s question required him to conceal49, with what seemed absent-mindedness, his re?fusal to reply.
I have already spoken a bit about him in the preced?ing pages, and those were things I had heard said, perhaps by persons to whom they had been said. Now, on the other hand, I understood better many of his contradictory51 attitudes and the sudden changes of politi?cal strategy that in recent years had amazed his own friends and followers52. Minister, general of the order of the Friars Minor, he was in principle the heir of Saint Francis, and actually the heir of his interpreters: he had to compete with the sanctity and wisdom of such a predecessor53 as Bonaventure of Bagnoregio; he had to assure respect for the Rule and, at the same time, the fortunes of the order, so powerful and vast; he had to keep an eye on the courts and on the city magistrates54 from whom the order, though in the guise55 of alms, received gifts and bequests56, source of prosperity and wealth; and at the same time he had to make sure that the requirement of penance57 did not lead the more ardent Spirituals to abandon the order, scattering58 that splendid community of which he was the head, in a constellation59 of bands of heretics. He had to please the Pope, the Emperor, the Friars of the Poor Life, and Saint Francis, who was certainly watching over him from heaven, as well as the Christian60 people, who were watching him from the earth. When John had con2?demned all Spirituals as heretics, Michael had not hesi?tated to hand over to him five of the most unruly friars of Provence, allowing the Pontiff to burn them at the stake. But realizing (and Ubertino may have had some share in this) that many in the order sympathized with the followers of evangelical simplicity61, Michael had then acted in such a way that the chapter of Perugia, four years later, took up the demands of the burned men, naturally trying to reconcile a need, which could be heretical, with the ways and institutions of the order, and trying to harmonize the desires of the order and those of the Pope. But, as Michael was busy convincing the Pope, without whose consent he would have been unable to proceed, he had been willing also to accept the favors of the Emperor and the imperial theologians. Two years before the day I saw him he had yet enjoined62 his monks64, in the chapter general of Lyons, to speak of the Pope’s person only with moderation and, respect (and this was just a few months after the Pope, refer?ring to the Minorites, had complained of their yelping65, their errors, their insanities”). But here he was at table, friendly, with persons who spoke50 of the Pope with less than no respect.
I have already told the rest of the story. John wanted him at Avignon. He himself wanted and did not want to go, and the next day’s meeting was to decide on the form and guarantees of a journey that should not appear as an act of submission66 or as an act of defiance67. I don’t believe Michael had ever met John personally, at least not as pope. In any event, he hadn’t seen him for a long time, and Michael’s friends hastened to paint the portrait of that simoniac in the darkest hues68.
“One thing you must learn,” William said to him, “is never to trust his oaths, which he always maintains to the letter, violating their substance.”
“Everyone knows,” Ubertino said, “what happened at the time of his election. ...”
“I wouldn’t call it an election, but an imposition!” one man at the table cried, a man I later heard them call Hugh of Newcastle, whose accent was similar to my master’s. “For that matter, the death of Clement69 the Fifth itself was never very clear. The King had never forgiven him for having promised to try Boniface the Eighth posthumously70 and then doing everything he could to avoid repudiating71 his predecessor. Nobody really knows how Clement died, at Carpentras. The fact is that when the cardinals72 met in Carpentras for the conclave74, the new Pope didn’t materialize, because (quite rightly) the argument shifted to the choice between Avignon and Rome. I don’t know exactly what happened at that time—it was a massacre75, I’m told—with the cardinals threatened by the nephew of the dead Pope, their servants slaughtered76, the palace set afire, the cardinals appealing to the King, who says he never wanted the Pope to desert Rome and they should be patient and make a good choice. ... Then Philip the Fair died, again God only knows how. …”
“Or the Devil knows,” Ubertino said, blessing77 himself, in which he was imitated by all the others.
“Or the Devil knows,” Hugh agreed, with a sneer78. “Anyway, another king succeeds, survives eighteen months, and dies. His newborn heir also dies in a few days’ time, and the regent, the King’s brother, assumes the throne. …”
“And this is Philip the Fifth. The very one who, when he was still Count of Poitiers, stopped the cardinals who were fleeing from Carpentras,” Michael said.
“Yes,” Hugh went on. “He puts them again into conclave in Lyons, in the Dominicans’ convent, swear?ing he will defend their safety and not keep them prisoner. But once they place themselves in his power, he does not just have them locked up (which is the custom, after all), but every day reduces their food until they come to a decision. And each one promises to support his claim to the throne. When he does assume the throne, the cardinals are so weary of being prison?ers after two years, and so afraid of staying there for the rest of their lives, eating badly, that they agree to everything, the gluttons79, and on the throne of Peter they put that gnome80, who is now over seventy. …”
“Gnome, yes, true,” Ubertino said, laughing. “And rather consumptive-looking, but stronger and shrewder than anyone thought!”
“Son of a cobbler,” one of the legates grumbled81.
“Christ was the son of a carpenter,” Ubertino reproached him. “That is not the point. He is a cultivat?ed man, he studied law at Montpellier and medicine in Paris, he cultivated his friendships in the ways best suited to win the episcopal seats and the cardinal73’s hat when it seemed opportune82 to him, and as counselor83 of Robert the Wise in Naples he amazed many with his acumen84. When Bishop85 of Avignon, he gave all the right advice (right, that is, for the outcome of that squalid venture) to Philip the Fair about how to ruin the Templars. And after his election he managed to foil a plot of cardinals who wanted to kill him. ... But this is not what I meant to talk about: I was speaking of his ability to betray vows86 without being accused of swearing falsely. To be elected, he promised Cardinal Orsini he would return the papal seat to Rome, and when he was elected he swore on the consecrated87 host that if he were not to keep his promise, he would never mount a horse or a mule88 again. Well, you know what that fox did? After he had himself crowned in Lyons (against the will of the King, who wanted the ceremony to take place in Avignon), he traveled from Lyons to Avignon by boat!”
The monks all laughed. The Pope was a perjurer89, but there was no denying he had a certain ingeniousness.
“He is without shame,” William remarked. “Didn’t Hugh say that John made no attempt to conceal his bad faith? Haven’t you, Ubertino, told about what he said to Orsini on the day of his arrival in Avignon?”
“To be sure,” Ubertino said. “He said to him that the sky of France was so beautiful he could not see why he should set foot in a city full of ruins, like Rome. And inasmuch as the Pope, like Peter, had the power to bind90 and to loosen, he was now exercising this power: and he decided to remain where he was, where he enjoyed being. And when Orsini tried to remind him that it was his duty to live on the Vatican hill, he recalled him sharply to obedience91 and broke off the discussion. But I have not finished the story of the oath. On disembarking from the boat, John was to have mounted a white horse, to be followed by the cardinals on black horses, according to tradition. Instead he went to the episcopal palace on foot. Nor have I ever heard of his riding a horse again. And this is the man, Michael, you expect to abide92 by the guarantees he will give you?”
Michael remained silent for a long time. Then he said, “I can understand the Pope’s wish to remain in Avignon, and I will not dispute it. But he cannot dispute our desire for poverty and our interpretation93 of the example of Christ.”
“Don’t be ingenuous94, Michael,” William spoke up, “your wishes, ours, make his appear sinister95. You must realize that for centuries a greedier man has never ascended96 the papal throne. The whore of Babylon against whom our Ubertino used to fulminate, the corrupt97 popes described by the poets of your country, like that Alighieri, were meek98 lambs and sober com?pared to John. He is a thieving magpie99, a Jewish usurer; in Avignon there is more trafficking than in Florence! I have learned of the ignoble100 transaction with Clement’s nephew, Bertrand of Goth, he of the slaugh?ter of Carpentras (during which, incidentally, the cardi?nals were relieved of all their jewels). He had laid his hands on his uncle’s treasure, which was no trifle, and John had not overlooked anything Bertrand had stolen: to the Cum venerabiles John lists precisely101 the coins, the gold and silver vessels102, the books, rugs, precious stones, ornaments103. ... John, however, pretended not to know that Bertrand had seized more than a million and a half gold florins during the sack of Carpentras; he questioned another thirty thousand florins Bertrand confessed he had received from his uncle for a ‘pious cause,’ namely for a crusade. It was agreed that Bertrand would keep half the sum for the crusade and donate the other half to the papal throne. Then Bertrand never made the crusade, or at least he has not made it yet, and the Pope has not seen a florin. ...”
“He is not so clever, then,” Michael remarked.
“That was the only time he has been outwitted in a matter of money,” Ubertino said. “You must know well the kind of tradesman you will be dealing104 with. In every other situation he has displayed a diabolical105 skill in collecting money. He is a Midas: everything he touches becomes gold and flows into the coffers of Avignon. Whenever I entered his apartments I found bankers, moneychangers, and tables laden106 with gold, clerics counting florins and piling them neatly107 one on top of another. ... And you will see the palace he has had built for himself, with riches that were once attributed only to the Emperor of Byzantium or the Great Khan of the Tartars. And now you understand why he issued all those bulls against the ideal of poverty. But do you know that he has driven the Dominicans, to their ha?tred of our order, to carve statues of Christ with a royal crown, a tunic108 of purple and gold, and sumptuous109 sandals? In Avignon they display crucifixes where Christ is nailed by a single hand while the other touches a purse hanging from his belt, to indicate that he author?izes the use of money for religious ends. ...”
“Oh, how shameless!” Michael cried. “But this is outright110 blasphemy111!”
“He has added,” William went on, “a third crown to the papal tiara, hasn’t he, Ubertino?”
“Certainly. At the beginning of the millennium112 Pope Hildebrand had assumed one, with the legend ‘Corona regni de manu Dei’; the infamous113 Boniface later added a second, writing on it ‘Diadema imperii de manu Petri’; and John has simply perfected the symbol: three crowns, the spiritual power, the temporal, and the ecclesiastical. A symbol worthy115 of the Persian kings, a pagan symbol ...”
There was one monk63 who till then had remained silent, busily and devoutly consuming the good dishes the abbot had sent to the table. With an absent eye he followed the various discussions, emitting every now and then a sarcastic116 laugh at the Pope’s expense, or a grunt117 of approval at the other monks’ indignant exclamations118. But otherwise he was intent on wiping from his chin the juices and bits of meat that escaped his toothless but voracious119 mouth, and the only times he had spoken a word to one of his neighbors were to praise some delicacy120. I learned later that he was Master Jerome, that Bishop of Kaffa whom, a few days before, Ubertino had thought dead. (I must add that the news of his death two years earlier continued to circulate as the truth throughout Christendom for a long time, because I also heard it afterward121. Actually, he died a few months after that meeting of ours, and I still think he died of the great anger that filled him at the next day’s meeting; I would almost believe he exploded at once, so fragile was he of body and so bilious122 of humor.)
At this point he intervened in the discussion, speak?ing with his mouth full: “And then, you know, the villain123 issued a constitution concerning the taxae sacrae poenitentiariae in which he exploits the sins of religious in order to squeeze out more money. If an ecclesiastic114 commits a carnal sin, with a nun124, with a relative, or even with an ordinary woman (because this also happens!), he can be absolved125 only by paying sixty-seven gold pieces and twelve pence. And if he commits bestiality,. it is more than two hundred pieces, but if he has commit?ted13 it only with youths or animals, and not with females, the fine is reduced by one hundred. And a nun who has given herself to many men, either all at once or at different times, inside the convent or out, if she then wants to become abbess, must pay one hundred thirty?-one gold pieces and fifteen pence. ...”
“Come, come, Messer Jerome,” Ubertino protested, “you know how little I love the Pope, but on this point I must defend him! It is a slander126 circulated in Avignon. I have never seen this constitution!”
“It exists,” Jerome declared vigorously. “I have not seen it, either, but it exists.”
Ubertino shook his head, and the others fell silent. I realized they were accustomed to not paying great heed127 to Master Jerome, whom William had called a fool the other day. William tried to resume the conversation: “In any case, true or false as it may be, this rumor128 tells us the moral climate of Avignon, where all, exploited and exploiters, know they are living more in a market than at the court of Christ’s vicar. When John ascended the throne there was talk of a treasure of seventy thousand florins and now there are those who say he has amassed129 more than ten million.”
“It is true,” Ubertino said. “Ah, Michael, Michael, you have no idea of the shameful130 things I had to see in Avignon!”
“Let us try to be honest,” Michael said. “We know that our own people have also committed excesses. I have been told of Franciscans who made armed attacks on Dominican convents and despoiled131 their rival monks to impose poverty on them. ... This is why I dared not oppose John at the time of the events in Provence. ... I want to come to an agreement with him; I will not humiliate132 his pride, I will only ask him not to humiliate our humility133. I will not speak to him of money, I will ask him only to agree to a sound interpretation of Scripture134. And this is what we must do with his envoys135 tomorrow. After all, they are men of theology, and not all will be greedy like John. When some wise men have deter20?mined an interpretation of Scripture, he will not be able to—”
“He?” Ubertino interrupted him. “Why, you do not yet know his follies136 in the field of theology! He really wants to bind everything with his own hand, on earth and in heaven. On earth we have seen what he does. As for heaven ... Well, he has not yet expressed the ideas I cannot divulge137 to you—not publicly, at least—but I know for certain that he has whispered them to his henchmen. He is planning some mad if not perverse138 propositions that would change the very substance of doctrine139 and would deprive our preaching of all power!”
“What are they?” many asked.
“Ask Berengar; he knows, he told me of them.” Ubertino had turned to Berengar Talloni, who over the past years had been one of the most determined adver?saries of the Pope at his own court. Having come from Avignon, he had joined the group of the other Franciscans two days earlier and had arrived at the abbey with them.
“It is a murky140 and almost incredible story,” Berengar said. “It seems John is planning to declare that the just will not enjoy the beatific141 vision until after judgment142. For some time he has been reflecting on the ninth verse of the sixth chapter of the Apocalypse, where the opening of the fifth seal is discussed, where under the altar appear those who were slain143 for testifying to the word of God and who ask for justice. To each is given a white robe, and they are told to be patient a little longer. ... A sign, John argues, that they will not be able to see God in his essence until the last judgment is fulfilled.”
“To whom has he said these things?” Michael asked, horrified144.
“So far only to a few intimates, but word has spread; they say he is preparing an open declaration, not immediately, perhaps in a few years. He is consulting his theologians. ...”
“Ha ha!” Jerome sneered146 as he ate.
“And, more, it seems that he wants to go further and assert that nor will hell be open before that day ... not even for the devils!”
“Lord Jesus, assist us!” Jerome cried. “And what will we tell sinners, then, if we cannot threaten them with an immediate145 hell the moment they are dead?”
“We are in the hands of a madman,” Ubertino said. “But I do not understand why he wants to assert these things. ...”
“The whole doctrine of indulgences goes up in smoke,” Jerome complained, “and not even he will be able to sell any after that. Why should a priest who has commit?ted the sin of bestiality pay so many gold pieces to avoid such a remote punishment?”
“Not so remote,” Ubertino said firmly. “The hour is at hand!”
“You know that, dear brother, but the simple do not know it. This is how things stand!” cried Jerome, who no longer seemed to be enjoying his food. “What an evil idea; those preaching friars must have put it into his mind. ... Ah!” And he shook his head.
“But why?” Michael of Cesena returned to this question.
“I don’t believe there’s a reason,” William said. “It’s a test he allows himself, an act of pride. He wants to be truly the one who decides for heaven and earth. I knew of these whisperings—William of Occam had written me. We shall see in the end whether the Pope has his way or the theologians have theirs, the voice of the whole church, the very wishes of the people of God, the bishops147. …”
“Oh, on doctrinal matters he can bend even the theologians to his will,” Michael said sadly.
“Not necessarily,” William replied. “We live in times when those learned in divine things have no fear of proclaiming the Pope a heretic. Those learned in divine things are in their way the voice of the Christian people. And not even the Pope can set himself against them now.”
“Worse, still worse,” Michael murmured, frightened. “On one side a mad pope, on the other the people of God, who, even if through the words of His theologians, will soon claim to interpret Scripture freely. ...”
“Why? Was what your people in Perugia did any different?” William asked.
Michael reacted as if stung. “That is why I want to meet the Pope. We can do nothing if he is not in agreement.”
“We shall see, we shall see,” William said in an enigmatic tone.
My master was truly very sharp. How could he fore25?see that Michael himself would later decide to support the theologians of the empire and to support the peo?ple in condemning148 the Pope? How could William fore?see that, in four years’ time, when John was first to pronounce his incredible doctrine, there would be an uprising on the part of all Christianity? If the beatific vision was thus postponed149, how could the dead inter32?cede150 for the living? And what would become of the cult7 of the saints? It was the Minorites themselves who would open hostilities151 in condemning the Pope, and William of Occam would be in the front rank, stern and implacable in his arguments. The conflict was to last for three years, until John, close to death, made partial amends152. I heard him described, years later, as he appeared in the consistory of December 1334, smaller than he had seemed previously153, withered154 by age, eighty-?five years old and dying, his face pale, and he was to say (the fox, so clever in playing on words not only to break his own oaths but also to deny his own stubborn?ness): “We confess and believe that the souls separated from the body and completely purified are in heaven, in paradise with the angels, and with Jesus Christ, and that they see God in His divine essence, clearly, face to face ...” and then, after a pause—it was never known whether this was due to his difficulty in breathing or to his perverse desire to underline the last clause as adversative—“to the extent to which the state and condi?tion of the separated soul allows it.” The next morning, a Sunday, he had himself laid on a long chair with reclining back, and he received the cardinals, who kissed his hand, and he died.
But again I digress, and tell things other than those I should tell. Yet, after all, the rest of that conversation at table does not add much to the understanding of the events I am narrating155. The Minorites agreed on the stand to be taken the next day. They sized up their adversaries156 one by one. They commented with concern on the news, announced by William, of the arrival of Bernard Gui. And even more on the fact that Cardinal Bertrand del Poggetto would be presiding over the Avignon legation. Two inquisitors were too many: a sign they planned to use the argument of heresy157 against the Minorites.
“So much the worse,” William said. “We will treat them as heretics.”
“No, no,” Michael said, “let us proceed cautiously; we must not jeopardize158 any possible agreement.”
“As far as I can see,” William said, “though I also worked for the realization159 of this meeting, and you know it, Michael, I do not believe the Avignonese are coming here to achieve any positive result. John wants you at Avignon alone, and without guarantees. But the meeting will have at least one function: to make you understand that. It would have been worse if you had gone there before having had this experience.”
“And so you have worked hard, and for many months, to bring about something you believe futile160,” Michael. said bitterly.
“I was asked to, by the Emperor and by you,” William said. ‘And ultimately it is never a futile thing to know one’s enemies better.”
At this point they came to tell us that the second delegation161 was coming inside the walls. The Minorites rose and went out to meet the Pope’s men.
1 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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2 con | |
n.反对的观点,反对者,反对票,肺病;vt.精读,学习,默记;adv.反对地,从反面;adj.欺诈的 | |
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3 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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4 pro | |
n.赞成,赞成的意见,赞成者 | |
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5 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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6 misty | |
adj.雾蒙蒙的,有雾的 | |
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7 cult | |
n.异教,邪教;时尚,狂热的崇拜 | |
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8 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
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9 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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10 domains | |
n.范围( domain的名词复数 );领域;版图;地产 | |
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11 aromatic | |
adj.芳香的,有香味的 | |
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12 unearthing | |
发掘或挖出某物( unearth的现在分词 ); 搜寻到某事物,发现并披露 | |
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13 ted | |
vt.翻晒,撒,撒开 | |
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14 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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15 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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16 devoutly | |
adv.虔诚地,虔敬地,衷心地 | |
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17 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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18 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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19 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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20 deter | |
vt.阻止,使不敢,吓住 | |
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21 lured | |
吸引,引诱(lure的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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22 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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23 halfway | |
adj.中途的,不彻底的,部分的;adv.半路地,在中途,在半途 | |
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24 chasms | |
裂缝( chasm的名词复数 ); 裂口; 分歧; 差别 | |
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25 fore | |
adv.在前面;adj.先前的;在前部的;n.前部 | |
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26 alpine | |
adj.高山的;n.高山植物 | |
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27 gorges | |
n.山峡,峡谷( gorge的名词复数 );咽喉v.(用食物把自己)塞饱,填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 );作呕 | |
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28 marine | |
adj.海的;海生的;航海的;海事的;n.水兵 | |
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29 gusts | |
一阵强风( gust的名词复数 ); (怒、笑等的)爆发; (感情的)迸发; 发作 | |
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30 milky | |
adj.牛奶的,多奶的;乳白色的 | |
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31 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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32 inter | |
v.埋葬 | |
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33 narrate | |
v.讲,叙述 | |
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34 monastery | |
n.修道院,僧院,寺院 | |
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35 exempted | |
使免除[豁免]( exempt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36 simile | |
n.直喻,明喻 | |
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37 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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38 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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39 courageous | |
adj.勇敢的,有胆量的 | |
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40 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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41 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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42 jovial | |
adj.快乐的,好交际的 | |
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43 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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44 elusive | |
adj.难以表达(捉摸)的;令人困惑的;逃避的 | |
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45 mole | |
n.胎块;痣;克分子 | |
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46 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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47 fervid | |
adj.热情的;炽热的 | |
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48 deft | |
adj.灵巧的,熟练的(a deft hand 能手) | |
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49 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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50 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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51 contradictory | |
adj.反驳的,反对的,抗辩的;n.正反对,矛盾对立 | |
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52 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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53 predecessor | |
n.前辈,前任 | |
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54 magistrates | |
地方法官,治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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55 guise | |
n.外表,伪装的姿态 | |
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56 bequests | |
n.遗赠( bequest的名词复数 );遗产,遗赠物 | |
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57 penance | |
n.(赎罪的)惩罪 | |
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58 scattering | |
n.[物]散射;散乱,分散;在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的;分散在不同范围的;广泛扩散的;(选票)数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式);散布;驱散 | |
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59 constellation | |
n.星座n.灿烂的一群 | |
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60 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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61 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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62 enjoined | |
v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63 monk | |
n.和尚,僧侣,修道士 | |
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64 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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65 yelping | |
v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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66 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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67 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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68 hues | |
色彩( hue的名词复数 ); 色调; 信仰; 观点 | |
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69 clement | |
adj.仁慈的;温和的 | |
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70 posthumously | |
adv.于死后,于身后;于著作者死后出版地 | |
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71 repudiating | |
v.(正式地)否认( repudiate的现在分词 );拒绝接受;拒绝与…往来;拒不履行(法律义务) | |
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72 cardinals | |
红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 ); 红衣凤头鸟(见于北美,雄鸟为鲜红色); 基数 | |
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73 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
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74 conclave | |
n.秘密会议,红衣主教团 | |
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75 massacre | |
n.残杀,大屠杀;v.残杀,集体屠杀 | |
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76 slaughtered | |
v.屠杀,杀戮,屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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78 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
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79 gluttons | |
贪食者( glutton的名词复数 ); 贪图者; 酷爱…的人; 狼獾 | |
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80 gnome | |
n.土地神;侏儒,地精 | |
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81 grumbled | |
抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
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82 opportune | |
adj.合适的,适当的 | |
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83 counselor | |
n.顾问,法律顾问 | |
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84 acumen | |
n.敏锐,聪明 | |
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85 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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86 vows | |
誓言( vow的名词复数 ); 郑重宣布,许愿 | |
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87 consecrated | |
adj.神圣的,被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣,给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 );奉献 | |
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88 mule | |
n.骡子,杂种,执拗的人 | |
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89 perjurer | |
n.伪誓者,伪证者 | |
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90 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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91 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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92 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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93 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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94 ingenuous | |
adj.纯朴的,单纯的;天真的;坦率的 | |
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95 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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96 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97 corrupt | |
v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
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98 meek | |
adj.温顺的,逆来顺受的 | |
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99 magpie | |
n.喜欢收藏物品的人,喜鹊,饶舌者 | |
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100 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
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101 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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102 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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103 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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104 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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105 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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106 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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107 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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108 tunic | |
n.束腰外衣 | |
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109 sumptuous | |
adj.豪华的,奢侈的,华丽的 | |
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110 outright | |
adv.坦率地;彻底地;立即;adj.无疑的;彻底的 | |
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111 blasphemy | |
n.亵渎,渎神 | |
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112 millennium | |
n.一千年,千禧年;太平盛世 | |
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113 infamous | |
adj.声名狼藉的,臭名昭著的,邪恶的 | |
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114 ecclesiastic | |
n.教士,基督教会;adj.神职者的,牧师的,教会的 | |
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115 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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116 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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117 grunt | |
v.嘟哝;作呼噜声;n.呼噜声,嘟哝 | |
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118 exclamations | |
n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 );感叹;感叹语;感叹词 | |
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119 voracious | |
adj.狼吞虎咽的,贪婪的 | |
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120 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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121 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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122 bilious | |
adj.胆汁过多的;易怒的 | |
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123 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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124 nun | |
n.修女,尼姑 | |
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125 absolved | |
宣告…无罪,赦免…的罪行,宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 ); 不受责难,免除责任 [义务] ,开脱(罪责) | |
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126 slander | |
n./v.诽谤,污蔑 | |
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127 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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128 rumor | |
n.谣言,谣传,传说 | |
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129 amassed | |
v.积累,积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130 shameful | |
adj.可耻的,不道德的 | |
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131 despoiled | |
v.掠夺,抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132 humiliate | |
v.使羞辱,使丢脸[同]disgrace | |
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133 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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134 scripture | |
n.经文,圣书,手稿;Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》,《圣经》中的一段 | |
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135 envoys | |
使节( envoy的名词复数 ); 公使; 谈判代表; 使节身份 | |
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136 follies | |
罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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137 divulge | |
v.泄漏(秘密等);宣布,公布 | |
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138 perverse | |
adj.刚愎的;坚持错误的,行为反常的 | |
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139 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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140 murky | |
adj.黑暗的,朦胧的;adv.阴暗地,混浊地;n.阴暗;昏暗 | |
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141 beatific | |
adj.快乐的,有福的 | |
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142 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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143 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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144 horrified | |
a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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145 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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146 sneered | |
讥笑,冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147 bishops | |
(基督教某些教派管辖大教区的)主教( bishop的名词复数 ); (国际象棋的)象 | |
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148 condemning | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的现在分词 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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149 postponed | |
vt.& vi.延期,缓办,(使)延迟vt.把…放在次要地位;[语]把…放在后面(或句尾)vi.(疟疾等)延缓发作(或复发) | |
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150 cede | |
v.割让,放弃 | |
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151 hostilities | |
n.战争;敌意(hostility的复数);敌对状态;战事 | |
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152 amends | |
n. 赔偿 | |
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153 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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154 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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155 narrating | |
v.故事( narrate的现在分词 ) | |
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156 adversaries | |
n.对手,敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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157 heresy | |
n.异端邪说;异教 | |
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158 jeopardize | |
vt.危及,损害 | |
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159 realization | |
n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
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160 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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161 delegation | |
n.代表团;派遣 | |
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