“That will never do!” protested Marian. “In a noble château like this the châtelaine must not stand on her head. When the knights2[98] come riding, she must be waiting, haughty4 and proud, in the great hall to meet them.”
“Should ums?” asked Marjorie, watching her aunt gouge5 a new window in the moist wall so that the immured6 lady might view the lake more comfortably.
“‘Ums should,’ indeed!”
“Should the lady have coffee-cake for ums tea? We never made no pantry nor kitchen in ums house, and lady will be awful hungry. I’ll push ums a cracker7. There, you lady, you can eat ums supper!”
“When her knight3 comes riding, he will bring a deer or maybe a big black boar and there will be feasting in the great hall this night,” said Marian.
“Maybe,” suggested Marjorie, lying flat and peering into the château, “he will kill the grand lady with ums sword; and it will be all over bluggy.”
“Horrible!” cried Marian, closing her eyes[99] and shuddering8. “Let us hope he will be a parfait, gentil knight who will be nice to the lady and tell her beautiful stories of the warriors9 bold he has killed for love of her.”
“My boy doll got all smashed,” said Marjorie; “and ums can’t come a-widing.”
“A truly good knight who got smashed would arrive on his shield just the same; he wouldn’t let anything keep him from coming back to his lady.”
“If ums got all killed dead, would ums come back?”
“He would; he most certainly would!” declared Marian convincingly. “And there would be a beautiful funeral, probably at night, and the other knights would march to the grave bearing torches. And they would repeat a vow10 to avenge11 his death and the slug-horn would sound and off they’d go.”
“And ums lady would be lonesome some more,” sighed Marjorie.
[100]“Oh, that’s nothing! Ladies have to get used to being lonesome when knights go riding. They must sit at home and knit or make beautiful tapestries13 to show the knights when they come home.”
“Marjorie not like to be lonesome. What if Dolly est sit in the shotum—”
“Château is more elegant; though ‘shotum’ is flavorsome and colorful. Come to think of it ‘shotum’ is just as good. Dolly must sit and keep sitting. She couldn’t go out to look for her knight without committing a grave social error.”
These matters having been disposed of, Marjorie thought a stable should be built for the knights’ horses, and they began scooping14 sand to that end. Marian’s eyes rested dreamily upon distant prospects15. The cool airs of early morning were still stirring, and here and there a white sail floated lazily on the blue water. The sandy beach lay only a short distance[101] from Mrs. Waring’s house, whose red roof was visible through a cincture of maples16 on the bluff17 above.
“If knights comes widing to our shotum and holler for ums shootolain, would you holler to come in?” asked Marjorie, from the stable wall.
“It would be highly improper18 for a châtelaine to ‘holler’; but if I were there, I should order the drawbridge to be lowered, and I should bid my knight lift the lid of the coal-bucket thing they always wear on their heads,—you know how they look in the picture books,—and then ask him what tidings he brought. You always ask for tidings.”
“Does ums? Me would ask ums for candy, and new hats with long fithery feathers; and ums—”
[102]From the top of the willow21-lined bluff behind them came a voice with startling abruptness22. In their discussion of the proprieties23 of château life they had forgotten the rest of the world, and it was disconcerting thus to be greeted from the unknown.
“Is it ums knight come walking?” whispered Marjorie, glancing round guardedly.
Marian jumped up and surveyed the overhanging willow screen intently. She discerned through the shrubbery a figure in gray, supported by a tightly sheathed24 umbrella. A narrow-brimmed straw hat and a pair of twinkling eye-glasses attached to the most familiar countenance25 in the Commonwealth26 now contributed to a partial portrait of the lone harper. Marian, having heard from her sister and Mrs. Waring of the Poet’s advent27, was able to view this apparition28 without surprise.
“Come down, O harper, and gladden us with song!” she called.
[103]“I have far to go ere the day end; but I bring writings for one whom men call fair.”
He tossed a long envelope toward them; the breeze caught and held it, then dropped it close to the château. Marjorie ran to pick it up.
“Miss Agnew,” said the Poet, lifting his hat, “a young gentleman will pass this way shortly; I believe him to be a person of merit. He will come overseas from a far country, and answer promptly29 to the name of Frederick. Consider that you have been properly introduced by the contents of yonder packet and bid him welcome in my name.”
“Ums a cwazy man,” Marjorie announced in disgust. “Ums the man what told a funny story at Auntie Waring’s party and then runned off.”
The quivering of the willows30 already marked the Poet’s passing. He had crossed the lake to the Waring cottage, Marian surmised31, and was now returning thither32.
[104]Marjorie, uninterested in letters, which, she had observed, frequently made people cry, attacked with renewed zeal34 the problem of housing the knights’ horses, while Marian opened the long envelope and drew out half a dozen blue onion-skin letter-sheets and settled herself to read. She read first with pleasurable surprise and then with bewilderment. Poetry, she had heard somewhere, should be read out of doors, and clearly these verses were of that order; and quite as unmistakably this, of all the nooks and corners in the world, was the proper spot in which to make the acquaintance of these particular verses. Indeed, it seemed possible, by a lifting of the eyes, to verify the impressions they recorded,—the blue arch, the gnarled boughs37 of the beeches38, the overhanging sycamores, the distant daisy-starred pastures running down to meet the clear water. Such items as these were readily intelligible39; but she found dancing through[105] all the verses a figure that under various endearing names was the dea ex machina of every scene; and this seemed irreconcilable40 with the backgrounds afforded by the immediate41 landscape. Pomona had, it appeared, at some time inspected the apple harvest in this neighborhood:—
The dew flashed from her sandals gold
or this same delightful44 divinity became Diana, her arrows cast aside, smashing a tennis ball, or once again paddling a canoe through wind-ruffled water into the flames of a dying September sun. Or, the bright doors of dawn swinging wide, down the steps tripped this same incredible young person taunting45 the waiting hours for their delay. Was it possible that her own early morning dives from Mrs. Waring’s dock could have suggested this!
Marian read hurriedly; then settled herself for the more deliberate perusal46 that these pictorial[106] stanzas47 demanded. It was with a feeling of unreality that she envisaged48 every point the slight, graceful49 verses described. Where was there another orchard that stole down to a lake’s edge; or where could Atalanta ever have indulged herself at tennis to the applause of rapping woodpeckers if not in the court by the casino on the other side of the lake? The Poet—that is, the Poet All the People Loved—was not greatly given to the invoking50 of gods and goddesses; and this was not his stroke—unless he were playing some practical joke, which, to be sure, was quite possible. But she felt herself in contact with someone very different from the Poet; with quite another poet who sped Pomona down orchard aisles catching52 at the weighted boughs for the joy of hearing the thump53 of falling apples, and turning with a laugh to glance at the shower of ruddy fruit. A lively young person, this Pomona; a spirited and agile54 being, half-real, half-mythical. A[107] series of quatrains, under the caption55 “In September,” described the many-named goddess as the unknown poet had observed her in her canoe at night:—
I watched afar her steady blade
Flash in the path the moon had made,
Shine clear and dance and faint and fade.
Then through the windless night I heard
’Twas like a call to vanished summers
From a lost, summer-seeking bird.
There were many canoes on Waupegan; without turning her head she counted a dozen flashing paddles. And there were many girls who played capital tennis, or who were quite capable of sprinting58 gracefully59 down the aisles of fruitful orchards60. She had remained at the lake late the previous year, and had perhaps shaken apple boughs when in flight through orchards; and she had played tennis diligently61 and had paddled her canoe on many September[108] nights through the moon’s path and over quivering submerged stars; and yet it was inconceivable that her performances had attracted the attention of any one capable of transferring them to rhyme. It would be pleasant, though, to be the subject of verses like these! Once, during her college days, she had moved a young gentleman to song, but the amatory verses she had evoked62 from his lyre had been pitiful stuff that had offended her critical sense. These blue sheets bore a very different message—delicate and fanciful, with a nice restraint under their buoyancy.
While the Poet had said that the author of the verses would arrive shortly, she had taken this as an expression of the make-believe in which he constantly indulged in his writings; but one of the canoes she had been idly observing now bore unmistakably toward the cove63.
Marjorie called for assistance and Marian[109] thrust the blue sheets into her belt and busied herself with perplexing architectural problems. Marjorie’s attention was distracted a moment later by the approaching canoe.
“Aunt Marian!” she chirruped, pointing with a sand-encrusted finger, “more foolish mans coming with glad tidings. Ums should come by horses, not by ums canoe.”
“We mustn’t be too particular how ums come, Marjorie,” replied Marian glancing up with feigned64 carelessness. “It’s the knights’ privilege to come as they will. Many a maiden65 sits waiting just as we are and no knight ever comes.”
“When ums comes they might knock down our house—maybe?” She tacked33 on the query66 with so quaint35 a turn that Marian laughed.
“We mustn’t grow realistic! We must pretend it’s play, and keep pretending that they will be kind and considerate gentlemen.”
Her own efforts to pretend that they were[110] building a stable for the steeds of Arthur’s knights did not conceal67 her curiosity as to a young man who had driven his craft very close inshore, and now, after a moment’s scrutiny68 of the cove, chose a spot for landing and sent the canoe with a whish up the sandy beach half out of the water.
He jumped out and begged their pardon as Marjorie planted herself defensively before the castle.
“Ums can go ’way! Ums didn’t come widing on ums horse like my story book.”
“I apologize! Not being Neptune69 I couldn’t ride my horse through the water. And besides I’m merely obeying orders. I was told to appear here at ten o’clock, sharp, by a gentleman I paddled over from the village and left on Mrs. Waring’s dock an hour ago. He gave me every assurance that I should be received hospitably70, but if I’m intruding71 I shall proceed farther upon the wine-dark sea.”
“Is ums name Fwedwick?” asked Marjorie.
Fulton controlled with difficulty an impulse to laugh at the child’s curious twist of his name, but admitted gravely that such, indeed, was the case.
“Then ums can stay,” said Marjorie in a tone of resignation, and returned to her building.
Marian, who, during his colloquy72 with Marjorie, had risen and was brushing the sand from her skirt, now spoke73 for the first time.
“It’s hardly possible you’re looking for me—I’m Miss Agnew.”
He bowed profoundly.
“A distinguished74 man of letters assured me that I should find him here,” the young man explained as he drew on a blue serge coat he had thrown out of the canoe; “but unless he is hiding in the bushes he has played me false. Such being the case I can’t do less than offer to withdraw if my presence is annoying.”
[112]The faint mockery of these sentences was relieved by the mischievous75 twinkle in his eyes. They were very dark eyes, and his hair was intensely black and brushed back from his forehead smoothly76. His face was dark even to swarthiness and his cheek bones were high and a trifle prominent.
He was dressed for the open: white ducks, canvas shoes, and a flannel77 shirt with soft collar and a scarlet78 tie.
In spite of his offer to withdraw if his presence proved ungrateful to the established tenants79 of the cove, it occurred to Marian that he was not, apparently80, expecting to be rebuffed. Marjorie, satisfied that the stranger in no way menaced her peace, was addressing herself with new energy to the refashioning of the stable walls along lines recommended by Marian.
“The ways of the Poet are inscrutable,” observed Fulton; “he told me your name and[113] spoke in the highest terms of your kindness of heart and tolerance81 of stupidity.”
“He was more sparing of facts in warning me of your approach. He said your name would be Frederick, as though the birds would supply the rest of it.”
“Very likely that’s the way of the illustrious—to assume that we are all as famous as themselves; highly flattering, but calculated to deceive. As the birds don’t know me, I will say that my surname is Fulton. A poor and an ill-favored thing, but mine own.”
“It quite suffices,” replied Marian in his own key. “We have built a château,” she explained, “and the châtelaine is even now gazing sadly upon the waters hoping that her true knight will appear. We have mixed metaphor82 and history most unforgivably—a French château, set here on an American lake in readiness for the Knights of the Round Table.”
“We mustn’t quibble over details in such[114] matters; it’s the spirit of the thing that counts. I can see that Marjorie isn’t troubled by anachronisms.”
The blue sheets containing, presumably, this young man’s verses, were still in her belt, and their presence there did not add to her comfort. Of course he might not be the real author of those tributes to the lake’s divinities. His appearance did not strongly support the suspicion. The young man who had sent her flowers accompanied by verses on various occasions was an anæmic young person who would never have entrusted83 himself to so tricksy a bark as a canoe. Frederick Fulton was of a more heroic mould; she thought it quite likely that he could shoulder his canoe and march off with it if it pleased him to do so. He looked capable of doing many things besides scribbling84 verses. His manner, as she analyzed85 it, left nothing to be desired. While he was enjoying this encounter to the full, as his ready smile[115] assured her, he did not presume upon her tolerance, but seemed satisfied to let her prescribe the terms of their acquaintance. This was a lark86 of some kind, and whether he had connived87 at the meeting, or whether he was as much in the dark as she as to the Poet’s purpose in bringing them together, remained a mystery.
She found a seat on a log near the engrossed88 Marjorie, and Fulton settled himself comfortably on the sand.
“This has been a day of strange meetings,” he began. “I really had no intention of coming to Waupegan; and I was astonished to find our friend the Poet on the hotel veranda89 this morning. He had told me to come;—it was rather odd—”
“Oh, he told you to come!”
“In town, two days ago he suggested it. I wonder if he’s in the habit of doing that sort of thing.”
[116]“It would hardly be polite for me to criticize him now that he has introduced us. I fear we shall have to make the best of it!”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of it in that way!”
They regarded each other with searching inquiry90 and then laughed. Her possession of the verses had already advertised itself to him; she saw his eyes rest upon them carelessly for an instant and then he disregarded them; and this pleased her. If he were their author—if, possibly, he had written them of her—she approved of his good breeding in ignoring them.
“I know this part of the world better than almost any other,” he went on, clasping his hands over his knees. “I was born only ten miles from here on a farm; and I fished here a lot when I was a boy.”
“But, of course, you’ve escaped from the farm into the larger world or the Poet wouldn’t know you.”
“Well, you see, I’m a newspaper reporter[117] down at the capital and reporters know everybody.”
“Oh, the Poet doesn’t know everybody; though everybody knows him. Perhaps we’d better pass that. Tell me some more about your early adventures on the lake.”
“You have heard all that’s worth telling. We farm boys used to come over and fish before the city men filched91 all the bass92 and left only sunfish and suckers. Then I grew up and went to the State Agricultural School—to fit me for a literary career!—and I didn’t get here again until last fall when my paper gave me a vacation and I spent a fortnight at the farm and used to ride over here on my bicycle every morning to watch the summer resorters and read books.”
“It’s strange I never saw you,” said Marian, “for I was here last fall. My own memories of the pioneers go back almost to the Indians. My father used to own that red-roofed cottage[118] you see across the lake; and I’ve tumbled into the water from every point in sight.”
“September and June are the best months here, I think. It was all much nicer, though, before the place became so popular.”
“Hardly a gracious remark, seeing that Marjorie and I are here, and all these cottagers are friends of ours!”
“I haven’t the slightest objection to you and Marjorie. You fit into the landscape delightfully—give it tone and color; but I was thinking of the noisy people at the inns down by the village. They seem rather unnecessary. The Poet and I agreed about that this morning while we were looking for a quiet place for an after-breakfast smoke.”
“Yes; but before you grow too envious94 of my acquaintance I’ll have to confess that I’ve known him less than a week.”
[119]“A great deal can happen in a week,” she remarked absently.
“A great deal has!” he returned quickly.
This seemed to be rather leading; but a cry for help from Marjorie provided a diversion.
Fulton jumped up and ran to the perplexed95 builder’s aid, neatly96 repaired a broken wall, and when he had received the child’s grave thanks reseated himself at Marian’s feet. The blue onion-skin paper had disappeared from her belt; he caught her in the act of crumpling97 the sheets into her sleeve.
With their disappearance98 she felt her courage returning. His confessions99 as to the farm, the university, the newspaper—created an outline which she meant to encourage him to fill in. Journalism100, like war and the labors101 of those who go down to the sea in ships, suggests romance; and Marian had never known a reporter before.
“I should think it would be great fun working[120] on a newspaper, and knowing things before they happen.”
“And things that never happen!”
She was quick to seize upon this.
“The imagination must enter into all writing—even facts, history. Bryant was a newspaper man, and he wrote poetry, but I heard in school that he was a very good editor, too.”
“I’m not an editor and nobody has called me a poet; but the suggestion pleases me,” he said.
“If our own Poet offered you a leaf of his laurel, that would help establish your claims,—set you up in business, so to speak.”
“I should hasten to return it before it withered102! My little experiments in rhyme are not of the wreath-winning kind.”
“Then you do write verses!”
“Yards!” he confessed shamelessly.
She was taken aback by this bold admission. His tone and manner implied that he set no[121] great store by his performances, and this piqued103 her. It seemed like a commentary on her critical judgment104 which had found them good. Fulton now became impersonal105 and philosophical106.
“It’s a great thing to have done what our Poet has done—give to the purely107 local a touch that makes it universal. That’s what art does when it has heart behind it, and there’s the value of provincial108 literature. Hundreds of men had seen just what he saw,—the same variety of types and individuals against this Western landscape,—but it was left for him to set them forth109 with just the right stroke. And he has done other things, too, besides the genre110 studies that make him our own particular Burns; he has sung of days like this when hope rises high, and sung of them beautifully; and he has preached countless111 little sermons of cheer and contentment and aspiration112. And he’s the first poet who ever really understood[122] children—wrote not merely of them but to them. He’s the poet of a thousand scrapbooks! I came up on a late train last night and got to talking to a stranger who told me he was on his way to visit his old home; pulled one of the Poet’s songs of June out of his pocket and asked me to read it; said he’d cut it out of a newspaper that had come to him wrapped round a pair of shoes in some forsaken113 village in Texas, and that it had made him homesick for a sight of the farm where he was born. The old fellow grew tearful about it, and almost wrung114 a sob115 out of me. He was carrying that clipping pinned to his railway ticket—in a way it was his ticket home.”
“Of course our Poet has the power to move people like that,” murmured Marian. “It’s genius, a gift of the gods.”
“He’s been able to do it without ever cheapening himself; there’s never any suggestion of that mawkishness116 we hear in vaudeville117 songs[123] that implore118 us to write home to mother to-night! He takes the simplest theme and makes literature of it.”
Marian was thinking of her talk with the Poet at Mrs. Waring’s garden-party. Strange to say, it seemed more difficult to express her disdain119 of romance and poetry to this young man than it had been to the Poet. And yet he evidently accepted unquestioningly the Poet’s philosophy of life, which she had dismissed contemptuously, and in which, she assured herself, she did not believe to-day any more than she did a week ago. The incident of a pilgrim from Texas with a poem attached to his railway ticket had its touch of sentiment and pathos120, but it did not weigh heavily against the testimony121 of experience which had proved in her own observation that life is perplexing and difficult, and that poetry and romance are only a lure122 and mesh123 to delude124 and betray the trustful.
[124]“Poets have a good deal to fight against these days,” she said, wishing to state her dissent125 as kindly126 as possible. “The Bible is full of poetry, but it has lost its hold on the people; it’s like an outworn sun that no longer lights and warms the world. I wish it weren’t so; but unfortunately we’re all pretty helpless when it comes to the iron hoofs127 of the Time-Spirit.”
“Oh!” he exclaimed, sitting erect128, “we mustn’t make the mistake of thinking the Time-Spirit a new invention. We’re lucky to live in the twentieth century when it goes on rubber heels;—when people are living poetry more and talking about it less. Why, the spirit of the Bible has just gone to work! I was writing an account of a new summer camp for children the day before I came up—one of those Sunday supplement pieces around a lot of pictures; and it occurred to me as I watched youngsters, who had never seen green grass[125] before, having the time of their lives, that such philanthropies didn’t exist in the good old days when people dusted their Bibles oftener than they do now. There’s a difference between the Bible as a fetish and as a working plan for daily use. Preaching isn’t left to the men who stand up in pulpits in black coats on Sundays; there’s preaching in all the magazines and newspapers all the time. For example, my paper raises money every summer to send children into the country; and then starts another fund to buy them Christmas presents. The apostles themselves didn’t do much better than that!”
“Of course there are many agencies and a great deal of generosity,” replied Marian colorlessly. The young men she knew were not in the habit of speaking of the Bible or of religion in this fashion. Religion had never made any strong appeal to her and she had dabbled129 in philanthropy fitfully without enthusiasm.[126] Fulton’s direct speech made some response necessary and she tried to reply with an equally frank confidence.
“I suppose I’m a sort of heathen; I don’t know what a pantheist is, but I think I must be one.”
“Oh, you can be a pantheist without being a heathen! There’s a natural religion that we all subscribe130 to, whether we’re conscious of it or not. There’s no use bothering about definitions or quarreling with anybody’s church or creed131. We’re getting beyond that; it’s the thing we make of ourselves that counts; and when it comes to the matter of worship, I suppose every one who looks up at a blue sky like that, and knows it to be good, is performing a sort of ritual and saying a prayer.”
There was nothing in the breezy, exultant132 verses she had thrust into her sleeve to prepare her for such statements as these. While he spoke simply and half-smilingly, as though[127] to minimize the seriousness of his statements, his utterances133 had an undeniable ring of sincerity134. He was provokingly at ease—this dark young gentleman who had been cast by the waters upon this tranquil135 beach. He was not at all like young men who called upon her and made themselves agreeable by talking of the theater or country club dances or the best places to spend vacations. She could not recall that any one had ever spoken to her before of man’s aspirations136 in the terms employed by this newspaper reporter.
Marjorie, having prepared for the stabling of all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, announced her intention of contributing a wing to the château. This called for a conference in which they all participated. Then, when the addition had been planned in all soberness and the child had resumed her labors, Marian and Fred stared at the lake until the silence became oppressive. Marian spoke first,[128] tossing the ball of conversation into a new direction.
“You have confessed to yards of verses,” she began, gathering137 up a handful of sand which she let slip through her fingers lingeringly, catching the grains in her palm. “I’ve seen—about a yard of them.”
Clearly flirtation138 was not one of his accomplishments139. His “Oh, I’ve scattered140 them round rather freely,” ignored a chance to declare gracefully that she had been the inspiration of those lyrics141, written in a perfectly142 legible hand on onion-skin letter-sheets, that were concealed143 in her sleeve. His indifference144 to the opening she had made for him piqued her. She was quite dashed by the calm tone in which he added, with no hint of sidling or simpering:—
“I’ve written reams of poems about you.” (He might as well have said that he had scraped the ice off her sidewalk or carried coal into her cellar, for all the thrill she derived145 from his[129] admission.) “I hope you won’t be displeased146; but when I was ranging the lake last September we seemed to find the same haunts and to be interested in the same sort of thing, and it kept me busy dodging147 you, I can tell you! I exhausted148 the Classical Dictionary finding names for you; and it wasn’t any trouble at all to make verses about you. I was really astonished to find how necessary you were to the completion of my pen-and-ink sketches149 of all this,”—a wave of the arm placed the lake shores in evidence,—“I liked you best in action; when the spirit moved you to run or drive your canoe over the water. You do all the outdoor things as though you had never done anything else; it’s a joy to watch you! I was sitting on a fence one day over there in Mrs. Waring’s orchard and you ran by,—so near that I could hear the swish of your skirts,—and you made a high jump for a bough36 and shook down the apples and ran off laughing[130] like a boy afraid of being caught. I pulled out my notebook and scribbled150 seven stanzas on that little incident.”
Any admiration151 that was conveyed by these frankly152 uttered sentences was of the most impersonal sort conceivable. She was not used to being treated in this fashion. Even his manner of asking her pardon for his temerariousness in apostrophizing her in his verses had lacked, in her critical appraisement153 of it, the humility154 a self-respecting young woman had a right to demand of a young poet who observes her without warrant, is pleased to admire her athletic155 prowess, her ways and her manners, and puts her into his verses as coolly as he might pick a flower from the wayside and wear it in his coat.
“Then you used me merely to give human interest to your poems; any girl running through Mrs. Waring’s orchard and snatching at the apples would have done just as well?”
[131]“Oh, I shouldn’t say that,” he replied, unabashed; “but even the poorest worm of a scribbler has to have an ideal and you supplied mine. You were like a model who strolls along just when it occurs to the painter that his landscape needs a figure to set it off. You don’t mind, I hope?”
This made it necessary for her to assure him in as few words as possible that she didn’t in the least object to his view of the matter; and she added, not without a trace of irony156, that she was always glad to be of use; that if she could further the cause of art in any way she was ready to do it.
“Please don’t; that hurt a little! By the way, the Poet told me I ought to know you. He recommended you in the noblest terms. I see now what was in his mind; he thought I needed your gentle chastening.”
“It’s more likely he thought it well for you to see your ideal shattered! It’s too bad, for[132] the sake of your ambitions, that I didn’t remain just an unknown girl in an orchard—who suggested Pomona inspecting her crops and then vanished forever.”
“Oh, I had to know you; it was inevitable,” he replied with irritating resignation. “You see I’ve written about you in prose, too; you’ve been immensely provocative157 and stimulating158. My best prose, as well as my only decent jingles159, has had you for a subject. I laid myself out to describe you at the tennis tournament last fall. Next to watching you run through an orchard trippingly, like one of Swinburne’s long lines, I like you best when you show your snappy stroke with the racket and make a champion look well to her knitting.”
She turned crimson160 at this, remembering very well the “Chronicle’s” report of the tennis match, which she had cut out and still treasured in her portfolio161. Clearly, her obligations to this impudent162 young man were increasing rapidly.
[133]Marjorie, seized with an ambition to add a new tower to the château, opportunely163 demanded their assistance. The architectural integrity of the château was in jeopardy164 and the proposed changes called for much debate by the elders. This consumed considerable time, and after the new tower was finished by their joint165 labors they set Marjorie to work constructing a moat which Fulton declared to be essential.
He got on famously with Marjorie; and this scored heavily in his favor with Marian. His way with the child was informed with the nicest tact51 and understanding; he entered into the spirit of the château-building with just the earnestness that her young imagination demanded. He promised to take her canoeing to a place where he thought there might be fairies, though he would not go the length of saying that he had seen them, to be sure, for when people saw fairies they must never tell any one;[134] it wouldn’t be kind to the fairies, who got into the most dreadful predicaments when human folk talked about them. Marjorie listened big-eyed, while he held her sandy little fingers. Yes; there was something pleasing in this young man, who described tennis matches for the sporting page of a newspaper or wrote verses or spoke of religion or fairies all as part of the day’s work.
“The Poet will think I’ve fallen into the lake,” he remarked presently. “The ride to Mrs. Waring’s dock was a great concession166 on his part and he expressed misgivings167 as to allowing me to paddle him back to the inn. He’s waiting at this moment on Mrs. Waring’s veranda, hoping that I won’t show up with the canoe so he can take passage on the steamer and reduce the hazards of the journey. The height of the sun proclaims the luncheon168 hour, and Marjorie must be hungry. Won’t you honor my humble169 argosy!”
[135]Marian could think of no good reason for declining this invitation, particularly after Marjorie had chirruped an immediate and grateful acceptance. Moreover, Mr. Fulton had made himself so agreeable and had contributed so many elements to the morning’s pleasure, that it was not in her heart to be rude to him.
They embarked170 after a promise had been exacted by Marjorie that “ums” should all meet again on the morrow, to perfect the moat and build a drawbridge.
“I’m glad to have an excuse for staying,” Fulton declared, “and I hope I’m not the man to go off and leave a noble shotum without the finishing touches. We shall meet frequently, maid Marjorie. In fact”—he lifted the paddle and let it drip with a pleasant tinkle171 into the calm water, while he half-turned toward Marian—“I don’t believe I’ll ever go back to ‘the heat and dust and noise of trades.’ As[136] old Walt says, in effect, the earth, that is sufficient; so why not stay close to it?”
“Ums splashed water on me!” protested Marjorie.
“A thousand pardons, my young realist!”
“The Poet and Elizabeth are waving to us from the landing,” remarked Marian. “Perhaps you’d better save the rest of the peroration172 until to-morrow.”
“No unkinder word was ever spoken!” cried Fulton cheerfully, and swept the light craft forward with long, splashless strokes.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
violation
|
|
| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
knights
|
|
| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
haughty
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
gouge
|
|
| v.凿；挖出；n.半圆凿；凿孔；欺诈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
immured
|
|
| v.禁闭，监禁( immure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
cracker
|
|
| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
shuddering
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
warriors
|
|
| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
vow
|
|
| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
avenge
|
|
| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
lone
|
|
| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
tapestries
|
|
| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
scooping
|
|
| n.捞球v.抢先报道( scoop的现在分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
maples
|
|
| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
bluff
|
|
| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
improper
|
|
| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
descend
|
|
| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
vouchsafe
|
|
| v.惠予，准许 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
willow
|
|
| n.柳树 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
abruptness
|
|
| n. 突然，唐突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
proprieties
|
|
| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
sheathed
|
|
| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
commonwealth
|
|
| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
advent
|
|
| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
apparition
|
|
| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
promptly
|
|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
willows
|
|
| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
surmised
|
|
| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
tacked
|
|
| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
bough
|
|
| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
boughs
|
|
| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
beeches
|
|
| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
intelligible
|
|
| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
irreconcilable
|
|
| adj.（指人）难和解的，势不两立的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
orchard
|
|
| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
aisles
|
|
| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
taunting
|
|
| 嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
perusal
|
|
| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
stanzas
|
|
| 节，段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
envisaged
|
|
| 想像，设想( envisage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
invoking
|
|
| v.援引( invoke的现在分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
tact
|
|
| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
thump
|
|
| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
agile
|
|
| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
caption
|
|
| n.说明，字幕，标题；v.加上标题，加上说明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
ripples
|
|
| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
blurred
|
|
| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
sprinting
|
|
| v.短距离疾跑( sprint的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
gracefully
|
|
| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
orchards
|
|
| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
diligently
|
|
| ad.industriously;carefully | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
evoked
|
|
| [医]诱发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
cove
|
|
| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
feigned
|
|
| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
query
|
|
| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
scrutiny
|
|
| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
Neptune
|
|
| n.海王星 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
hospitably
|
|
| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
intruding
|
|
| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
colloquy
|
|
| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
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： |
|
|
|
|
74
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
mischievous
|
|
| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
smoothly
|
|
| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
flannel
|
|
| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
tenants
|
|
| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
tolerance
|
|
| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
metaphor
|
|
| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
entrusted
|
|
| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
scribbling
|
|
| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
analyzed
|
|
| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
lark
|
|
| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
connived
|
|
| v.密谋 ( connive的过去式和过去分词 )；搞阴谋；默许；纵容 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
engrossed
|
|
| adj.全神贯注的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
veranda
|
|
| n.走廊；阳台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
filched
|
|
| v.偷（尤指小的或不贵重的物品）( filch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
bass
|
|
| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
musingly
|
|
| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
94
envious
|
|
| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
neatly
|
|
| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
crumpling
|
|
| 压皱，弄皱( crumple的现在分词 )； 变皱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
disappearance
|
|
| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
confessions
|
|
| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
journalism
|
|
| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
labors
|
|
| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
piqued
|
|
| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
impersonal
|
|
| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
philosophical
|
|
| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
provincial
|
|
| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
genre
|
|
| n.(文学、艺术等的)类型，体裁，风格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
countless
|
|
| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
aspiration
|
|
| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
Forsaken
|
|
| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
wrung
|
|
| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
mawkishness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
vaudeville
|
|
| n.歌舞杂耍表演 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
implore
|
|
| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
disdain
|
|
| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
pathos
|
|
| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
testimony
|
|
| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
lure
|
|
| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
mesh
|
|
| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
delude
|
|
| vt.欺骗；哄骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
dissent
|
|
| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
hoofs
|
|
| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
dabbled
|
|
| v.涉猎( dabble的过去式和过去分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
subscribe
|
|
| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
exultant
|
|
| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
utterances
|
|
| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
sincerity
|
|
| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
tranquil
|
|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
flirtation
|
|
| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
accomplishments
|
|
| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
lyrics
|
|
| n.歌词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
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： |
|
|
|
|
146
displeased
|
|
| a.不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
dodging
|
|
| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
sketches
|
|
| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
scribbled
|
|
| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
appraisement
|
|
| n.评价，估价；估值 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
humility
|
|
| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
athletic
|
|
| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
irony
|
|
| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
provocative
|
|
| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
stimulating
|
|
| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
jingles
|
|
| 叮当声( jingle的名词复数 )； 节拍十分规则的简单诗歌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
crimson
|
|
| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
portfolio
|
|
| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
impudent
|
|
| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
opportunely
|
|
| adv.恰好地，适时地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
jeopardy
|
|
| n.危险；危难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
joint
|
|
| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
concession
|
|
| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
misgivings
|
|
| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
luncheon
|
|
| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
embarked
|
|
| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
tinkle
|
|
| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
peroration
|
|
| n.（演说等之）结论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |