Fer.
Yes, Francisco,
He hath left his curse upon me.
Fran.
How?
Fer.
His curse I dost comprehend what that word carries?
Shot from a father's angry breath? Unless
I tear poor Felisarda from my heart,
He hath pronounced me heir to all his curses.
---SHIRLEY: The Brothers.
"There is nothing, I trust, my dear young friend, and quondam pupil," said Dr. Small, as the door was closed, "that weighs upon your mind, beyond the sorrow naturally incident to an affliction, severe as the present. Forgive my apprehensions1 if I am wrong. You know the affectionate interest I have ever felt for you--an interest which, I assure you, is nowise diminished, and which will excuse my urging you to unburden your mind to me; assuring yourself, that whatever may be your disclosure, you will have my sincere sympathy and commiseration3. I may be better able to advise with you, should counsel be necessary, than others, from my knowledge of your character and temperament4. I would not anticipate evil, and am, perhaps, unnecessarily apprehensive5. But I own, I am startled at the incoherence of your expressions, coupled with your sudden and almost mysterious appearance at this distressing7 conjuncture. Answer me: has your return been the result of mere8 accident? is it to be considered one of those singular circumstances which almost look like fate, and baffle our comprehension? or were you nearer home than we expected, and received the news of your father's demise9 through some channel unknown to us? Satisfy my curiosity, I beg of you, upon this point."
"Your curiosity, my dear sir," replied Ranulph, gravely and sadly, "will not be decreased, when I tell you, that my return has neither been the work of chance,--for I came, fully10 anticipating the dread11 event, which I find realized,--nor has it been occasioned by any intelligence derived12 from yourself, or others. It was only, indeed, upon my arrival here that I received full confirmation13 of my apprehensions. I had another, a more terrible summons to return."
"What summons? you perplex me!" exclaimed Small, gazing with some misgiving14 into the face of his young friend.
"I am myself perplexed--sorely perplexed," returned Ranulph. "I have much to relate; but I pray you bear with me to the end. I have that on my mind which, like guilt15, must be revealed."
"Speak, then, fearlessly to me," said Small, affectionately pressing Ranulph's hand, "and assure yourself, beforehand, of my sympathy."
"It will be necessary," said Ranulph, "to preface my narrative16 by some slight allusion17 to certain painful events--and yet I know not why I should call them painful, excepting in their consequences--which influenced my conduct in my final interview between my father and myself--an interview which occasioned my departure for the Continent--and which was of a character so dreadful, that I would not even revert18 to it, were it not a necessary preliminary to the circumstance I am about to detail.
"When I left Oxford19, I passed a few weeks alone, in London. A college friend, whom I accidentally met, introduced me, during a promenade20 in St. James's Park, to some acquaintances of his own, who were taking an airing in the Mall at the same time--a family whose name was Mowbray, consisting of a widow lady, her son, and daughter. This introduction was made in compliance21 with my own request. I had been struck by the singular beauty of the younger lady, whose countenance22 had a peculiar23 and inexpressible charm to me, from its marked resemblance to the portrait of the Lady Eleanor Rookwood, whose charms and unhappy fate I have so often dwelt upon and deplored24. The picture is there," continued Ranulph, pointing to it: "look at it, and you have the fair creature I speak of before you; the color of the hair--the tenderness of the eyes. No--the expression is not so sad, except when----but no matter! I recognized her features at once.
"It struck me, that upon the mention of my name, the party betrayed some surprise, especially the elder lady. For my own part, I was so attracted by the beauty of the daughter, the effect of which upon me seemed rather the fulfilment of a predestined event, originating in the strange fascination26 which the family portrait had wrought27 in my heart, than the operation of what is called 'love at first sight,' that I was insensible to the agitation28 of the mother. In vain I endeavored to rally myself; my efforts at conversation were fruitless; I could not talk--all I could do was silently to yield to the soft witchery of those tender eyes; my admiration29 increasing each instant that I gazed upon them.
"I accompanied them home. Attracted as by some irresistible30 spell, I could not tear myself away; so that, although I fancied I could perceive symptoms of displeasure in the looks of both the mother and the son, yet, regardless of consequences, I ventured, uninvited, to enter the house. In order to shake off the restraint which I felt my society imposed, I found it absolutely necessary to divest31 myself of bashfulness, and to exert such conversational32 powers as I possessed33. I succeeded so well that the discourse34 soon became lively and animated35; and what chiefly delighted me was, that she, for whose sake I had committed my present rudeness, became radiant with smiles. I had been all eagerness to seek for some explanation of the resemblance to which I have just alluded36, and the fitting moment had, I conceived, arrived. I called attention to a peculiar expression in the features of Miss Mowbray, and then instanced the likeness37 that subsisted38 between her and my ancestress. 'It is the more singular,' I said, turning to her mother, 'because there could have been no affinity39, that I am aware of, between them, and yet the likeness is really surprising.'--'It is not so singular as you imagine,' answered Mrs. Mowbray; 'there is a close affinity. That Lady Rookwood was my mother. Eleanor Mowbray does resemble her ill-fated ancestress.'
"Words cannot paint my astonishment40. I gazed at Mrs. Mowbray, considering whether I had not misconstrued her speech--whether I had not so shaped the sounds as to suit my own quick and passionate41 conceptions. But no! I read in her calm, collected countenance--in the downcast glance, and sudden sadness of Eleanor, as well as in the changed and haughty42 demeanor43 of the brother, that I had heard her rightly. Eleanor Mowbray was my cousin--the descendant of that hapless creature whose image I had almost worshipped.
"Recovering from my surprise, I addressed Mrs. Mowbray, endeavoring to excuse my ignorance of our relationship, on the plea that I had not been given to understand that such had been the name of the gentleman she had espoused44. 'Nor was it,' answered she, 'the name he bore at Rookwood; circumstances forbade it then. From the hour I quitted that house until this moment, excepting one interview with my--with Sir Reginald Rookwood--I have seen none of my family--have held no communication with them. My brothers have been strangers to me; the very name of Rookwood has been unheard, unknown; nor would you have been admitted here, had not accident occasioned it.' I ventured now to interrupt her, and to express a hope that she would suffer an acquaintance to be kept up, which had so fortunately commenced, and which might most probably bring about an entire reconciliation45 between the families. I was so earnest in my expostulations, my whole soul being in them, that she inclined a more friendly ear to me. Eleanor, too, smiled encouragement. Love lent me eloquence46; and at length, as a token of my success, and her own relenting, Mrs. Mowbray held forth47 her hand: I clasped it eagerly. It was the happiest moment of my life.
"I will not trouble you with any lengthened48 description of Eleanor Mowbray. I hope, at some period or other, you may still be enabled to see her, and judge for yourself; for though adverse49 circumstances have hitherto conspired50 to separate us, the time for a renewal51 of our acquaintance is approaching, I trust, for I am not yet altogether without hope. But this much I may be allowed to say, that her rare endowments of person were only equalled by the graces of her mind.
"Educated abroad, she had all the vivacity53 of our livelier neighbors, combined with every solid qualification which we claim as more essentially54 our own. Her light and frolic manner was French, certainly; but her gentle, sincere heart was as surely English. The foreign accent that dwelt upon her tongue communicated an inexpressible charm, even to the language which she spoke55.
"I will not dwell too long upon this theme. I feel ashamed of my own prolixity56. And yet I am sure you will pardon it. Ah, those bright brief days! too quickly were they fled! I could expatiate57 upon each minute--recall each word--revive each look. It may not be. I must hasten on. Darker themes await me.
"My love made rapid progress--I became each hour more enamored of my new-found cousin. My whole time was passed near her; indeed, I could scarcely exist in absence from her side. Short, however, was destined25 to be my indulgence in this blissful state. One happy week was its extent. I received a peremptory58 summons from my father to return home.
"Immediately upon commencing this acquaintance, I had written to my father, explaining every particular attending it. This I should have done of my own free will, but I was urged to it by Mrs. Mowbray. Unaccustomed to disguise, I had expatiated59 upon the beauty of Eleanor, and in such terms, I fear, that I excited some uneasiness in his breast. His letter was laconic60. He made no allusion to the subject upon which I had expatiated when writing to him. He commanded me to return.
"The bitter hour was at hand. I could not hesitate to comply. Without my father's sanction, I was assured Mrs. Mowbray would not permit any continuance of my acquaintance. Of Eleanor's inclinations61 I fancied I had some assurance; but without her mother's consent, to whose will she was devoted62, I felt, had I even been inclined to urge it, that my suit was hopeless. The letter which I had received from my father made me more than doubt whether I should not find him utterly63 adverse to my wishes. Agonized64, therefore, with a thousand apprehensions, I presented myself on the morning of my departure. It was then I made the declaration of my passion to Eleanor; it was then that every hope was confirmed, every apprehension2 realized. I received from her lips a confirmation of my fondest wishes; yet were those hopes blighted65 in the bud, when I heard, at the same time, that their consummation was dependent on the will of two others, whose assenting66 voices, she feared, could never be obtained. From Mrs. Mowbray I received a more decided67 reply. All her haughtiness68 was aroused. Her farewell words assured me, that it was indifferent to her whether we met again as relatives or as strangers. Then was it that the native tenderness of Eleanor displayed itself, in an outbreak of feeling peculiar to a heart keenly sympathetic as hers. She saw my suffering--the reserve natural to her sex gave way--she flung herself into my arms--and so we parted.
"With a heavy foreboding I returned to Rookwood, and, oppressed with the gloomiest anticipations69, endeavored to prepare myself for the worst. I arrived. My reception was such as I had calculated upon; and, to increase my distress6, my parents had been at variance70. I will not pain you and myself with any recital71 of their disagreement. My mother had espoused my cause, chiefly, I fear, with the view of thwarting72 my poor father's inclinations. He was in a terrible mood, exasperated73 by the fiery74 stimulants75 he had swallowed, which had not indeed, drowned his reason, but roused and inflamed76 every dormant77 emotion to violence. He was as one insane. It was evening when I arrived. I would willingly have postponed78 the interview till the morrow. It could not be. He insisted upon seeing me.
"My mother was present. You know the restraint she usually had over my father, and how she maintained it. On this occasion she had none. He questioned me as to every particular; probed my secret soul; dragged forth every latent feeling, and then thundered out his own determination that Eleanor never should be bride of mine; nor would he receive, under his roof, her mother, the discountenanced daughter of his father. I endeavored to remonstrate79 with him. He was deaf to my entreaties80. My mother added sharp and stinging words to my expostulations. 'I had her consent,' she said; 'what more was needed? The lands were entailed81. I should at no distant period be their master, and might then please myself.' This I mention in order to give you my father's strange answer.
"'Have a care, madam,' replied he, 'and bridle83 your tongue; they are entailed, 'tis true, but I need not ask his consent to cut off that entail82. Let him dare to disobey me in this particular, and I will so divert the channel of my wealth, that no drop shall reach him. I will--but why threaten?--let him do it, and approve the consequences.'
"On the morrow I renewed my importunities, with no better success. We were alone.
"'Ranulph,' said he, 'you waste time in seeking to change my resolution. It is unalterable. I have many motives85 which influence me; they are inexplicable86, but imperative87. Eleanor Mowbray never can be yours. Forget her as speedily as may be, and I pledge myself, upon whomsoever else your choice may fix, I will offer no obstacle.'
"'But why,' exclaimed I, with vehemence88, 'do you object to one whom you have never beheld89? At least, consent to see her.'
"'Never!' he replied, 'The tie is sundered90, and cannot be reunited; my father bound me by an oath never to meet in friendship with my sister; I will not break my vow91, I will not violate its conditions, even in the second degree. We never can meet again. An idle prophecy which I have heard has said "that when a Rookwood shall marry a Rookwood the end of the house draweth nigh." That I regard not. It may have no meaning, or it may have much. To me it imports nothing further, than that, if you wed52 Eleanor, every acre I possess shall depart from you. And assure yourself this is no idle threat. I can, and will do it. My curse shall be your sole inheritance.'
"I could not avoid making some reply, representing to him how unjustifiable such a procedure was to me, in a case where the happiness of my life was at stake; and how inconsistent it was with the charitable precepts93 of our faith, to allow feelings of resentment94 to influence his conduct. My remonstrances95, as in the preceding meeting, were ineffectual. The more I spoke, the more intemperate96 he grew. I therefore desisted, but not before he had ordered me to quit the house. I did not leave the neighborhood, but saw him again on the same evening.
"Our last interview took place in the garden. I then told him that I had determined97 to go abroad for two years, at the expiration98 of which period I proposed returning to England; trusting that his resolution might then be changed, and that he would listen to my request, for the fulfilment of which I could never cease to hope. Time, I hoped, might befriend me. He approved of my plan of travelling, requesting me not to see Eleanor before I set out; adding, in a melancholy99 tone--'We may never meet again, Ranulph, in this life; in that case, farewell forever. Indulge no vain hopes. Eleanor never can be yours, but upon one condition, and to that you would never consent!'--'Propose it!' I cried; 'there is no condition I could not accede100 to.'--'Rash boy!' he replied, 'you know not what you say; that pledge you would never fulfil, were I to propose it to you; but no--should I survive till you return, you shall learn it then--and now, farewell.'--'Speak now, I beseech101 you!' I exclaimed; 'anything, everything--what you will!'--'Say no more,' replied he, walking towards the house; 'when you return we will renew this subject; farewell--perhaps forever!' His words were prophetic--that parting was forever. I remained in the garden till nightfall. I saw my mother, but he came not again. I quitted England without beholding103 Eleanor."
"Did you not acquaint her by letter with what had occurred, and your consequent intentions?" asked Small.
"I did," replied Ranulph; "but I received no reply. My earliest inquiries104 will be directed to ascertain105 whether the family are still in London. It will be a question for our consideration, whether I am not justified106 in departing from my father's expressed wishes, or whether I should violate his commands in so doing."
"We will discuss that point hereafter," replied Small; adding, as he noticed the growing paleness of his companion, "you are too much exhausted107 to proceed--you had better defer108 the remainder of your story to a future period."
"No," replied Ranulph, swallowing a glass of water; "I am exhausted, yet I cannot rest--my blood is in a fever, which nothing will allay109. I shall feel more easy when I have made the present communication. I am approaching the sequel of my narrative. You are now in possession of the story of my love--of the motive84 of my departure. You shall learn what was the occasion of my return.
"I had wandered from city to city during my term of exile--consumed by hopeless passion--with little that could amuse me, though surrounded by a thousand objects of interest to others, and only rendering110 life endurable by severest study or most active exertion111. My steps conducted me to Bordeaux;--there I made a long halt, enchanted112 by the beauty of the neighboring scenery. My fancy was smitten113 by the situation of a villa114 on the banks of the Garonne, within a few leagues of the city. It was an old chateau115, with fine gardens bordering the blue waters of the river, and commanding a multitude of enchanting116 prospects117. The house, which had in part gone to decay, was inhabited by an aged118 couple, who had formerly119 been servants to an English family, the members of which had thus provided for them on their return to their own country. I inquired the name. Conceive my astonishment to find that this chateau had been the residence of the Mowbrays. This intelligence decided me at once--I took up my abode120 in the house; and a new and unexpected source of solace121 and delight was opened to me, I traced the paths she had traced; occupied the room she had occupied; tended the flowers she had tended; and, on the golden summer evenings, would watch the rapid waters, tinged122 with all the glorious hues123 of sunset, sweeping124 past my feet, and think how she had watched them. Her presence seemed to pervade125 the place. I was now comparatively happy, and, anxious to remain unmolested, wrote home that I was leaving Bordeaux for the Pyrenees, on my way to Spain."
"That account arrived," observed Small.
"One night," continued Ranulph--"'tis now the sixth since the occurrence I am about to relate--I was seated in a bower126 that overlooked the river. It had been a lovely evening--so lovely, that I lingered there, wrapped in the heavenly contemplation of its beauties. I watched each rosy127 tint128 reflected upon the surface of the rapid stream--now fading into yellow--now shining silvery white. I noticed the mystic mingling129 of twilight130 with darkness--of night with day, till the bright current on a sudden became a black mass of waters. I could scarcely discern a leaf--all was darkness--when lo! another change! The moon was up--a flood of light deluged131 all around--the stream was dancing again in reflected radiance, and I still lingering at its brink132.
"I had been musing133 for some moments, with my head resting upon my hand, when, happening to raise my eyes, I beheld a figure immediately before me. I was astonished at the sight, for I had perceived no one approach--had heard no footstep advance towards me, and was satisfied that no one besides myself could be in the garden. The presence of the figure inspired me with an undefinable awe92! and, I can scarce tell why, but a thrilling presentiment134 convinced me that it was a supernatural visitant. Without motion--without life--without substance, it seemed; yet still the outward character of life was there. I started to my feet. God! what did I behold102? The face was turned to me--my father's face! And what an aspect, what a look! Time can never efface135 that terrible expression; it is graven upon my memory--I cannot describe it. It was not anger--it was not pain: it was as if an eternity136 of woe137 were stamped upon its features. It was too dreadful to behold, I would fain have averted138 my gaze--my eyes were fascinated--fixed--I could not withdraw them from the ghastly countenance. I shrank from it, yet stirred not--I could not move a limb. Noiselessly gliding139 towards me, the apparition140 approached. I could not retreat. It stood obstinately141 beside me. I became as one half-dead. The phantom142 shook its head with the deepest despair; and as the word 'Return!' sounded hollowly in my ears, it gradually melted from my view. I cannot tell how I recovered from the swoon into which I fell, but daybreak saw me on my way to England. I am here. On that night--at that same hour, my father died."
"It was, after all, then, a supernatural summons that you received?" said Small.
"Undoubtedly," replied Ranulph.
"Humph!--the coincidence, I own, is sufficiently143 curious," returned Small, musingly144; "but it would not be difficult, I think, to discover a satisfactory explanation of the delusion145."
"There was no delusion," replied Ranulph, coldly; "the figure was as palpable as your own. Can I doubt, when I behold this result? Could any deceit have been practised upon me, at that distance?--the precise time, moreover, agreeing. Did not the phantom bid me return?--I have returned--he is dead. I have gazed upon a being of another world. To doubt were impious, after that look."
"Whatever my opinions may be, my dear young friend," returned Small, gravely, "I will suspend them for the present. You are still greatly excited. Let me advise you to seek some repose146."
"I am easier," replied Ranulph; "but you are right, I will endeavor to snatch a little rest. Something within tells me all is not yet accomplished147. What remains148?--I shudder149 to think of it. I will rejoin you at midnight. I shall myself attend the solemnity. Adieu!"
Ranulph quitted the room. Small sighingly shook his head, and having lighted his pipe, was presently buried in a profundity150 of smoke and metaphysical speculation151.
点击收听单词发音
1 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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2 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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3 commiseration | |
n.怜悯,同情 | |
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4 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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5 apprehensive | |
adj.担心的,恐惧的,善于领会的 | |
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6 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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7 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
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8 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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9 demise | |
n.死亡;v.让渡,遗赠,转让 | |
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10 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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11 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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12 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 | |
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13 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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14 misgiving | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕 | |
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15 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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16 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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17 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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18 revert | |
v.恢复,复归,回到 | |
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19 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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20 promenade | |
n./v.散步 | |
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21 compliance | |
n.顺从;服从;附和;屈从 | |
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22 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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23 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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24 deplored | |
v.悲叹,痛惜,强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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26 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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27 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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28 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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29 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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30 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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31 divest | |
v.脱去,剥除 | |
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32 conversational | |
adj.对话的,会话的 | |
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33 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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34 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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35 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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36 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37 likeness | |
n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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38 subsisted | |
v.(靠很少的钱或食物)维持生活,生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39 affinity | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
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40 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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41 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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42 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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43 demeanor | |
n.行为;风度 | |
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44 espoused | |
v.(决定)支持,拥护(目标、主张等)( espouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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46 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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47 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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48 lengthened | |
(时间或空间)延长,伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49 adverse | |
adj.不利的;有害的;敌对的,不友好的 | |
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50 conspired | |
密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 ); 搞阴谋; (事件等)巧合; 共同导致 | |
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51 renewal | |
adj.(契约)延期,续订,更新,复活,重来 | |
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52 wed | |
v.娶,嫁,与…结婚 | |
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53 vivacity | |
n.快活,活泼,精神充沛 | |
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54 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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55 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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56 prolixity | |
n.冗长,罗嗦 | |
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57 expatiate | |
v.细说,详述 | |
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58 peremptory | |
adj.紧急的,专横的,断然的 | |
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59 expatiated | |
v.详述,细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60 laconic | |
adj.简洁的;精练的 | |
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61 inclinations | |
倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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62 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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63 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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64 agonized | |
v.使(极度)痛苦,折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 );苦斗;苦苦思索;感到极度痛苦 | |
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65 blighted | |
adj.枯萎的,摧毁的 | |
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66 assenting | |
同意,赞成( assent的现在分词 ) | |
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67 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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68 haughtiness | |
n.傲慢;傲气 | |
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69 anticipations | |
预期( anticipation的名词复数 ); 预测; (信托财产收益的)预支; 预期的事物 | |
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70 variance | |
n.矛盾,不同 | |
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71 recital | |
n.朗诵,独奏会,独唱会 | |
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72 thwarting | |
阻挠( thwart的现在分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
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73 exasperated | |
adj.恼怒的 | |
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74 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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75 stimulants | |
n.兴奋剂( stimulant的名词复数 );含兴奋剂的饮料;刺激物;激励物 | |
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76 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77 dormant | |
adj.暂停活动的;休眠的;潜伏的 | |
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78 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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79 remonstrate | |
v.抗议,规劝 | |
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80 entreaties | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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81 entailed | |
使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 ); 需要; 限定继承; 使必需 | |
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82 entail | |
vt.使承担,使成为必要,需要 | |
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83 bridle | |
n.笼头,束缚;vt.抑制,约束;动怒 | |
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84 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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85 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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86 inexplicable | |
adj.无法解释的,难理解的 | |
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87 imperative | |
n.命令,需要;规则;祈使语气;adj.强制的;紧急的 | |
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88 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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89 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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90 sundered | |
v.隔开,分开( sunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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92 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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93 precepts | |
n.规诫,戒律,箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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94 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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95 remonstrances | |
n.抱怨,抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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96 intemperate | |
adj.无节制的,放纵的 | |
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97 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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98 expiration | |
n.终结,期满,呼气,呼出物 | |
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99 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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100 accede | |
v.应允,同意 | |
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101 beseech | |
v.祈求,恳求 | |
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102 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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103 beholding | |
v.看,注视( behold的现在分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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104 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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105 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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106 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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107 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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108 defer | |
vt.推迟,拖延;vi.(to)遵从,听从,服从 | |
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109 allay | |
v.消除,减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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110 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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111 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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112 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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113 smitten | |
猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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114 villa | |
n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
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115 chateau | |
n.城堡,别墅 | |
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116 enchanting | |
a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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117 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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118 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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119 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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120 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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121 solace | |
n.安慰;v.使快乐;vt.安慰(物),缓和 | |
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122 tinged | |
v.(使)发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123 hues | |
色彩( hue的名词复数 ); 色调; 信仰; 观点 | |
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124 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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125 pervade | |
v.弥漫,遍及,充满,渗透,漫延 | |
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126 bower | |
n.凉亭,树荫下凉快之处;闺房;v.荫蔽 | |
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127 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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128 tint | |
n.淡色,浅色;染发剂;vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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129 mingling | |
adj.混合的 | |
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130 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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131 deluged | |
v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 );淹没;被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没;穷于应付 | |
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132 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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133 musing | |
n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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134 presentiment | |
n.预感,预觉 | |
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135 efface | |
v.擦掉,抹去 | |
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136 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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137 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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138 averted | |
防止,避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 ); 转移 | |
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139 gliding | |
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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140 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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141 obstinately | |
ad.固执地,顽固地 | |
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142 phantom | |
n.幻影,虚位,幽灵;adj.错觉的,幻影的,幽灵的 | |
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143 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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144 musingly | |
adv.沉思地,冥想地 | |
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145 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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146 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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147 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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148 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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149 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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150 profundity | |
n.渊博;深奥,深刻 | |
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151 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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