I've call'd her like the ear of Dionysius;
Of his poor bondsmen—Even so doth Martha
Drink up, for her own purpose, all that passes,
Or is supposed to pass, in this wide city—
Shall call on her to do so; and retail it
For your advantage, so that you can make
Your profit jump with hers.
The Conspiracy10.
We must now introduce to the reader's acquaintance another character, busy and important far beyond her ostensible11 situation in society—in a word, Dame12 Ursula Suddlechop, wife of Benjamin Suddlechop, the most renowned13 barber in all Fleet Street. This dame had her own particular merits, the principal part of which was (if her own report could be trusted) an infinite desire to be of service to her fellow-creatures. Leaving to her thin half-starved partner the boast of having the most dexterous14 snap with his fingers of any shaver in London, and the care of a shop where starved apprentices15 flayed16 the faces of those who were boobies enough to trust them, the dame drove a separate and more lucrative17 trade, which yet had so many odd turns and windings18, that it seemed in many respects to contradict itself.
Its highest and most important duties were of a very secret and confidential19 nature, and Dame Ursula Suddlechop was never known to betray any transaction intrusted to her, unless she had either been indifferently paid for her service, or that some one found it convenient to give her a double douceur to make her disgorge the secret; and these contingencies20 happened in so few cases, that her character for trustiness remained as unimpeached as that for honesty and benevolence21.
In fact, she was a most admirable matron, and could be useful to the impassioned and the frail22 in the rise, progress, and consequences of their passion. She could contrive23 an interview for lovers who could show proper reasons for meeting privately24; she could relieve the frail fair one of the burden of a guilty passion, and perhaps establish the hopeful offspring of unlicensed love as the heir of some family whose love was lawful25, but where an heir had not followed the union. More than this she could do, and had been concerned in deeper and dearer secrets. She had been a pupil of Mrs. Turner, and learned from her the secret of making the yellow starch26, and, it may be, two or three other secrets of more consequence, though perhaps none that went to the criminal extent of those whereof her mistress was accused. But all that was deep and dark in her real character was covered by the show of outward mirth and good-humour, the hearty28 laugh and buxom29 jest with which the dame knew well how to conciliate the elder part of her neighbours, and the many petty arts by which she could recommend herself to the younger, those especially of her own sex.
Dame Ursula was, in appearance, scarce past forty, and her full, but not overgrown form, and still comely30 features, although her person was plumped out, and her face somewhat coloured by good cheer, had a joyous31 expression of gaiety and good-humour, which set off the remains32 of beauty in the wane33. Marriages, births, and christenings were seldom thought to be performed with sufficient ceremony, for a considerable distance round her abode34, unless Dame Ursley, as they called her, was present. She could contrive all sorts of pastimes, games, and jests, which might amuse the large companies which the hospitality of our ancestors assembled together on such occasions, so that her presence was literally35 considered as indispensable in the families of all citizens of ordinary rank, at such joyous periods. So much also was she supposed to know of life and its labyrinths36, that she was the willing confidant of half the loving couples in the vicinity, most of whom used to communicate their secrets to, and receive their counsel from, Dame Ursley. The rich rewarded her services with rings, owches, or gold pieces, which she liked still better; and she very generously gave her assistance to the poor, on the same mixed principles as young practitioners37 in medicine assist them, partly from compassion38, and partly to keep her hand in use.
Dame Ursley's reputation in the city was the greater that her practice had extended beyond Temple Bar, and that she had acquaintances, nay39, patrons and patronesses, among the quality, whose rank, as their members were much fewer, and the prospect40 of approaching the courtly sphere much more difficult, bore a degree of consequence unknown to the present day, when the toe of the citizen presses so close on the courtier's heel. Dame Ursley maintained her intercourse41 with this superior rank of customers, partly by driving a small trade in perfumes, essences, pomades, head-gears from France, dishes or ornaments42 from China, then already beginning to be fashionable; not to mention drugs of various descriptions, chiefly for the use of the ladies, and partly by other services, more or less connected with the esoteric branches of her profession heretofore alluded44 to.
Possessing such and so many various modes of thriving, Dame Ursley was nevertheless so poor, that she might probably have mended her own circumstances, as well as her husband's, if she had renounced45 them all, and set herself quietly down to the care of her own household, and to assist Benjamin in the concerns of his trade. But Ursula was luxurious46 and genial47 in her habits, and could no more have endured the stinted48 economy of Benjamin's board, than she could have reconciled herself to the bald chat of his conversation.
It was on the evening of the day on which Lord Nigel Olifaunt dined with the wealthy goldsmith, that we must introduce Ursula Suddlechop upon the stage. She had that morning made a long tour to Westminster, was fatigued49, and had assumed a certain large elbow-chair, rendered smooth by frequent use, placed on one side of her chimney, in which there was lit a small but bright fire. Here she observed, betwixt sleeping and waking, the simmering of a pot of well-spiced ale, on the brown surface of which bobbed a small crab-apple, sufficiently50 roasted, while a little mulatto girl watched, still more attentively51, the process of dressing52 a veal53 sweetbread, in a silver stewpan which occupied the other side of the chimney. With these viands54, doubtless, Dame Ursula proposed concluding the well spent day, of which she reckoned the labour over, and the rest at her own command. She was deceived, however; for just as the ale, or, to speak technically55, the lamb's-wool, was fitted for drinking, and the little dingy56 maiden57 intimated that the sweetbread was ready to be eaten, the thin cracked voice of Benjamin was heard from the bottom of the stairs.
“Why, Dame Ursley—why, wife, I say—why, dame—why, love, you are wanted more than a strop for a blunt razor—why, dame—”
“I would some one would draw a razor across thy windpipe, thou bawling58 ass7!” said the dame to herself, in the first moment of irritation59 against her clamorous60 helpmate; and then called aloud,—“Why, what is the matter, Master Suddlechop? I am just going to slip into bed; I have been daggled to and fro the whole day.”
“Nay, sweetheart, it is not me,” said the patient Benjamin, “but the Scots laundry-maid from neighbour Ramsay's, who must speak with you incontinent.”
At the word sweetheart, Dame Ursley cast a wistful look at the mess which was stewed61 to a second in the stewpan, and then replied, with a sigh,—“Bid Scots Jenny come up, Master Suddlechop. I shall be very happy to hear what she has to say;” then added in a lower tone, “and I hope she will go to the devil in the flame of a tar-barrel, like many a Scots witch before her!”
The Scots laundress entered accordingly, and having heard nothing of the last kind wish of Dame Suddlechop, made her reverence62 with considerable respect, and said, her young mistress had returned home unwell, and wished to see her neighbour, Dame Ursley, directly.
“And why will it not do to-morrow, Jenny, my good woman?” said Dame Ursley; “for I have been as far as Whitehall to-day already, and I am well-nigh worn off my feet, my good woman.”
“Aweel!” answered Jenny, with great composure, “and if that sae be sae, I maun take the langer tramp mysell, and maun gae down the waterside for auld63 Mother Redcap, at the Hungerford Stairs, that deals in comforting young creatures, e'en as you do yoursell, hinny; for ane o' ye the bairn maun see before she sleeps, and that's a' that I ken64 on't.”
So saying, the old emissary, without farther entreaty65, turned on her heel, and was about to retreat, when Dame Ursley exclaimed,—“No, no—if the sweet child, your mistress, has any necessary occasion for good advice and kind tendance, you need not go to Mother Redcap, Janet. She may do very well for skippers' wives, chandlers' daughters, and such like; but nobody shall wait on pretty Mistress Margaret, the daughter of his most Sacred Majesty's horologer, excepting and saving myself. And so I will but take my chopins and my cloak, and put on my muffler, and cross the street to neighbour Ramsay's in an instant. But tell me yourself, good Jenny, are you not something tired of your young lady's frolics and change of mind twenty times a-day?”
“In troth, not I,” said the patient drudge66, “unless it may be when she is a wee fashious about washing her laces; but I have been her keeper since she was a bairn, neighbour Suddlechop, and that makes a difference.”
“Ay,” said Dame Ursley, still busied putting on additional defences against the night air; “and you know for certain that she has two hundred pounds a-year in good land, at her own free disposal?”
“Left by her grandmother, heaven rest her soul!” said the Scotswoman; “and to a daintier lassie she could not have bequeathed it.”
“Very true, very true, mistress; for, with all her little whims67, I have always said Mistress Margaret Ramsay was the prettiest girl in the ward27; and, Jenny, I warrant the poor child has had no supper?”
Jenny could not say but it was the case, for, her master being out, the twa 'prentice lads had gone out after shutting shop, to fetch them home, and she and the other maid had gone out to Sandy MacGivan's, to see a friend frae Scotland.
“As was very natural, Mrs. Janet,” said Dame Ursley, who found her interest in assenting68 to all sorts of propositions from all sorts of persons.
“And so the fire went out, too,”—said Jenny.
“Which was the most natural of the whole,” said Dame Suddlechop; “and so, to cut the matter short, Jenny, I'll carry over the little bit of supper that I was going to eat. For dinner I have tasted none, and it may be my young pretty Mistress Marget will eat a morsel69 with me; for it is mere70 emptiness, Mistress Jenny, that often puts these fancies of illness into young folk's heads.” So saying, she put the silver posset-cup with the ale into Jenny's hands and assuming her mantle71 with the alacrity72 of one determined73 to sacrifice inclination74 to duty, she hid the stewpan under its folds, and commanded Wilsa, the little mulatto girl, to light them across the street.
“Whither away, so late?” said the barber, whom they passed seated with his starveling boys round a mess of stockfish and parsnips, in the shop below.
“If I were to tell you, Gaffer,” said the dame, with most contemptuous coolness, “I do not think you could do my errand, so I will e'en keep it to myself.” Benjamin was too much accustomed to his wife's independent mode of conduct, to pursue his inquiry75 farther; nor did the dame tarry for farther question, but marched out at the door, telling the eldest76 of the boys “to sit up till her return, and look to the house the whilst.”
The night was dark and rainy, and although the distance betwixt the two shops was short, it allowed Dame Ursley leisure enough, while she strode along with high-tucked petticoats, to embitter77 it by the following grumbling78 reflections—“I wonder what I have done, that I must needs trudge79 at every old beldam's bidding, and every young minx's maggot! I have been marched from Temple Bar to Whitechapel, on the matter of a pinmaker's wife having pricked80 her fingers—marry, her husband that made the weapon might have salved the wound.—And here is this fantastic ape, pretty Mistress Marget, forsooth—such a beauty as I could make of a Dutch doll, and as fantastic, and humorous, and conceited81, as if she were a duchess. I have seen her in the same day as changeful as a marmozet and as stubborn as a mule82. I should like to know whether her little conceited noddle, or her father's old crazy calculating jolter-pate, breeds most whimsies83. But then there's that two hundred pounds a-year in dirty land, and the father is held a close chuff, though a fanciful—he is our landlord besides, and she has begged a late day from him for our rent; so, God help me, I must be comfortable—besides, the little capricious devil is my only key to get at Master George Heriot's secret, and it concerns my character to find that out; and so, ANDIAMOS, as the lingua franca hath it.”
Thus pondering, she moved forward with hasty strides until she arrived at the watchmaker's habitation. The attendant admitted them by means of a pass-key. Onward84 glided85 Dame Ursula, now in glimmer86 and now in gloom, not like the lovely Lady Cristabelle through Gothic sculpture and ancient armour87, but creeping and stumbling amongst relics88 of old machines, and models of new inventions in various branches of mechanics with which wrecks89 of useless ingenuity90, either in a broken or half-finished shape, the apartment of the fanciful though ingenious mechanist was continually lumbered91.
At length they attained92, by a very narrow staircase, pretty Mistress Margaret's apartment, where she, the cynosure93 of the eyes of every bold young bachelor in Fleet Street, sat in a posture94 which hovered95 between the discontented and the disconsolate96. For her pretty back and shoulders were rounded into a curve, her round and dimpled chin reposed97 in the hollow of her little palm, while the fingers were folded over her mouth; her elbow rested on a table, and her eyes seemed fixed98 upon the dying charcoal99, which was expiring in a small grate. She scarce turned her head when Dame Ursula entered, and when the presence of that estimable matron was more precisely100 announced in words by the old Scotswoman, Mistress Margaret, without changing her posture, muttered some sort of answer that was wholly unintelligible101.
“Go your ways down to the kitchen with Wilsa, good Mistress Jenny,” said Dame Ursula, who was used to all sorts of freaks, on the part of her patients or clients, whichever they might be termed; “put the stewpan and the porringer by the fireside, and go down below—I must speak to my pretty love, Mistress Margaret, by myself—and there is not a bachelor betwixt this and Bow but will envy me the privilege.”
The attendants retired102 as directed, and Dame Ursula, having availed herself of the embers of charcoal, to place her stewpan to the best advantage, drew herself as close as she could to her patient, and began in a low, soothing104, and confidential tone of voice, to inquire what ailed103 her pretty flower of neighbours.
“Nothing, dame,” said Margaret somewhat pettishly105, and changing her posture so as rather to turn her back upon the kind inquirer.
“Nothing, lady-bird!” answered Dame Suddlechop; “and do you use to send for your friends out of bed at this hour for nothing?”
“It was not I who sent for you, dame,” replied the malecontent maiden.
“And who was it, then?” said Ursula; “for if I had not been sent for, I had not been here at this time of night, I promise you!”
“It was the old Scotch106 fool Jenny, who did it out of her own head, I suppose,” said Margaret; “for she has been stunning107 me these two hours about you and Mother Redcap.”
“Me and Mother Redcap!” said Dame Ursula, “an old fool indeed, that couples folk up so.—But come, come, my sweet little neighbour, Jenny is no such fool after all; she knows young folks want more and better advice than her own, and she knows, too, where to find it for them; so you must take heart of grace, my pretty maiden, and tell me what you are moping about, and then let Dame Ursula alone for finding out a cure.”
“Nay, an ye be so wise, Mother Ursula,” replied the girl, “you may guess what I ail9 without my telling you.”
“Ay, ay, child,” answered the complaisant108 matron, “no one can play better than I at the good old game of What is my thought like? Now I'll warrant that little head of yours is running on a new head-tire, a foot higher than those our city dames109 wear—or you are all for a trip to Islington or Ware110, and your father is cross and will not consent—or——”
“Or you are an old fool, Dame Suddlechop,” said Margaret, peevishly111, “and must needs trouble yourself about matters you know nothing of.”
“Fool as much as you will, mistress,” said Dame Ursula, offended in her turn, “but not so very many years older than yourself, mistress.”
“Oh! we are angry, are we?” said the beauty; “and pray, Madam Ursula, how come you, that are not so many years older than me, to talk about such nonsense to me, who am so many years younger, and who yet have too much sense to care about head-gears and Islington?”
“Well, well, young mistress,” said the sage112 counsellor, rising, “I perceive I can be of no use here; and methinks, since you know your own matters so much better than other people do, you might dispense113 with disturbing folks at midnight to ask their advice.”
“Why, now you are angry, mother,” said Margaret, detaining her; “this comes of your coming out at eventide without eating your supper—I never heard you utter a cross word after you had finished your little morsel.—Here, Janet, a trencher and salt for Dame Ursula;—and what have you in that porringer, dame?—Filthy clammy ale, as I would live—Let Janet fling it out of the window, or keep it for my father's morning draught114; and she shall bring you the pottle of sack that was set ready for him—good man, he will never find out the difference, for ale will wash down his dusty calculations quite as well as wine.”
“Truly, sweetheart, I am of your opinion,” said Dame Ursula, whose temporary displeasure vanished at once before these preparations for good cheer; and so, settling herself on the great easy-chair, with a three-legged table before her, she began to dispatch, with good appetite, the little delicate dish which she had prepared for herself. She did not, however, fail in the duties of civility, and earnestly, but in vain, pressed Mistress Margaret to partake her dainties. The damsel declined the invitation.
“At least pledge me in a glass of sack,” said Dame Ursula; “I have heard my grandame say, that before the gospellers came in, the old Catholic father confessors and their penitents115 always had a cup of sack together before confession117; and you are my penitent116.”
“I shall drink no sack, I am sure,” said Margaret; “and I told you before, that if you cannot find out what ails118 me, I shall never have the heart to tell it.”
So saying, she turned away from Dame Ursula once more, and resumed her musing119 posture, with her hand on her elbow, and her back, at least one shoulder, turned towards her confidant.
“Nay, then,” said Dame Ursula, “I must exert my skill in good earnest.—You must give me this pretty hand, and I will tell you by palmistry, as well as any gipsy of them all, what foot it is you halt upon.”
“As if I halted on any foot at all,” said Margaret, something scornfully, but yielding her left hand to Ursula, and continuing at the same time her averted120 position.
“I see brave lines here,” said Ursula, “and not ill to read neither—pleasure and wealth, and merry nights and late mornings to my Beauty, and such an equipage as shall shake Whitehall. O, have I touched you there?—and smile you now, my pretty one?—for why should not he be Lord Mayor, and go to Court in his gilded121 caroch, as others have done before him?”
“Lord Mayor? pshaw!” replied Margaret.
“And why pshaw at my Lord Mayor, sweetheart? or perhaps you pshaw at my prophecy; but there is a cross in every one's line of life as well as in yours, darling. And what though I see a 'prentice's flat cap in this pretty palm, yet there is a sparking black eye under it, hath not its match in the Ward of Farringdon-Without.”
“Whom do you mean, dame?” said Margaret coldly.
“Whom should I mean,” said Dame Ursula, “but the prince of 'prentices, and king of good company, Jenkin Vincent?”
“Out, woman—Jenkin Vincent?—a clown—a Cockney!” exclaimed the indignant damsel.
“Ay, sets the wind in that quarter, Beauty!” quoth the dame; “why, it has changed something since we spoke122 together last, for then I would have sworn it blew fairer for poor Jin Vin; and the poor lad dotes on you too, and would rather see your eyes than the first glimpse of the sun on the great holiday on May-day.”
“I would my eyes had the power of the sun to blind his, then,” said Margaret, “to teach the drudge his place.”
“Nay,” said Dame Ursula, “there be some who say that Frank Tunstall is as proper a lad as Jin Vin, and of surety he is third cousin to a knighthood, and come of a good house; and so mayhap you may be for northward123 ho!”
“Maybe I may”—answered Margaret, “but not with my father's 'prentice—I thank you, Dame Ursula.”
“Nay, then, the devil may guess your thoughts for me,” said Dame Ursula; “this comes of trying to shoe a filly that is eternally wincing124 and shifting ground!”
“Hear me, then,” said Margaret, “and mind what I say.—This day I dined abroad—”
“I can tell you where,” answered her counsellor,—“with your godfather the rich goldsmith—ay, you see I know something—nay, I could tell you, as I would, with whom, too.”
“Indeed!” said Margaret, turning suddenly round with an accent of strong surprise, and colouring up to the eyes.
“With old Sir Mungo Malagrowther,” said the oracular dame,—“he was trimmed in my Benjamin's shop in his way to the city.”
“Indeed you say true, my dear,” replied the confidant,—“it is a shame to him to be out of Saint Pancras's charnel-house, for I know no other place he is fit for, the foul-mouthed old railer. He said to my husband—”
“Somewhat which signifies nothing to our purpose, I dare say,” interrupted Margaret. “I must speak, then.—There dined with us a nobleman—”
“A nobleman! the maiden's mad!” said Dame Ursula.
“There dined with us, I say,” continued Margaret, without regarding the interruption, “a nobleman—a Scottish nobleman.”
“Now Our Lady keep her!” said the confidant, “she is quite frantic126!—heard ever any one of a watchmaker's daughter falling in love with a nobleman—and a Scots nobleman, to make the matter complete, who are all as proud as Lucifer, and as poor as Job?—A Scots nobleman, quotha? I had lief you told me of a Jew pedlar. I would have you think how all this is to end, pretty one, before you jump in the dark.”
“That is nothing to you, Ursula—it is your assistance,” said Mistress Margaret, “and not your advice, that I am desirous to have, and you know I can make it worth your while.”
“O, it is not for the sake of lucre127, Mistress Margaret,” answered the obliging dame; “but truly I would have you listen to some advice—bethink you of your own condition.”
“My father's calling is mechanical,” said Margaret, “but our blood is not so. I have heard my father say that we are descended128, at a distance indeed, from the great Earls of Dalwolsey.” [Footnote: The head of the ancient and distinguished129 house of Ramsay, and to whom, as their chief, the individuals of that name look as their origin and source of gentry130. Allan Ramsay, the pastoral poet, in the same manner, makes
“Dalhousie of an auld descent,
“Ay, ay,” said Dame Ursula; “even so—I never knew a Scot of you but was descended, as ye call it, from some great house or other; and a piteous descent it often is—and as for the distance you speak of, it is so great as to put you out of sight of each other. Yet do not toss your pretty head so scornfully, but tell me the name of this lordly northern gallant131, and we will try what can be done in the matter.”
“It is Lord Glenvarloch, whom they call Lord Nigel Olifaunt,” said Margaret in a low voice, and turning away to hide her blushes.
“Marry, Heaven forefend!” exclaimed Dame Suddlechop; “this is the very devil, and something worse!”
“Why, know ye not,” said the dame, “what powerful enemies he has at Court? know ye not—But blisters134 on my tongue, it runs too fast for my wit—enough to say, that you had better make your bridal-bed under a falling house, than think of young Glenvarloch.”
“He IS unfortunate then?” said Margaret; “I knew it—I divined it—there was sorrow in his voice when he said even what was gay—there was a touch of misfortune in his melancholy135 smile—he had not thus clung to my thoughts had I seen him in all the mid-day glare of prosperity.”
“Romances have cracked her brain!” said Dame Ursula; “she is a castaway girl—utterly distraught—loves a Scots lord—and likes him the better for being unfortunate! Well, mistress, I am sorry this is a matter I cannot aid you in—it goes against my conscience, and it is an affair above my condition, and beyond my management;—but I will keep your counsel.”
“You will not be so base as to desert me, after having drawn136 my secret from me?” said Margaret, indignantly; “if you do, I know how to have my revenge; and if you do not, I will reward you well. Remember the house your husband dwells in is my father's property.”
“I remember it but too well, Mistress Margaret,” said Ursula, after a moment's reflection, “and I would serve you in any thing in my condition; but to meddle137 with such high matters—I shall never forget poor Mistress Turner, my honoured patroness, peace be with her!—she had the ill-luck to meddle in the matter of Somerset and Overbury, and so the great earl and his lady slipt their necks out of the collar, and left her and some half-dozen others to suffer in their stead. I shall never forget the sight of her standing138 on the scaffold with the ruff round her pretty neck, all done up with the yellow starch which I had so often helped her to make, and that was so soon to give place to a rough hempen139 cord. Such a sight, sweetheart, will make one loath140 to meddle with matters that are too hot or heavy for their handling.”
“Out, you fool!” answered Mistress Margaret; “am I one to speak to you about such criminal practices as that wretch141 died for? All I desire of you is, to get me precise knowledge of what affair brings this young nobleman to Court.”
“And when you have his secret,” said Ursula, “what will it avail you, sweetheart?—and yet I would do your errand, if you could do as much for me.”
“And what is it you would have of me?” said Mistress Margaret.
“What you have been angry with me for asking before,” answered Dame Ursula. “I want to have some light about the story of your godfather's ghost, that is only seen at prayers.”
“Not for the world,” said Mistress Margaret, “will I be a spy on my kind godfather's secrets—No, Ursula—that I will never pry142 into, which he desires to keep hidden. But thou knowest that I have a fortune, of my own, which must at no distant day come under my own management—think of some other recompense.”
“Ay, that I well know,” said the counsellor—“it is that two hundred per year, with your father's indulgence, that makes you so wilful143, sweetheart.”
“It may be so,”—said Margaret Ramsay; “meanwhile, do you serve me truly, and here is a ring of value in pledge, that when my fortune is in my own hand, I will redeem144 the token with fifty broad pieces of gold.”
“Fifty broad pieces of gold!” repeated the dame; “and this ring, which is a right fair one, in token you fail not of your word!—Well, sweetheart, if I must put my throat in peril145, I am sure I cannot risk it for a friend more generous than you; and I would not think of more than the pleasure of serving you, only Benjamin gets more idle every day, and our family——”
“Say no more of it,” said Margaret; “we understand each other. And now, tell me what you know of this young man's affairs, which made you so unwilling146 to meddle with them?”
“Of that I can say no great matter as yet,” answered Dame Ursula; “only I know, the most powerful among his own countrymen are against him, and also the most powerful at the Court here. But I will learn more of it; for it will be a dim print that I will not read for your sake, pretty Mistress Margaret. Know you where this gallant dwells?”
“I heard by accident,” said Margaret, as if ashamed of the minute particularity of her memory upon such an occasion,—“he lodges147, I think—at one Christie's—if I mistake not—at Paul's Wharf—a ship-chandler's.”
“A proper lodging148 for a young baron149!—Well, but cheer you up, Mistress Margaret—If he has come up a caterpillar150, like some of his countrymen, he may cast his slough151 like them, and come out a butterfly.—So I drink good-night, and sweet dreams to you, in another parting cup of sack; and you shall hear tidings of me within four-and-twenty hours. And, once more, I commend you to your pillow, my pearl of pearls, and Marguerite of Marguerites!”
So saying, she kissed the reluctant cheek of her young friend, or patroness, and took her departure with the light and stealthy pace of one accustomed to accommodate her footsteps to the purposes of dispatch and secrecy152.
Margaret Ramsay looked after her for some time, in anxious silence. “I did ill,” she at length murmured, “to let her wring153 this out of me; but she is artful, bold and serviceable—and I think faithful—or, if not, she will be true at least to her interest, and that I can command. I would I had not spoken, however—I have begun a hopeless work. For what has he said to me, to warrant my meddling154 in his fortunes?—Nothing but words of the most ordinary import—mere table-talk, and terms of course. Yet who knows”—she said, and then broke off, looking at the glass the while, which, as it reflected back a face of great beauty, probably suggested to her mind a more favourable155 conclusion of the sentence than she cared to trust her tongue withal.
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1 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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2 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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3 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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4 dungeon | |
n.地牢,土牢 | |
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5 groans | |
n.呻吟,叹息( groan的名词复数 );呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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6 murmurs | |
n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 );低语声;怨言;嘀咕 | |
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7 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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8 retail | |
v./n.零售;adv.以零售价格 | |
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9 ail | |
v.生病,折磨,苦恼 | |
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10 conspiracy | |
n.阴谋,密谋,共谋 | |
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11 ostensible | |
adj.(指理由)表面的,假装的 | |
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12 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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13 renowned | |
adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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14 dexterous | |
adj.灵敏的;灵巧的 | |
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15 apprentices | |
学徒,徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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16 flayed | |
v.痛打( flay的过去式和过去分词 );把…打得皮开肉绽;剥(通常指动物)的皮;严厉批评 | |
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17 lucrative | |
adj.赚钱的,可获利的 | |
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18 windings | |
(道路、河流等)蜿蜒的,弯曲的( winding的名词复数 ); 缠绕( wind的现在分词 ); 卷绕; 转动(把手) | |
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19 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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20 contingencies | |
n.偶然发生的事故,意外事故( contingency的名词复数 );以备万一 | |
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21 benevolence | |
n.慈悲,捐助 | |
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22 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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23 contrive | |
vt.谋划,策划;设法做到;设计,想出 | |
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24 privately | |
adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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25 lawful | |
adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
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26 starch | |
n.淀粉;vt.给...上浆 | |
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27 ward | |
n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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28 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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29 buxom | |
adj.(妇女)丰满的,有健康美的 | |
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30 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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31 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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32 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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33 wane | |
n.衰微,亏缺,变弱;v.变小,亏缺,呈下弦 | |
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34 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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35 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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36 labyrinths | |
迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 ); (文字,建筑)错综复杂的 | |
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37 practitioners | |
n.习艺者,实习者( practitioner的名词复数 );从业者(尤指医师) | |
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38 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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39 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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40 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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41 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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42 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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43 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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44 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45 renounced | |
v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 );宣布放弃;宣布与…决裂;宣布摒弃 | |
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46 luxurious | |
adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
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47 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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48 stinted | |
v.限制,节省(stint的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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49 fatigued | |
adj. 疲乏的 | |
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50 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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51 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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52 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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53 veal | |
n.小牛肉 | |
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54 viands | |
n.食品,食物 | |
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55 technically | |
adv.专门地,技术上地 | |
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56 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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57 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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58 bawling | |
v.大叫,大喊( bawl的现在分词 );放声大哭;大声叫出;叫卖(货物) | |
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59 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
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60 clamorous | |
adj.吵闹的,喧哗的 | |
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61 stewed | |
adj.焦虑不安的,烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 );煨;思考;担忧 | |
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62 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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63 auld | |
adj.老的,旧的 | |
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64 ken | |
n.视野,知识领域 | |
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65 entreaty | |
n.恳求,哀求 | |
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66 drudge | |
n.劳碌的人;v.做苦工,操劳 | |
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67 WHIMS | |
虚妄,禅病 | |
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68 assenting | |
同意,赞成( assent的现在分词 ) | |
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69 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
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70 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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71 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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72 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
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73 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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74 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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75 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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76 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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77 embitter | |
v.使苦;激怒 | |
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78 grumbling | |
adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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79 trudge | |
v.步履艰难地走;n.跋涉,费力艰难的步行 | |
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80 pricked | |
刺,扎,戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 ); 刺伤; 刺痛; 使剧痛 | |
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81 conceited | |
adj.自负的,骄傲自满的 | |
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82 mule | |
n.骡子,杂种,执拗的人 | |
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83 whimsies | |
n.怪念头( whimsy的名词复数 );异想天开;怪脾气;与众不同的幽默感 | |
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84 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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85 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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86 glimmer | |
v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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87 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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88 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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89 wrecks | |
n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 );(事故中)遭严重毁坏的汽车(或飞机等);(身体或精神上)受到严重损伤的人;状况非常糟糕的车辆(或建筑物等)v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 );使(船舶)失事,使遇难,使下沉 | |
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90 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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91 lumbered | |
砍伐(lumber的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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92 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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93 cynosure | |
n.焦点 | |
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94 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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95 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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96 disconsolate | |
adj.忧郁的,不快的 | |
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97 reposed | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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99 charcoal | |
n.炭,木炭,生物炭 | |
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100 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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101 unintelligible | |
adj.无法了解的,难解的,莫明其妙的 | |
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102 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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103 ailed | |
v.生病( ail的过去式和过去分词 );感到不舒服;处境困难;境况不佳 | |
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104 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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105 pettishly | |
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106 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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107 stunning | |
adj.极好的;使人晕倒的 | |
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108 complaisant | |
adj.顺从的,讨好的 | |
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109 dames | |
n.(在英国)夫人(一种封号),夫人(爵士妻子的称号)( dame的名词复数 );女人 | |
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110 ware | |
n.(常用复数)商品,货物 | |
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111 peevishly | |
adv.暴躁地 | |
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112 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
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113 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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114 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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115 penitents | |
n.后悔者( penitent的名词复数 );忏悔者 | |
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116 penitent | |
adj.后悔的;n.后悔者;忏悔者 | |
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117 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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118 ails | |
v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 );感到不舒服;处境困难;境况不佳 | |
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119 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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120 averted | |
防止,避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 ); 转移 | |
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121 gilded | |
a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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122 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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123 northward | |
adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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124 wincing | |
赶紧避开,畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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125 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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126 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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127 lucre | |
n.金钱,财富 | |
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128 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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129 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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130 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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131 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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132 vivacity | |
n.快活,活泼,精神充沛 | |
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133 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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134 blisters | |
n.水疱( blister的名词复数 );水肿;气泡 | |
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135 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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136 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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137 meddle | |
v.干预,干涉,插手 | |
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138 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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139 hempen | |
adj. 大麻制的, 大麻的 | |
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140 loath | |
adj.不愿意的;勉强的 | |
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141 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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142 pry | |
vi.窥(刺)探,打听;vt.撬动(开,起) | |
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143 wilful | |
adj.任性的,故意的 | |
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144 redeem | |
v.买回,赎回,挽回,恢复,履行(诺言等) | |
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145 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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146 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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147 lodges | |
v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 );暂住;埋入;(权利、权威等)归属 | |
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148 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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149 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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150 caterpillar | |
n.毛虫,蝴蝶的幼虫 | |
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151 slough | |
v.蜕皮,脱落,抛弃 | |
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152 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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153 wring | |
n.扭绞;v.拧,绞出,扭 | |
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154 meddling | |
v.干涉,干预(他人事务)( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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155 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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