“Boat, sir?”
“No, thanky, my lad. I want old Stapleton—is he here?”
“No, sir, but this is his boat.”
“Humph, can’t he take me down?”
“No, sir; but I can, if you please.”
“Well, then, be quick.”
A sedate-looking gentleman, about forty-five years of age, stepped into the boat, and in a few seconds I was in the stream, shooting the bridge with the ebbing6 tide.
“What’s the matter with deaf Stapleton?”
“Nothing, sir; but he’s getting old, and has made the boat over to me.”
“Are you his son?”
“No, sir, his ’prentice.”
“Humph! sorry deaf Stapleton’s gone.”
“I can be as deaf as he, sir, if you wish it.”
“Humph!”
The gentleman said no more at the time, and I pulled down the river in silence; but in a few minutes he began to move his hands up and down, and his lips, as if he was in conversation. Gradually his action increased, and words were uttered. At last he broke out:— “It is with this conviction, I may say important conviction, Mr Speaker, that I now deliver my sentiments to the Commons’ house of Parliament, trusting that no honourable7 member will decide until he has fully8 weighed the importance of the arguments which I have submitted to his judgment9.” He then stopped, as if aware that I was present, and looked at me; but, prepared as I was, there was nothing in my countenance10 which exhibited the least sign of merriment; or, indeed, of having paid any attention to what he had been saying, for I looked carelessly to the right and left at the banks of the river. He again entered into conversation.
“Have you been long on the river?”
“Born on it, sir.”
“How do you like the profession of a waterman?”
“Very well, sir; the great point is to have regular customers.”
“And how do you gain them?”
“By holding my tongue; keeping their counsel and my own.”
“Very good answer, my boy. People who have much to do cannot afford to loose even their time on the water. Just now I was preparing and thinking over my speech in the House of Commons.”
“So I supposed, sir, and I think the river is a very good place for it, as no one can overhear you except the person whose services you have hired—and you need not mind him.”
“Very true, my lad; but that’s why I liked deaf Stapleton: he could not hear a word.”
“But sir, if you’ve no objection, I like to hear it very much; and you may be sure that I should never say anything about it, if you will trust me.”
“Do you my lad? well, then I’ll just try it over again. You shall be the speaker—mind you hold your tongue, and don’t interrupt me.”
The gentleman then began: “Mr Speaker, I should not have ventured to address the House at this late hour, did I not consider that the importance of the question now before it is—so important—no, that won’t do—did I not consider that the question now before it is of that, I may say, paramount12 importance as to call forth13 the best energies of every man who is a well-wisher to his country. With this conviction, Mr Speaker, humble14 individual as I am, I feel it my duty, I may say, my bounden duty, to deliver my sentiments upon the subject. The papers which I now hold in my hand, Mr Speaker, and to which I shall soon have to call the attention of the House, will, I trust, fully establish—”
“I say, waterman, be you taking that chap to Bedlam15?” cried a shrill16 female voice close to us. The speech was stopped; we looked up, and perceived a wherry with two females passing close to us. A shout of laughter followed the observation, and my fare looked very much confused.
I had often read the papers in the public-house, and remembering what was usual in the house in case of interruption, called out, “Order, order!” This made the gentleman laugh, and as the other wherry was now far off, he recommenced his oration17, with which I shall not trouble my readers. It was a very fair speech, I have no doubt, but I forget what it was about.
I landed him at Westminster Bridge, and received treble my fare. “Recollect,” said he, on paying me, “that I shall look out for you when I come again, which I do every Monday morning, and sometimes oftener. What’s your name?”
“Jacob, sir.”
“Very well; good morning, my lad.”
This gentleman became a very regular and excellent customer, and we used to have a great deal of conversation, independent of debating, in the wherry; and I must acknowledge that I received from him not only plenty of money, but a great deal of valuable information.
A few days after this I had an opportunity of ascertaining18 how far Mary would keep her promise. I was plying19 at the river side as usual, when old Stapleton came up to me, with his pipe in his mouth, and said, “Jacob, there be that old gentleman up at our house with Mary. Now, I sees a great deal, but I says nothing. Mary will be her mother over again, that’s sartain. Suppose you go and see your old teacher, and leave me to look a’ter a customer. I begin to feel as if handling the sculls a little would be of sarvice to me. We all think idleness be a very pleasant thing when we’re obliged to work but when we are idle, then we feel that a little work be just as agreeable—that’s human natur’.”
I thought that Mary was very likely to forget all her good resolutions, from her ardent20 love of admiration21, and I was determined22 to go and break up the conference. I, therefore, left the boat to Stapleton, and hastened to the house. I did not like to play the part of an eavesdropper23, and was quite undecided how I should act; whether to go in at once or not, when, as I passed under the window, which was open, I heard very plainly the conversation that was going on. I stopped in the street, and listened to the Dominie in continuation—“But, fair maiden24, omnia vincit amor—here am I, Dominie Dobbs, who have long passed the grand climacteric, and can already muster25 three score years—who have authority over seventy boys, being Magister Princeps et Dux of Brentford Grammar School—who have affectioned only the sciences, and communed only with the classics—who have ever turned a deaf ear to the allurements26 of thy sex, and ever hardened my heart to thy fascination—here am I, even I, Dominie Dobbs, suing at the feet of a maiden who had barely ripened27 into womanhood, who knoweth not to read or write, and whose father earns his bread by manual labour. I feel it all—I feel that I am too old—that thou art too young—that I am departing from the ways of wisdom, and am regardless of my worldly prospects28. Still, omnia vincit amor, and I bow to the all-powerful god, doing him homage29 through thee, Mary. Vainly have I resisted—vainly have I, as I have lain in bed, tried to drive thee from my thoughts, and tear thine image from my heart. Have I not felt thy presence everywhere? Do not I astonish my worthy30 coadjutor, Mistress Bately, the matron, by calling her by the name of Mary, when I had always before addressed her by her baptismal name of Deborah? Nay31, have not the boys in the classes discovered my weakness, and do they not shout out Mary in the hours of play? Mare33 periculosum et turbidum hast thou been to me. I sleep not—I eat not—and every sign of love which hath been adduced by Ovidius Naso, whom I have diligently34 collated35, do I find in mine own person. Speak, then, maiden. I have given vent11 to my feelings, do thou the same, that I may return, and leave not my flock without their shepherd. Speak, maiden.”
“I will, sir, if you will get up,” replied Mary, who paused, and then continued. “I think, sir, that I am young and foolish, and you are old and—and—”
“Foolish, thou wouldst say.”
“I had rather you said it, sir, than I; it is not for me to use such an expression towards one so learned as you are. I think, sir, that I am too young to marry; and that perhaps you are—too old. I think, sir, that you are too clever—and that I am very ignorant; that it would not suit you in your situation to marry; and that it would not suit me to marry you—equally obliged to you all the same.”
“Perhaps thou hast in thy reply proved the wiser of the two,” answered the Dominie; “but why, maiden, didst thou raise those feelings, those hopes in my breast, only to cause me pain, and make me drink deep of the cup of disappointment? didst thou appear to cling to me in fondness, if thou felt not a yearning37 towards me?”
“But are there no other sorts of love besides the one you would require, sir? May I not love you because you are so clever, and so learned in Latin. May I not love you as I do my father?”
“True, true, child; it is all my own folly38, and I must retrace39 my steps in sorrow. I have been deceived—but I have been deceived only by myself. My wishes have clouded my understanding, and have obscured my reason; have made me forgetful of my advanced years, and of the little favour I was likely to find in the eyes of a young maiden. I have fallen into a pit through blindness, and I must extricate40 myself, sore as will be the task. Bless thee, maiden, bless thee! May another be happy in thy love, and never feel the barb41 of disappointment. I will pray for thee, Mary—that Heaven may bless thee.” And the Dominie turned away and wept.
Mary appeared to be moved by the good old man’s affliction, and her heart probably smote42 her for her coquettish behaviour. She attempted to console the Dominie, and appeared to be more than half crying herself. “No, sir, do not take on so, you make me feel very uncomfortable. I have been wrong—I feel I have—though you have not blamed me, I am a very foolish girl.”
“Indeed, sir, I don’t deserve it—I feel I do not; but pray do not grieve, sir; things will go cross in love. Now, sir, I’ll tell you a secret, to prove it to you. I love Jacob—love him very much, and he does not care for me—I am sure he does not; so, you sir, you are not the only one—who is—very unhappy;” and Mary commenced sobbing44 with the Dominie.
“Poor thing!” said the Dominie; “and thou lovest Jacob? truly is he worthy of thy love. And, at thy early age, thou knowest what it is to have thy love unrequited. Truly is this a vale of tears—yet let us be thankful. Guard well thy heart, child, for Jacob may not be for thee; nay I feel that he will not be.”
“And why so, sir?” replied Mary, despondingly.
“Because, maiden—but nay, I must not tell thee; only take my warning, Mary—fare thee well? I come not here again.”
“Good-bye, sir, and pray forgive me; this will be a warning to me.”
“Verily, maiden, it will be a warning to us both. God bless thee!”
I discovered by the sound that Mary had vouchsafed45 to the Dominie a kiss, and heard soon afterwards his steps as he descended46 the stairs. Not wishing to meet him I turned round the corner, and went down to the river, thinking over what had passed. I felt pleased with Mary, but I was not in love with her.
The spring was now far advanced, and the weather was delightful47. The river was beautiful, and parties of pleasure were constantly to be seen floating up and down with the tide. The Westminster boys, the Funny Club, and other amateurs in their fancy dresses, enlivened the scene; while the races for prize wherries, which occasionally took place, rendered the water one mass of life and motion. How I longed for my apprenticeship48 to be over, that I might try for a prize! One of my best customers was a young man, who was an actor at one of the theatres, who, like the M.P., used to rehearse the whole time he was in the boat; but he was a lively, noisy personage, full of humour, and perfectly49 indifferent as to appearances. He had a quiz and a quirk50 for everybody that passed in another boat, and would stand up and rant36 at them until they considered him insane. We were on very intimate terms, and I was never more pleased than when he made his appearance, as it was invariably the signal for mirth. The first time I certainly considered him to be a lunatic, for playhouse phraseology was quite new to me. “Boat, sir,” cried I to him as he came to the hard.
“My affairs do even drag me homeward. Go on; I’ll follow thee,” replied he, leaping into the boat. “Our fortune lies in this jump.”
I shoved off the wherry: “Down, sir?”
“Down, down to hell, and say I sent you there.”
“Thanky, sir, I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Our tongue is rough, coz—and my condition is not smooth.” We shot the bridge, and went rapidly down with the tide, when he again commenced:—
“Thus with imagin’d wing our soft scene flies,
In motion of no less celerity
Than that of thought.”
Then his attention was drawn52 by a collier’s boat, pulled by two men as black as chimney-sweeps, with three women in the stern-sheets. They made for the centre of the river, to get into the strength of the tide, and were soon abreast53 and close to the wherry, pulling with us down the stream.
“There’s a dandy young man,” said one of the women, with an old straw bonnet54 and very dirty ribbons, laughing, and pointing to my man.
At Ephesus I am but two hours old,
As strange unto your town as to your talk.”
“Well, he be a reg’lar rum cove32, I’ve a notion,” said another of the women, when she witnessed the theatrical56 airs of the speaker, who immediately recommenced—
Burn’d on the water—the poop was beaten gold,
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The water, which they beat, to follow faster,
It beggar’d all description.”
“Come, I’ll be blowed but we’ve had enough of that, so just shut your pan,” said one of the women, angrily.
“Her gentlewomen, like the Naiades,
“From the barge
A strange, invisible perfume hits the sense
“I thinks as how I will, if he don’t mend his manners.”
“I saw her once
“You lie, you liver-faced rascal66. I never walked the streets in my life. I’m a lawful67 married woman. Jem, do you call yourself a man, and stand this here?”
“Well, now, Sal, but he’s a nice young man. Now an’t he?” observed one of the other women.
“Away,
Away, you trifler. Love! I know thee not,
I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world
“I’ve a notion you will, too, my hearty,” interrupted one of the colliers. “That ’ere long tongue of yours will bring you into disgrace. Bill, give her a jerk towards the wherry, and we’ll duck him.”
“My friend,” said the actor, addressing me:—
And my nobility.
“Let us exeunt, OP.”
Although I could not understand his phrases, I knew very well what he meant, and pulling smartly, I shoved towards the shore, and ahead. Perceiving this, the men in the boat, at the intimation of the women, who stood up waving their bonnets71, gave chase to us, and my companion appeared not a little alarmed. However, by great exertion72 on my part, we gained considerably73, and they abandoned the pursuit.
“Now, by two-headed Janus,” said my companion, as he looked back upon the colliers—
“Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time,
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
And others of such a vinegar aspect
That they’ll not show their teeth by way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
“And now,” continued he, addressing me, “what’s your name, sir? Of what condition are you—and of what place, I pray?”
Amused with what had passed, I replied, “That my name was Jacob—that I was a waterman, and born on the river.”
“I find thee apt; but tell me, art thou perfect that our ship hath touched upon the deserts of Bohemia?”
“Do you land at Westminster, sir?”
“No: at Blackfriars—there attend my coming.
“Base is the slave who pays; nevertheless, what is your fare, my lad?
“What money’s in my purse? Seven groats and twopence.
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost.
“But—
“I can get no remedy for this consumption of the purse.
“Here my lad—is that enough?”
“Yes, sir, I thank you.”
“Remember poor Jack76, sir,” said the usual attendant at the landing place, catching77 his arm as he careened the wherry on getting out.
“If he fall in, good-night—or sink or swim.
“Jack, there is a penny for you. Jacob, farewell—we meet again;” and away he went, taking three of the stone steps at each spring. This gentleman’s name was, as I afterwards found out, Tinfoil78, an actor of second-rate merit on the London boards. The Haymarket Theatre was where he principally performed, and, as we became better acquainted, he offered to procure79 me orders to see the play when I should wish to go there.
点击收听单词发音
1 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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2 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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3 acme | |
n.顶点,极点 | |
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4 hop | |
n.单脚跳,跳跃;vi.单脚跳,跳跃;着手做某事;vt.跳跃,跃过 | |
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5 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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6 ebbing | |
(指潮水)退( ebb的现在分词 ); 落; 减少; 衰落 | |
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7 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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8 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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9 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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10 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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11 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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12 paramount | |
a.最重要的,最高权力的 | |
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13 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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14 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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15 bedlam | |
n.混乱,骚乱;疯人院 | |
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16 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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17 oration | |
n.演说,致辞,叙述法 | |
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18 ascertaining | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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19 plying | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的现在分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
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20 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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21 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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22 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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23 eavesdropper | |
偷听者 | |
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24 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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25 muster | |
v.集合,收集,鼓起,激起;n.集合,检阅,集合人员,点名册 | |
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26 allurements | |
n.诱惑( allurement的名词复数 );吸引;诱惑物;有诱惑力的事物 | |
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27 ripened | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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29 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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30 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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31 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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32 cove | |
n.小海湾,小峡谷 | |
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33 mare | |
n.母马,母驴 | |
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34 diligently | |
ad.industriously;carefully | |
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35 collated | |
v.校对( collate的过去式和过去分词 );整理;核对;整理(文件或书等) | |
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36 rant | |
v.咆哮;怒吼;n.大话;粗野的话 | |
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37 yearning | |
a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
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38 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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39 retrace | |
v.折回;追溯,探源 | |
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40 extricate | |
v.拯救,救出;解脱 | |
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41 barb | |
n.(鱼钩等的)倒钩,倒刺 | |
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42 smote | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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43 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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44 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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45 vouchsafed | |
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 );允诺 | |
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46 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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47 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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48 apprenticeship | |
n.学徒身份;学徒期 | |
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49 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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50 quirk | |
n.奇事,巧合;古怪的举动 | |
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51 downwards | |
adj./adv.向下的(地),下行的(地) | |
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52 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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53 abreast | |
adv.并排地;跟上(时代)的步伐,与…并进地 | |
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54 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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55 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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56 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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57 barge | |
n.平底载货船,驳船 | |
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58 oar | |
n.桨,橹,划手;v.划行 | |
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59 oars | |
n.桨,橹( oar的名词复数 );划手v.划(行)( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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60 tunes | |
n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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61 flutes | |
长笛( flute的名词复数 ); 细长香槟杯(形似长笛) | |
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62 amorous | |
adj.多情的;有关爱情的 | |
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63 mermaids | |
n.(传说中的)美人鱼( mermaid的名词复数 ) | |
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64 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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65 wharfs | |
码头,停泊处 | |
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66 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
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67 lawful | |
adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
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68 tilt | |
v.(使)倾侧;(使)倾斜;n.倾侧;倾斜 | |
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69 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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70 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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71 bonnets | |
n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 );(烟囱等的)覆盖物;(苏格兰男子的)无边呢帽;(女子戴的)任何一种帽子 | |
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72 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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73 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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74 bagpiper | |
n.吹风笛的人,风笛手 | |
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75 covetous | |
adj.贪婪的,贪心的 | |
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76 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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77 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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78 tinfoil | |
n.锡纸,锡箔 | |
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79 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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