I did not find it easy to sketch9 Mr. Yorke's person, but it is more difficult to indicate his mind. If you expect to be treated to a Perfection, reader, or even to a benevolent10, philanthropic old gentleman in him, you are mistaken. He has spoken with some sense and with some good feeling to Mr. Moore, but you are not thence to conclude that he always spoke11 and thought justly and kindly12.
Mr. Yorke, in the first place, was without the organ of veneration13—a great want, and which throws a man wrong on every point where veneration is required. Secondly14, he was without the organ of comparison—a deficiency which strips a man of sympathy; and thirdly, he had too little of the organs of benevolence15 and ideality, which took the glory and softness from his nature, and for him diminished those divine qualities throughout the universe.
The want of veneration made him intolerant to those above him—kings and nobles and priests, dynasties and41 parliaments and establishments, with all their doings, most of their enactments16, their forms, their rights, their claims, were to him an abomination, all rubbish; he found no use or pleasure in them, and believed it would be clear gain, and no damage to the world, if its high places were razed17, and their occupants crushed in the fall. The want of veneration, too, made him dead at heart to the electric delight of admiring what is admirable; it dried up a thousand pure sources of enjoyment18; it withered19 a thousand vivid pleasures. He was not irreligious, though a member of no sect20; but his religion could not be that of one who knows how to venerate21. He believed in God and heaven; but his God and heaven were those of a man in whom awe22, imagination, and tenderness lack.
The weakness of his powers of comparison made him inconsistent; while he professed23 some excellent general doctrines24 of mutual25 toleration and forbearance, he cherished towards certain classes a bigoted26 antipathy27. He spoke of "parsons" and all who belonged to parsons, of "lords" and the appendages28 of lords, with a harshness, sometimes an insolence29, as unjust as it was insufferable. He could not place himself in the position of those he vituperated; he could not compare their errors with their temptations, their defects with their disadvantages; he could not realize the effect of such and such circumstances on himself similarly situated30, and he would often express the most ferocious31 and tyrannical wishes regarding those who had acted, as he thought, ferociously32 and tyrannically. To judge by his threats, he would have employed arbitrary, even cruel, means to advance the cause of freedom and equality. Equality! yes, Mr. Yorke talked about equality, but at heart he was a proud man—very friendly to his workpeople, very good to all who were beneath him, and submitted quietly to be beneath him, but haughty33 as Beelzebub to whomsoever the world deemed (for he deemed no man) his superior. Revolt was in his blood: he could not bear control; his father, his grandfather before him, could not bear it, and his children after him never could.
The want of general benevolence made him very impatient of imbecility, and of all faults which grated on his strong, shrewd nature; it left no check to his cutting sarcasm34. As he was not merciful, he would sometimes wound and wound again, without noticing how much he hurt, or caring how deep he thrust.
As to the paucity35 of ideality in his mind, that can scarcely be called a fault: a fine ear for music, a correct eye for colour and form, left him the quality of taste; and who cares for imagination? Who does not think it a rather dangerous, senseless attribute, akin36 to weakness, perhaps partaking of frenzy—a disease rather than a gift of the mind?
Probably all think it so but those who possess, or fancy they possess, it. To hear them speak, you would believe that their hearts would be cold if that elixir37 did not flow about them, that their eyes would be dim if that flame did not refine their vision, that they would be lonely if this strange companion abandoned them. You would suppose that it imparted some glad hope to spring, some fine charm to summer, some tranquil38 joy to autumn, some consolation39 to winter, which you do not feel. An illusion, of course; but the fanatics40 cling to their dream, and would not give it for gold.
As Mr. Yorke did not possess poetic41 imagination himself, he considered it a most superfluous42 quality in others. Painters and musicians he could tolerate, and even encourage, because he could relish43 the results of their art; he could see the charm of a fine picture, and feel the pleasure of good music; but a quiet poet—whatever force struggled, whatever fire glowed, in his breast—if he could not have played the man in the counting-house, of the tradesman in the Piece Hall, might have lived despised, and died scorned, under the eyes of Hiram Yorke.
And as there are many Hiram Yorkes in the world, it is well that the true poet, quiet externally though he may be, has often a truculent44 spirit under his placidity45, and is full of shrewdness in his meekness46, and can measure the whole stature of those who look down on him, and correctly ascertain47 the weight and value of the pursuits they disdain48 him for not having followed. It is happy that he can have his own bliss49, his own society with his great friend and goddess Nature, quite independent of those who find little pleasure in him, and in whom he finds no pleasure at all. It is just that while the world and circumstances often turn a dark, cold side to him—and properly, too, because he first turns a dark, cold, careless side to them—he should be able to maintain a festal brightness and cherishing glow in his bosom50, which makes all bright and genial51 for him; while strangers, perhaps, deem his existence a Polar winter never gladdened by a sun. The true poet is not one whit3 to be pitied, and he is apt to laugh in his sleeve when any misguided sympathizer whines52 over his wrongs. Even when utilitarians53 sit in judgment54 on him, and pronounce him and his art useless, he hears the sentence with such a hard derision, such a broad, deep, comprehensive, and merciless contempt of the unhappy Pharisees who pronounce it, that he is rather to be chidden than condoled55 with. These, however, are not Mr. Yorke's reflections, and it is with Mr. Yorke we have at present to do.
I have told you some of his faults, reader: as to his good points, he was one of the most honourable56 and capable men in Yorkshire; even those who disliked him were forced to respect him. He was much beloved by the poor, because he was thoroughly kind and very fatherly to them. To his workmen he was considerate and cordial. When he dismissed them from an occupation, he would try to set them on to something else, or, if that was impossible, help them to remove with their families to a district where work might possibly be had. It must also be remarked that if, as sometimes chanced, any individual amongst his "hands" showed signs of insubordination, Yorke—who, like many who abhor57 being controlled, knew how to control with vigour—had the secret of crushing rebellion in the germ, of eradicating58 it like a bad weed, so that it never spread or developed within the sphere of his authority. Such being the happy state of his own affairs, he felt himself at liberty to speak with the utmost severity of those who were differently situated, to ascribe whatever was unpleasant in their position entirely60 to their own fault, to sever59 himself from the masters, and advocate freely the cause of the operatives.
Mr. Yorke's family was the first and oldest in the district; and he, though not the wealthiest, was one of the most influential61 men. His education had been good. In his youth, before the French Revolution, he had travelled on the Continent. He was an adept62 in the French and Italian languages. During a two years' sojourn63 in Italy he had collected many good paintings and tasteful rarities, with which his residence was now adorned64. His manners, when he liked, were those of a finished gentleman of the old school; his conversation, when he was disposed to please, was singularly interesting and original; and if he usually expressed himself in the Yorkshire dialect, it was because he chose to do so, preferring his native Doric to a more refined vocabulary, "A Yorkshire burr," he affirmed,44 "was as much better than a cockney's lisp as a bull's bellow65 than a raton's squeak66."
Mr. Yorke knew every one, and was known by every one, for miles round; yet his intimate acquaintances were very few. Himself thoroughly original, he had no taste for what was ordinary: a racy, rough character, high or low, ever found acceptance with him; a refined, insipid67 personage, however exalted68 in station, was his aversion. He would spend an hour any time in talking freely with a shrewd workman of his own, or with some queer, sagacious old woman amongst his cottagers, when he would have grudged69 a moment to a commonplace fine gentleman or to the most fashionable and elegant, if frivolous70, lady. His preferences on these points he carried to an extreme, forgetting that there may be amiable71 and even admirable characters amongst those who cannot be original. Yet he made exceptions to his own rule. There was a certain order of mind, plain, ingenuous72, neglecting refinement73, almost devoid74 of intellectuality, and quite incapable75 of appreciating what was intellectual in him, but which, at the same time, never felt disgust at his rudeness, was not easily wounded by his sarcasm, did not closely analyze76 his sayings, doings, or opinions, with which he was peculiarly at ease, and, consequently, which he peculiarly preferred. He was lord amongst such characters. They, while submitting implicitly77 to his influence, never acknowledged, because they never reflected on, his superiority; they were quite tractable78, therefore, without running the smallest danger of being servile; and their unthinking, easy, artless insensibility was as acceptable, because as convenient, to Mr. Yorke as that of the chair he sat on, or of the floor he trod.
It will have been observed that he was not quite uncordial with Mr. Moore. He had two or three reasons for entertaining a faint partiality to that gentleman. It may sound odd, but the first of these was that Moore spoke English with a foreign, and French with a perfectly79 pure, accent; and that his dark, thin face, with its fine though rather wasted lines, had a most anti-British and anti-Yorkshire look. These points seem frivolous, unlikely to influence a character like Yorke's; but the fact is they recalled old, perhaps pleasurable, associations—they brought back his travelling, his youthful days. He had seen, amidst Italian cities and scenes, faces like Moore's; he had heard, in Parisian cafés and theatres, voices like his. He45 was young then, and when he looked at and listened to the alien, he seemed young again.
Secondly, he had known Moore's father, and had had dealings with him. That was a more substantial, though by no means a more agreeable tie; for as his firm had been connected with Moore's in business, it had also, in some measure, been implicated80 in its losses.
Thirdly, he had found Robert himself a sharp man of business. He saw reason to anticipate that he would, in the end, by one means or another, make money; and he respected both his resolution and acuteness—perhaps, also, his hardness. A fourth circumstance which drew them together was that of Mr. Yorke being one of the guardians81 of the minor82 on whose estate Hollow's Mill was situated; consequently Moore, in the course of his alterations83 and improvements, had frequent occasion to consult him.
As to the other guest now present in Mr. Yorke's parlour, Mr. Helstone, between him and his host there existed a double antipathy—the antipathy of nature and that of circumstances. The free-thinker hated the formalist; the lover of liberty detested84 the disciplinarian. Besides, it was said that in former years they had been rival suitors of the same lady.
Mr. Yorke, as a general rule, was, when young, noted86 for his preference of sprightly87 and dashing women: a showy shape and air, a lively wit, a ready tongue, chiefly seemed to attract him. He never, however, proposed to any of these brilliant belles88 whose society he sought; and all at once he seriously fell in love with and eagerly wooed a girl who presented a complete contrast to those he had hitherto noticed—a girl with the face of a Madonna; a girl of living marble—stillness personified. No matter that, when he spoke to her, she only answered him in monosyllables; no matter that his sighs seemed unheard, that his glances were unreturned, that she never responded to his opinions, rarely smiled at his jests, paid him no respect and no attention; no matter that she seemed the opposite of everything feminine he had ever in his whole life been known to admire. For him Mary Cave was perfect, because somehow, for some reason—no doubt he had a reason—he loved her.
Mr. Helstone, at that time curate of Briarfield, loved Mary too—or, at any rate, he fancied her. Several others46 admired her, for she was beautiful as a monumental angel; but the clergyman was preferred for his office's sake—that office probably investing him with some of the illusion necessary to allure89 to the commission of matrimony, and which Miss Cave did not find in any of the young wool-staplers, her other adorers. Mr. Helstone neither had, nor professed to have, Mr. Yorke's absorbing passion for her. He had none of the humble90 reverence91 which seemed to subdue92 most of her suitors; he saw her more as she really was than the rest did. He was, consequently, more master of her and himself. She accepted him at the first offer, and they were married.
Nature never intended Mr. Helstone to make a very good husband, especially to a quiet wife. He thought so long as a woman was silent nothing ailed93 her, and she wanted nothing. If she did not complain of solitude94, solitude, however continued, could not be irksome to her. If she did not talk and put herself forward, express a partiality for this, an aversion to that, she had no partialities or aversions, and it was useless to consult her tastes. He made no pretence95 of comprehending women, or comparing them with men. They were a different, probably a very inferior, order of existence. A wife could not be her husband's companion, much less his confidante, much less his stay. His wife, after a year or two, was of no great importance to him in any shape; and when she one day, as he thought, suddenly—for he had scarcely noticed her decline—but, as others thought, gradually, took her leave of him and of life, and there was only a still, beautiful-featured mould of clay left, cold and white, in the conjugal96 couch, he felt his bereavement—who shall say how little? Yet, perhaps, more than he seemed to feel it; for he was not a man from whom grief easily wrung97 tears.
His dry-eyed and sober mourning scandalized an old housekeeper98, and likewise a female attendant, who had waited upon Mrs. Helstone in her sickness, and who, perhaps, had had opportunities of learning more of the deceased lady's nature, of her capacity for feeling and loving, than her husband knew. They gossiped together over the corpse99, related anecdotes100, with embellishments of her lingering decline, and its real or supposed cause. In short, they worked each other up to some indignation against the austere101 little man, who sat examining papers in an adjoining room, unconscious of what opprobrium102 he was the object.
Mrs. Helstone was hardly under the sod when rumours103 began to be rife104 in the neighbourhood that she had died of a broken heart. These magnified quickly into reports of hard usage, and, finally, details of harsh treatment on the part of her husband—reports grossly untrue, but not the less eagerly received on that account. Mr. Yorke heard them, partly believed them. Already, of course, he had no friendly feeling to his successful rival. Though himself a married man now, and united to a woman who seemed a complete contrast to Mary Cave in all respects, he could not forget the great disappointment of his life; and when he heard that what would have been so precious to him had been neglected, perhaps abused, by another, he conceived for that other a rooted and bitter animosity.
Of the nature and strength of this animosity Mr. Helstone was but half aware. He neither knew how much Yorke had loved Mary Cave, what he had felt on losing her, nor was he conscious of the calumnies105 concerning his treatment of her, familiar to every ear in the neighbourhood but his own. He believed political and religious differences alone separated him and Mr. Yorke. Had he known how the case really stood, he would hardly have been induced by any persuasion106 to cross his former rival's threshold.
Mr. Yorke did not resume his lecture of Robert Moore. The conversation ere long recommenced in a more general form, though still in a somewhat disputative tone. The unquiet state of the country, the various depredations107 lately committed on mill-property in the district, supplied abundant matter for disagreement, especially as each of the three gentlemen present differed more or less in his views on these subjects. Mr. Helstone thought the masters aggrieved108, the workpeople unreasonable109; he condemned110 sweepingly111 the widespread spirit of disaffection against constituted authorities, the growing indisposition to bear with patience evils he regarded as inevitable112. The cures he prescribed were vigorous government interference, strict magisterial113 vigilance; when necessary, prompt military coercion114.
Mr. Yorke wished to know whether this interference, vigilance, and coercion would feed those who were hungry, give work to those who wanted work, and whom no man would hire. He scouted115 the idea of inevitable evils. He said public patience was a camel, on whose back the last48 atom that could be borne had already been laid, and that resistance was now a duty; the widespread spirit of disaffection against constituted authorities he regarded as the most promising116 sign of the times; the masters, he allowed, were truly aggrieved, but their main grievances117 had been heaped on them by a "corrupt118, base, and bloody119" government (these were Mr. Yorke's epithets). Madmen like Pitt, demons120 like Castlereagh, mischievous121 idiots like Perceval, were the tyrants122, the curses of the country, the destroyers of her trade. It was their infatuated perseverance123 in an unjustifiable, a hopeless, a ruinous war, which had brought the nation to its present pass. It was their monstrously124 oppressive taxation125, it was the infamous126 "Orders in Council"—the originators of which deserved impeachment127 and the scaffold, if ever public men did—that hung a millstone about England's neck.
"But where was the use of talking?" he demanded. "What chance was there of reason being heard in a land that was king-ridden, priest-ridden, peer-ridden; where a lunatic was the nominal128 monarch129, an unprincipled debauchee the real ruler; where such an insult to common sense as hereditary130 legislators was tolerated; where such a humbug131 as a bench of bishops132, such an arrogant133 abuse as a pampered134, persecuting135 established church was endured and venerated136; where a standing137 army was maintained, and a host of lazy parsons and their pauper138 families were kept on the fat of the land?"
Mr. Helstone, rising up and putting on his shovel-hat, observed in reply, "that in the course of his life he had met with two or three instances where sentiments of this sort had been very bravely maintained so long as health, strength, and worldly prosperity had been the allies of him who professed them; but there came a time," he said, "to all men, 'when the keepers of the house should tremble; when they should be afraid of that which is high, and fear should be in the way;' and that time was the test of the advocate of anarchy139 and rebellion, the enemy of religion and order. Ere now," he affirmed, "he had been called upon to read those prayers our church has provided for the sick by the miserable140 dying-bed of one of her most rancorous foes141; he had seen such a one stricken with remorse142, solicitous143 to discover a place for repentance144, and unable to find any, though he sought it carefully with tears. He must forewarn Mr. Yorke that blasphemy146 against God and49 the king was a deadly sin, and that there was such a thing as 'judgment to come.'"
Mr. Yorke "believed fully145 that there was such a thing as judgment to come. If it were otherwise, it would be difficult to imagine how all the scoundrels who seemed triumphant147 in this world, who broke innocent hearts with impunity148, abused unmerited privileges, were a scandal to honourable callings, took the bread out of the mouths of the poor, browbeat149 the humble, and truckled meanly to the rich and proud, were to be properly paid off in such coin as they had earned. But," he added, "whenever he got low-spirited about such-like goings-on, and their seeming success in this mucky lump of a planet, he just reached down t' owd book" (pointing to a great Bible in the bookcase), "opened it like at a chance, and he was sure to light of a verse blazing wi' a blue brimstone low that set all straight. He knew," he said, "where some folk war bound for, just as weel as if an angel wi' great white wings had come in ower t' door-stone and told him."
"Sir," said Mr. Helstone, collecting all his dignity—"sir, the great knowledge of man is to know himself, and the bourne whither his own steps tend."
"Ay, ay. You'll recollect150, Mr. Helstone, that Ignorance was carried away from the very gates of heaven, borne through the air, and thrust in at a door in the side of the hill which led down to hell."
"Nor have I forgotten, Mr. Yorke, that Vain-Confidence, not seeing the way before him, fell into a deep pit, which was on purpose there made by the prince of the grounds, to catch vainglorious151 fools withal, and was dashed to pieces with his fall."
"Now," interposed Mr. Moore, who had hitherto sat a silent but amused spectator of this worldly combat, and whose indifference152 to the party politics of the day, as well as to the gossip of the neighbourhood, made him an impartial153, if apathetic154, judge of the merits of such an encounter, "you have both sufficiently155 blackballed each other, and proved how cordially you detest85 each other, and how wicked you think each other. For my part, my hate is still running in such a strong current against the fellows who have broken my frames that I have none to spare for my private acquaintance, and still less for such a vague thing as a sect or a government. But really, gentlemen, you both seem very bad by your own showing—worse than50 ever I suspected you to be.—I dare not stay all night with a rebel and blasphemer like you, Yorke; and I hardly dare ride home with a cruel and tyrannical ecclesiastic156 like Mr. Helstone."
"I am going, however, Mr. Moore," said the rector sternly. "Come with me or not, as you please."
"Nay157, he shall not have the choice; he shall go with you," responded Yorke. "It's midnight, and past; and I'll have nob'dy staying up i' my house any longer. Ye mun all go."
He rang the bell.
"Deb," said he to the servant who answered it, "clear them folk out o' t' kitchen, and lock t' doors, and be off to bed.—Here is your way, gentlemen," he continued to his guests; and, lighting158 them through the passage, he fairly put them out at his front door.
They met their party hurrying out pell-mell by the back way. Their horses stood at the gate; they mounted, and rode off, Moore laughing at their abrupt159 dismissal, Helstone deeply indignant thereat.
点击收听单词发音
1 par | |
n.标准,票面价值,平均数量;adj.票面的,平常的,标准的 | |
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2 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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3 whit | |
n.一点,丝毫 | |
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4 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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5 originality | |
n.创造力,独创性;新颖 | |
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6 furrow | |
n.沟;垄沟;轨迹;车辙;皱纹 | |
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7 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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8 stature | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
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9 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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10 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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11 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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12 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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13 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
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14 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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15 benevolence | |
n.慈悲,捐助 | |
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16 enactments | |
n.演出( enactment的名词复数 );展现;规定;通过 | |
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17 razed | |
v.彻底摧毁,将…夷为平地( raze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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19 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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20 sect | |
n.派别,宗教,学派,派系 | |
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21 venerate | |
v.尊敬,崇敬,崇拜 | |
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22 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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23 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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24 doctrines | |
n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 );教义;学说;(政府政策的)正式声明 | |
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25 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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26 bigoted | |
adj.固执己见的,心胸狭窄的 | |
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27 antipathy | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
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28 appendages | |
n.附属物( appendage的名词复数 );依附的人;附属器官;附属肢体(如臂、腿、尾等) | |
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29 insolence | |
n.傲慢;无礼;厚颜;傲慢的态度 | |
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30 situated | |
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31 ferocious | |
adj.凶猛的,残暴的,极度的,十分强烈的 | |
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32 ferociously | |
野蛮地,残忍地 | |
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33 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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34 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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35 paucity | |
n.小量,缺乏 | |
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36 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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37 elixir | |
n.长生不老药,万能药 | |
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38 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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39 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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40 fanatics | |
狂热者,入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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41 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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42 superfluous | |
adj.过多的,过剩的,多余的 | |
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43 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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44 truculent | |
adj.野蛮的,粗野的 | |
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45 placidity | |
n.平静,安静,温和 | |
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46 meekness | |
n.温顺,柔和 | |
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47 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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48 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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49 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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50 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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51 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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52 whines | |
n.悲嗥声( whine的名词复数 );哀鸣者v.哀号( whine的第三人称单数 );哀诉,诉怨 | |
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53 utilitarians | |
功利主义者,实用主义者( utilitarian的名词复数 ) | |
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54 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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55 condoled | |
v.表示同情,吊唁( condole的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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57 abhor | |
v.憎恶;痛恨 | |
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58 eradicating | |
摧毁,完全根除( eradicate的现在分词 ) | |
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59 sever | |
v.切开,割开;断绝,中断 | |
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60 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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61 influential | |
adj.有影响的,有权势的 | |
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62 adept | |
adj.老练的,精通的 | |
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63 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
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64 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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65 bellow | |
v.吼叫,怒吼;大声发出,大声喝道 | |
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66 squeak | |
n.吱吱声,逃脱;v.(发出)吱吱叫,侥幸通过;(俚)告密 | |
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67 insipid | |
adj.无味的,枯燥乏味的,单调的 | |
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68 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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69 grudged | |
怀恨(grudge的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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70 frivolous | |
adj.轻薄的;轻率的 | |
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71 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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72 ingenuous | |
adj.纯朴的,单纯的;天真的;坦率的 | |
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73 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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74 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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75 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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76 analyze | |
vt.分析,解析 (=analyse) | |
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77 implicitly | |
adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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78 tractable | |
adj.易驾驭的;温顺的 | |
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79 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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80 implicated | |
adj.密切关联的;牵涉其中的 | |
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81 guardians | |
监护人( guardian的名词复数 ); 保护者,维护者 | |
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82 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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83 alterations | |
n.改动( alteration的名词复数 );更改;变化;改变 | |
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84 detested | |
v.憎恶,嫌恶,痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85 detest | |
vt.痛恨,憎恶 | |
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86 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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87 sprightly | |
adj.愉快的,活泼的 | |
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88 belles | |
n.美女( belle的名词复数 );最美的美女 | |
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89 allure | |
n.诱惑力,魅力;vt.诱惑,引诱,吸引 | |
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90 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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91 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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92 subdue | |
vt.制服,使顺从,征服;抑制,克制 | |
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93 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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94 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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95 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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96 conjugal | |
adj.婚姻的,婚姻性的 | |
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97 wrung | |
绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 ); 握紧(尤指别人的手); 把(湿衣服)拧干; 绞掉(水) | |
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98 housekeeper | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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99 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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100 anecdotes | |
n.掌故,趣闻,轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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101 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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102 opprobrium | |
n.耻辱,责难 | |
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103 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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104 rife | |
adj.(指坏事情)充斥的,流行的,普遍的 | |
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105 calumnies | |
n.诬蔑,诽谤,中伤(的话)( calumny的名词复数 ) | |
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106 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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107 depredations | |
n.劫掠,毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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108 aggrieved | |
adj.愤愤不平的,受委屈的;悲痛的;(在合法权利方面)受侵害的v.令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式);令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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109 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
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110 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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111 sweepingly | |
adv.扫荡地 | |
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112 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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113 magisterial | |
adj.威风的,有权威的;adv.威严地 | |
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114 coercion | |
n.强制,高压统治 | |
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115 scouted | |
寻找,侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 ); 物色(优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等) | |
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116 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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117 grievances | |
n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 );苦衷;不满;牢骚 | |
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118 corrupt | |
v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
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119 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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120 demons | |
n.恶人( demon的名词复数 );恶魔;精力过人的人;邪念 | |
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121 mischievous | |
adj.调皮的,恶作剧的,有害的,伤人的 | |
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122 tyrants | |
专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 ); 暴君似的人; (古希腊的)僭主; 严酷的事物 | |
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123 perseverance | |
n.坚持不懈,不屈不挠 | |
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124 monstrously | |
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125 taxation | |
n.征税,税收,税金 | |
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126 infamous | |
adj.声名狼藉的,臭名昭著的,邪恶的 | |
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127 impeachment | |
n.弹劾;控告;怀疑 | |
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128 nominal | |
adj.名义上的;(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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129 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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130 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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131 humbug | |
n.花招,谎话,欺骗 | |
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132 bishops | |
(基督教某些教派管辖大教区的)主教( bishop的名词复数 ); (国际象棋的)象 | |
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133 arrogant | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的 | |
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134 pampered | |
adj.饮食过量的,饮食奢侈的v.纵容,宠,娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135 persecuting | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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136 venerated | |
敬重(某人或某事物),崇敬( venerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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138 pauper | |
n.贫民,被救济者,穷人 | |
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139 anarchy | |
n.无政府状态;社会秩序混乱,无秩序 | |
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140 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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141 foes | |
敌人,仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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142 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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143 solicitous | |
adj.热切的,挂念的 | |
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144 repentance | |
n.懊悔 | |
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145 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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146 blasphemy | |
n.亵渎,渎神 | |
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147 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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148 impunity | |
n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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149 browbeat | |
v.欺侮;吓唬 | |
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150 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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151 vainglorious | |
adj.自负的;夸大的 | |
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152 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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153 impartial | |
adj.(in,to)公正的,无偏见的 | |
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154 apathetic | |
adj.冷漠的,无动于衷的 | |
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155 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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156 ecclesiastic | |
n.教士,基督教会;adj.神职者的,牧师的,教会的 | |
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157 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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158 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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159 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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