At that time, at eighteen, drawing near the confines of illusive8, void dreams, Elf-land lies behind us, the shores of Reality rise in front. These shores are yet distant; they look so blue, soft, gentle, we long to reach them. In sunshine we see a greenness beneath the azure9, as of spring meadows; we catch glimpses of silver lines, and imagine the roll of living waters. Could we but reach this land, we think to hunger and thirst no more; whereas many a wilderness10, and often the flood of death, or some stream of sorrow as cold and almost as black as death, is to be crossed ere true bliss11 can be tasted. Every joy that life gives must be earned ere it is secured; and how hardly earned, those only know who have wrestled12 for great prizes. The heart's blood must gem13 with red beads14 the brow of the combatant, before the wreath of victory rustles15 over it.
At eighteen we are not aware of this. Hope, when she smiles on us, and promises happiness to-morrow, is implicitly16 believed; Love, when he comes wandering like a lost angel to our door, is at once admitted, welcomed, embraced. His quiver is not seen; if his arrows penetrate17, their wound is like a thrill of new life. There are no fears86 of poison, none of the barb18 which no leech's hand can extract. That perilous19 passion—an agony ever in some of its phases; with many, an agony throughout—is believed to be an unqualified good. In short, at eighteen the school of experience is to be entered, and her humbling20, crushing, grinding, but yet purifying and invigorating lessons are yet to be learned.
Alas21, Experience! No other mentor22 has so wasted and frozen a face as yours, none wears a robe so black, none bears a rod so heavy, none with hand so inexorable draws the novice23 so sternly to his task, and forces him with authority so resistless to its acquirement. It is by your instructions alone that man or woman can ever find a safe track through life's wilds; without it, how they stumble, how they stray! On what forbidden grounds do they intrude24, down what dread25 declivities are they hurled27!
Caroline, having been convoyed home by Robert, had no wish to pass what remained of the evening with her uncle. The room in which he sat was very sacred ground to her; she seldom intruded28 on it; and to-night she kept aloof29 till the bell rang for prayers. Part of the evening church service was the form of worship observed in Mr. Helstone's household. He read it in his usual nasal voice, clear, loud, and monotonous30. The rite31 over, his niece, according to her wont32, stepped up to him.
"Good-night, uncle."
"Only at the cottage."
"And have you learned your lessons?"
"Yes."
"And made a shirt?"
"Only part of one."
"Well, that will do. Stick to the needle, learn shirt-making and gown-making and piecrust-making, and you'll be a clever woman some day. Go to bed now. I'm busy with a pamphlet here."
Presently the niece was enclosed in her small bedroom, the door bolted, her white dressing-gown assumed, her long hair loosened and falling thick, soft, and wavy34 to her waist; and as, resting from the task of combing it out, she leaned her check on her hand and fixed35 her eyes on the carpet, before her rose, and close around her drew, the visions we see at eighteen years.
87Her thoughts were speaking with her, speaking pleasantly, as it seemed, for she smiled as she listened. She looked pretty meditating36 thus; but a brighter thing than she was in that apartment—the spirit of youthful Hope. According to this flattering prophet, she was to know disappointment, to feel chill no more; she had entered on the dawn of a summer day—no false dawn, but the true spring of morning—and her sun would quickly rise. Impossible for her now to suspect that she was the sport of delusion37; her expectations seemed warranted, the foundation on which they rested appeared solid.
"When people love, the next step is they marry," was her argument. "Now, I love Robert, and I feel sure that Robert loves me. I have thought so many a time before; to-day I felt it. When I looked up at him after repeating Chénier's poem, his eyes (what handsome eyes he has!) sent the truth through my heart. Sometimes I am afraid to speak to him, lest I should be too frank, lest I should seem forward—for I have more than once regretted bitterly overflowing38, superfluous39 words, and feared I had said more than he expected me to say, and that he would disapprove40 what he might deem my indiscretion; now, to-night I could have ventured to express any thought, he was so indulgent. How kind he was as we walked up the lane! He does not flatter or say foolish things; his love-making (friendship, I mean; of course I don't yet account him my lover, but I hope he will be so some day) is not like what we read of in books,—it is far better—original, quiet, manly41, sincere. I do like him; I would be an excellent wife to him if he did marry me; I would tell him of his faults (for he has a few faults), but I would study his comfort, and cherish him, and do my best to make him happy. Now, I am sure he will not be cold to-morrow. I feel almost certain that to-morrow evening he will either come here, or ask me to go there."
She recommenced combing her hair, long as a mermaid's. Turning her head as she arranged it she saw her own face and form in the glass. Such reflections are soberizing to plain people: their own eyes are not enchanted with the image; they are confident then that the eyes of others can see in it no fascination43. But the fair must naturally draw other conclusions: the picture is charming, and must charm. Caroline saw a shape, a head, that, daguerreotyped in that attitude and with that expression, would88 have been lovely. She could not choose but derive44 from the spectacle confirmation45 to her hopes. It was then in undiminished gladness she sought her couch.
And in undiminished gladness she rose the next day. As she entered her uncle's breakfast-room, and with soft cheerfulness wished him good-morning, even that little man of bronze himself thought, for an instant, his niece was growing "a fine girl." Generally she was quiet and timid with him—very docile46, but not communicative; this morning, however, she found many things to say. Slight topics alone might be discussed between them; for with a woman—a girl—Mr. Helstone would touch on no other. She had taken an early walk in the garden, and she told him what flowers were beginning to spring there; she inquired when the gardener was to come and trim the borders; she informed him that certain starlings were beginning to build their nests in the church-tower (Briarfield church was close to Briarfield rectory); she wondered the tolling47 of the bells in the belfry did not scare them.
Mr. Helstone opined that "they were like other fools who had just paired—insensible to inconvenience just for the moment." Caroline, made perhaps a little too courageous48 by her temporary good spirits, here hazarded a remark of a kind she had never before ventured to make on observations dropped by her revered49 relative.
"Uncle," said she, "whenever you speak of marriage you speak of it scornfully. Do you think people shouldn't marry?"
"It is decidedly the wisest plan to remain single, especially for women."
"Are all marriages unhappy?"
"Millions of marriages are unhappy. If everybody confessed the truth, perhaps all are more or less so."
Mr. Helstone spoke52 so readily, he seemed rather glad of the opportunity to give his niece a piece of his mind on this point. Emboldened53 by the impunity54 which had hitherto attended her questions, she went a little further.
"But why," said she, "should it be pure folly? If two people like each other, why shouldn't they consent to live together?"
89"They tire of each other—they tire of each other in a month. A yokefellow is not a companion; he or she is a fellow-sufferer."
It was by no means naïve simplicity55 which inspired Caroline's next remark; it was a sense of antipathy56 to such opinions, and of displeasure at him who held them.
"One would think you had never been married, uncle. One would think you were an old bachelor."
"Practically, I am so."
"But you have been married. Why were you so inconsistent as to marry?"
"Every man is mad once or twice in his life."
Mr. Helstone pushed out his cynical58 lip, wrinkled his brown forehead, and gave an inarticulate grunt59.
"Did she not suit you? Was she not good-tempered? Did you not get used to her? Were you not sorry when she died?"
"Caroline," said Mr. Helstone, bringing his hand slowly down to within an inch or two of the table, and then smiting60 it suddenly on the mahogany, "understand this: it is vulgar and puerile61 to confound generals with particulars. In every case there is the rule and there are the exceptions. Your questions are stupid and babyish. Ring the bell, if you have done breakfast."
The breakfast was taken away, and that meal over, it was the general custom of uncle and niece to separate, and not to meet again till dinner; but to-day the niece, instead of quitting the room, went to the window-seat, and sat down there. Mr. Helstone looked round uneasily once or twice, as if he wished her away; but she was gazing from the window, and did not seem to mind him: so he continued the perusal62 of his morning paper—a particularly interesting one it chanced to be, as new movements had just taken place in the Peninsula, and certain columns of the journal were rich in long dispatches from General Lord Wellington. He little knew, meantime, what thoughts were busy in his niece's mind—thoughts the conversation of the past half-hour had revived but not generated; tumultuous were they now, as disturbed bees in a hive, but it was years since they had first made their cells in her brain.
She was reviewing his character, his disposition63, repeating his sentiments on marriage. Many a time had she90 reviewed them before, and sounded the gulf64 between her own mind and his; and then, on the other side of the wide and deep chasm65, she had seen, and she now saw, another figure standing66 beside her uncle's—a strange shape, dim, sinister67, scarcely earthly—the half-remembered image of her own father, James Helstone, Matthewson Helstone's brother.
Rumours68 had reached her ear of what that father's character was; old servants had dropped hints; she knew, too, that he was not a good man, and that he was never kind to her. She recollected69—a dark recollection it was—some weeks that she had spent with him in a great town somewhere, when she had had no maid to dress her or take care of her; when she had been shut up, day and night, in a high garret-room, without a carpet, with a bare uncurtained bed, and scarcely any other furniture; when he went out early every morning, and often forgot to return and give her her dinner during the day, and at night, when he came back, was like a madman, furious, terrible, or—still more painful—like an idiot, imbecile, senseless. She knew she had fallen ill in this place, and that one night, when she was very sick he had come raving70 into the room, and said he would kill her, for she was a burden to him. Her screams had brought aid; and from the moment she was then rescued from him she had never seen him, except as a dead man in his coffin71.
That was her father. Also she had a mother, though Mr. Helstone never spoke to her of that mother, though she could not remember having seen her; but that she was alive she knew. This mother was then the drunkard's wife. What had their marriage been? Caroline, turning from the lattice, whence she had been watching the starlings (though without seeing them), in a low voice, and with a sad, bitter tone, thus broke the silence of the room,—
"You term marriage miserable, I suppose, from what you saw of my father and mother's. If my mother suffered what I suffered when I was with papa, she must have had a dreadful life."
Mr. Helstone, thus addressed, wheeled about in his chair, and looked over his spectacles at his niece. He was taken aback.
Her father and mother! What had put it into her head to mention her father and mother, of whom he had never, during the twelve years she had lived with him, spoken to her? That the thoughts were self-matured, that she had91 any recollections or speculations72 about her parents, he could not fancy.
"Your father and mother? Who has been talking to you about them?"
"Nobody; but I remember something of what papa was, and I pity mamma. Where is she?"
This "Where is she?" had been on Caroline's lips hundreds of times before, but till now she had never uttered it.
"I hardly know," returned Mr. Helstone; "I was little acquainted with her. I have not heard from her for years: but wherever she is, she thinks nothing of you; she never inquires about you. I have reason to believe she does not wish to see you. Come, it is school-time. You go to your cousin at ten, don't you? The clock has struck."
Perhaps Caroline would have said more; but Fanny, coming in, informed her master that the churchwardens wanted to speak to him in the vestry. He hastened to join them, and his niece presently set out for the cottage.
The road from the rectory to Hollow's Mill inclined downwards73; she ran, therefore, almost all the way. Exercise, the fresh air, the thought of seeing Robert, at least of being on his premises74, in his vicinage, revived her somewhat depressed75 spirits quickly. Arriving in sight of the white house, and within hearing of the thundering mill and its rushing watercourse, the first thing she saw was Moore at his garden gate. There he stood, in his belted Holland blouse, a light cap covering his head, which undress costume suited him. He was looking down the lane, not in the direction of his cousin's approach. She stopped, withdrawing a little behind a willow76, and studied his appearance.
"He has not his peer," she thought. "He is as handsome as he is intelligent. What a keen eye he has! What clearly-cut, spirited features—thin and serious, but graceful77! I do like his face, I do like his aspect, I do like him so much—better than any of those shuffling78 curates, for instance—better than anybody; bonny Robert!"
She sought "bonny Robert's" presence speedily. For his part, when she challenged his sight, I believe he would have passed from before her eyes like a phantom79, if he could; but being a tall fact, and no fiction, he was obliged to stand the greeting. He made it brief. It was cousin-like, brother-like, friend-like, anything but lover-like. The nameless charm of last night had left his manner: he was no longer the same man: or, at any rate, the same heart92 did not beat in his breast. Rude disappointment, sharp cross! At first the eager girl would not believe in the change, though she saw and felt it. It was difficult to withdraw her hand from his, till he had bestowed80 at least something like a kind pressure; it was difficult to turn her eyes from his eyes, till his looks had expressed something more and fonder than that cool welcome.
A lover masculine so disappointed can speak and urge explanation, a lover feminine can say nothing; if she did, the result would be shame and anguish82, inward remorse83 for self-treachery. Nature would brand such demonstration84 as a rebellion against her instincts, and would vindictively85 repay it afterwards by the thunderbolt of self-contempt smiting suddenly in secret. Take the matter as you find it: ask no questions, utter no remonstrances86; it is your best wisdom. You expected bread, and you have got a stone: break your teeth on it, and don't shriek87 because the nerves are martyrized; do not doubt that your mental stomach—if you have such a thing—is strong as an ostrich's; the stone will digest. You held out your hand for an egg, and fate put into it a scorpion88. Show no consternation89: close your fingers firmly upon the gift; let it sting through your palm. Never mind; in time, after your hand and arm have swelled90 and quivered long with torture, the squeezed scorpion will die, and you will have learned the great lesson how to endure without a sob42. For the whole remnant of your life, if you survive the test—some, it is said, die under it—you will be stronger, wiser, less sensitive. This you are not aware of, perhaps, at the time, and so cannot borrow courage of that hope. Nature, however, as has been intimated, is an excellent friend in such cases, sealing the lips, interdicting91 utterance92, commanding a placid93 dissimulation94—a dissimulation often wearing an easy and gay mien95 at first, settling down to sorrow and paleness in time, then passing away, and leaving a convenient stoicism, not the less fortifying96 because it is half-bitter.
Half-bitter! Is that wrong? No; it should be bitter: bitterness is strength—it is a tonic97. Sweet, mild force following acute suffering you find nowhere; to talk of it is delusion. There may be apathetic98 exhaustion99 after the rack. If energy remains100, it will be rather a dangerous energy—deadly when confronted with injustice101.
Who has read the ballad102 of "Puir Mary Lee"—that old Scotch103 ballad, written I know not in what generation nor93 by what hand? Mary had been ill-used—probably in being made to believe that truth which was falsehood. She is not complaining, but she is sitting alone in the snowstorm, and you hear her thoughts. They are not the thoughts of a model heroine under her circumstances, but they are those of a deeply-feeling, strongly-resentful peasant-girl. Anguish has driven her from the ingle-nook of home to the white-shrouded and icy hills. Crouched104 under the "cauld drift," she recalls every image of horror—"the yellow-wymed ask," "the hairy adder," "the auld105 moon-bowing tyke," "the ghaist at e'en,", "the sour bullister," "the milk on the taed's back." She hates these, but "waur she hates Robin-a-Ree."
"Oh, ance I lived happily by yon bonny burn—
The warld was in love wi' me;
But now I maun sit 'neath the cauld drift and mourn,
And curse black Robin-a-Ree!
"Then whudder awa, thou bitter biting blast,
And sough through the scrunty tree,
And smoor me up in the snaw fu' fast,
And n'er let the sun me see!
"Oh, never melt awa, thou wreath o' snaw,
That's sae kind in graving me;
But what has been said in the last page or two is not germane108 to Caroline Helstone's feelings, or to the state of things between her and Robert Moore. Robert had done her no wrong; he had told her no lie; it was she that was to blame, if any one was. What bitterness her mind distilled109 should and would be poured on her own head. She had loved without being asked to love—a natural, sometimes an inevitable110 chance, but big with misery111.
Robert, indeed, had sometimes seemed to be fond of her; but why? Because she had made herself so pleasing to him, he could not, in spite of all his efforts, help testifying a state of feeling his judgment112 did not approve nor his will sanction. He was about to withdraw decidedly from intimate communication with her, because he did not choose to have his affections inextricably entangled113, nor to be drawn114, despite his reason, into a marriage he believed imprudent. Now, what was she to do? To give way to her feelings, or to vanquish115 them? To pursue him, or to94 turn upon herself? If she is weak, she will try the first expedient—will lose his esteem116 and win his aversion; if she has sense, she will be her own governor, and resolve to subdue117 and bring under guidance the disturbed realm of her emotions. She will determine to look on life steadily118, as it is; to begin to learn its severe truths seriously, and to study its knotty119 problems closely, conscientiously120.
It appeared she had a little sense, for she quitted Robert quietly, without complaint or question, without the alteration121 of a muscle or the shedding of a tear, betook herself to her studies under Hortense as usual, and at dinner-time went home without lingering.
When she had dined, and found herself in the rectory drawing-room alone, having left her uncle over his temperate122 glass of port wine, the difficulty that occurred to and embarrassed her was, "How am I to get through this day?"
Last night she had hoped it would be spent as yesterday was, that the evening would be again passed with happiness and Robert. She had learned her mistake this morning; and yet she could not settle down, convinced that no chance would occur to recall her to Hollow's Cottage, or to bring Moore again into her society.
He had walked up after tea more than once to pass an hour with her uncle. The door-bell had rung, his voice had been heard in the passage just at twilight123, when she little expected such a pleasure; and this had happened twice after he had treated her with peculiar124 reserve; and though he rarely talked to her in her uncle's presence, he had looked at her relentingly as he sat opposite her work-table during his stay. The few words he had spoken to her were comforting; his manner on bidding her good-night was genial125. Now, he might come this evening, said False Hope. She almost knew it was False Hope which breathed the whisper, and yet she listened.
She tried to read—her thoughts wandered; she tried to sew—every stitch she put in was an ennui126, the occupation was insufferably tedious; she opened her desk and attempted to write a French composition—she wrote nothing but mistakes.
Suddenly the door-bell sharply rang; her heart leaped; she sprang to the drawing-room door, opened it softly, peeped through the aperture128. Fanny was admitting a visitor—a gentleman—a tall man—just the height of Robert. For one second she thought it was Robert—for95 one second she exulted129; but the voice asking for Mr. Helstone undeceived her. That voice was an Irish voice, consequently not Moore's, but the curate's—Malone's. He was ushered131 into the dining-room, where, doubtless, he speedily helped his rector to empty the decanters.
It was a fact to be noted132, that at whatever house in Briarfield, Whinbury, or Nunnely one curate dropped in to a meal—dinner or tea, as, the case might be—another presently followed, often two more. Not that they gave each other the rendezvous133, but they were usually all on the run at the same time; and when Donne, for instance, sought Malone at his lodgings134 and found him not, he inquired whither he had posted, and having learned of the landlady135 his destination, hastened with all speed after him. The same causes operated in the same way with Sweeting. Thus it chanced on that afternoon that Caroline's ears were three times tortured with the ringing of the bell and the advent136 of undesired guests; for Donne followed Malone, and Sweeting followed Donne; and more wine was ordered up from the cellar into the dining-room (for though old Helstone chid137 the inferior priesthood when he found them "carousing," as he called it, in their own tents, yet at his hierarchical table he ever liked to treat them to a glass of his best), and through the closed doors Caroline heard their boyish laughter, and the vacant cackle of their voices. Her fear was lest they should stay to tea, for she had no pleasure in making tea for that particular trio. What distinctions people draw! These three were men—young men—educated men, like Moore; yet, for her, how great the difference! Their society was a bore—his a delight.
Not only was she destined138 to be favoured with their clerical company, but Fortune was at this moment bringing her four other guests—lady guests, all packed in a pony-phaeton now rolling somewhat heavily along the road from Whinbury: an elderly lady and three of her buxom140 daughters were coming to see her "in a friendly way," as the custom of that neighbourhood was. Yes, a fourth time the bell clanged. Fanny brought the present announcement to the drawing-room,—
"Mrs. Sykes and the three Misses Sykes."
When Caroline was going to receive company, her habit was to wring141 her hands very nervously142, to flush a little, and come forward hurriedly yet hesitatingly, wishing herself meantime at Jericho. She was, at such crises, sadly96 deficient143 in finished manner, though she had once been at school a year. Accordingly, on this occasion, her small white hands sadly maltreated each other, while she stood up, waiting the entrance of Mrs. Sykes.
In stalked that lady, a tall, bilious144 gentlewoman, who made an ample and not altogether insincere profession of piety146, and was greatly given to hospitality towards the clergy147. In sailed her three daughters, a showy trio, being all three well-grown, and more or less handsome.
In English country ladies there is this point to be remarked. Whether young or old, pretty or plain, dull or sprightly148, they all (or almost all) have a certain expression stamped on their features, which seems to say, "I know—I do not boast of it, but I know that I am the standard of what is proper; let every one therefore whom I approach, or who approaches me, keep a sharp lookout149, for wherein they differ from me—be the same in dress, manner, opinion, principle, or practice—therein they are wrong."
Mrs. and Misses Sykes, far from being exceptions to this observation, were pointed81 illustrations of its truth. Miss Mary—a well-looked, well-meant, and, on the whole, well-dispositioned girl—wore her complacency with some state, though without harshness. Miss Harriet—a beauty—carried it more overbearingly; she looked high and cold. Miss Hannah, who was conceited150, dashing, pushing, flourished hers consciously and openly. The mother evinced it with the gravity proper to her age and religious fame.
The reception was got through somehow. Caroline "was glad to see them" (an unmitigated fib), hoped they were well, hoped Mrs. Sykes's cough was better (Mrs. Sykes had had a cough for the last twenty years), hoped the Misses Sykes had left their sisters at home well; to which inquiry151 the Misses Sykes, sitting on three chairs opposite the music-stool, whereon Caroline had undesignedly come to anchor, after wavering for some seconds between it and a large arm-chair, into which she at length recollected she ought to induct Mrs. Sykes—and indeed that lady saved her the trouble by depositing herself therein—the Misses Sykes replied to Caroline by one simultaneous bow, very majestic152 and mighty153 awful. A pause followed. This bow was of a character to ensure silence for the next five minutes, and it did. Mrs. Sykes then inquired after Mr. Helstone, and whether he had had any return of rheumatism154, and whether preaching twice on a Sunday fatigued155 him, and97 if he was capable of taking a full service now; and on being assured he was, she and all her daughters, combining in chorus, expressed their opinion that he was "a wonderful man of his years."
Pause second.
Miss Mary, getting up the steam in her turn, asked whether Caroline had attended the Bible Society meeting which had been held at Nunnely last Thursday night. The negative answer which truth compelled Caroline to utter—for last Thursday evening she had been sitting at home, reading a novel which Robert had lent her—elicited a simultaneous expression of surprise from the lips of the four ladies.
"We were all there," said Miss Mary—"mamma and all of us. We even persuaded papa to go. Hannah would insist upon it. But he fell asleep while Mr. Langweilig, the German Moravian minister, was speaking. I felt quite ashamed, he nodded so."
"And there was Dr. Broadbent," cried Hannah—"such a beautiful speaker! You couldn't expect it of him, for he is almost a vulgar-looking man."
"But such a dear man," interrupted Mary.
"And such a good man, such a useful man," added her mother.
"Only like a butcher in appearance," interposed the fair, proud Harriet. "I couldn't bear to look at him. I listened with my eyes shut."
Miss Helstone felt her ignorance and incompetency157. Not having seen Dr. Broadbent, she could not give her opinion. Pause third came on. During its continuance, Caroline was feeling at her heart's core what a dreaming fool she was, what an unpractical life she led, how little fitness there was in her for ordinary intercourse158 with the ordinary world. She was feeling how exclusively she had attached herself to the white cottage in the Hollow, how in the existence of one inmate159 of that cottage she had pent all her universe. She was sensible that this would not do, and that some day she would be forced to make an alteration. It could not be said that she exactly wished to resemble the ladies before her, but she wished to become superior to her present self, so as to feel less scared by their dignity.
The sole means she found of reviving the flagging discourse160 was by asking them if they would all stay to tea;98 and a cruel struggle it cost her to perform this piece of civility. Mrs. Sykes had begun, "We are much obliged to you, but——" when in came Fanny once more.
"The gentlemen will stay the evening, ma'am," was the message she brought from Mr. Helstone.
"What gentlemen have you?" now inquired Mrs. Sykes. Their names were specified161; she and her daughters interchanged glances. The curates were not to them what they were to Caroline. Mr. Sweeting was quite a favourite with them; even Mr. Malone rather so, because he was a clergyman. "Really, since you have company already, I think we will stay," remarked Mrs. Sykes. "We shall be quite a pleasant little party. I always like to meet the clergy."
And now Caroline had to usher130 them upstairs, to help them to unshawl, smooth their hair, and make themselves smart; to reconduct them to the drawing-room, to distribute amongst them books of engravings, or odd things purchased from the Jew-basket. She was obliged to be a purchaser, though she was but a slack contributor; and if she had possessed162 plenty of money, she would rather, when it was brought to the rectory—an awful incubus163!—have purchased the whole stock than contributed a single pin-cushion.
It ought perhaps to be explained in passing, for the benefit of those who are not au fait to the mysteries of the "Jew-basket" and "missionary164-basket," that these meubles are willow repositories, of the capacity of a good-sized family clothes-basket, dedicated165 to the purpose of conveying from house to house a monster collection of pin-cushions, needle-books, card-racks, workbags, articles of infant wear, etc., etc., etc., made by the willing or reluctant hands of the Christian166 ladies of a parish, and sold perforce to the heathenish gentlemen thereof, at prices unblushingly exorbitant167. The proceeds of such compulsory168 sales are applied169 to the conversion170 of the Jews, the seeking up of the ten missing tribes, or to the regeneration of the interesting coloured population of the globe. Each lady contributor takes it in her turn to keep the basket a month, to sew for it, and to foist171 off its contents on a shrinking male public. An exciting time it is when that turn comes round. Some active-minded woman, with a good trading spirit, like it, and enjoy exceedingly the fun of making hard-handed worsted-spinners cash up, to the tune139 of four or five hundred99 per cent. above cost price, for articles quite useless to them; other feebler souls object to it, and would rather see the prince of darkness himself at their door any morning than that phantom basket, brought with "Mrs. Rouse's compliments; and please, ma'am, she says it's your turn now."
Miss Helstone's duties of hostess performed, more anxiously than cheerily, she betook herself to the kitchen, to hold a brief privy-council with Fanny and Eliza about the tea.
"What a lot on 'em!" cried Eliza, who was cook. "And I put off the baking to-day because I thought there would be bread plenty to fit while morning. We shall never have enow."
"Are there any tea-cakes?" asked the young mistress.
"Only three and a loaf. I wish these fine folk would stay at home till they're asked; and I want to finish trimming my hat" (bonnet she meant).
"Then," suggested Caroline, to whom the importance of the emergency gave a certain energy, "Fanny must run down to Briarfield and buy some muffins and crumpets and some biscuits. And don't be cross, Eliza; we can't help it now."
"And which tea-things are we to have?"
"Oh, the best, I suppose. I'll get out the silver service." And she ran upstairs to the plate-closet, and presently brought down teapot, cream-ewer, and sugar-basin.
"Yes; and now get it ready as quickly as you can, for the sooner we have tea over the sooner they will go—at least, I hope so. Heigh-ho! I wish they were gone," she sighed, as she returned to the drawing-room. "Still," she thought, as she paused at the door ere opening it, "if Robert would but come even now how bright all would be! How comparatively easy the task of amusing these people if he were present! There would be an interest in hearing him talk (though he never says much in company) and in talking in his presence. There can be no interest in hearing any of them, or in speaking to them. How they will gabble when the curates come in, and how weary I shall grow with listening to them! But I suppose I am a selfish fool. These are very respectable gentlefolks. I ought, no doubt, to be proud of their countenance172. I don't say they are not as good as I am—far from it—but they are different from me."
She went in.
Yorkshire people in those days took their tea round the table, sitting well into it, with their knees duly introduced under the mahogany. It was essential to have a multitude of plates of bread and butter, varied173 in sorts and plentiful174 in quantity. It was thought proper, too, that on the centre plate should stand a glass dish of marmalade. Among the viands175 was expected to be found a small assortment176 of cheesecakes and tarts177. If there was also a plate of thin slices of pink ham garnished178 with green parsley, so much the better.
Eliza, the rector's cook, fortunately knew her business as provider. She had been put out of humour a little at first, when the invaders179 came so unexpectedly in such strength; but it appeared that she regained180 her cheerfulness with action, for in due time the tea was spread forth181 in handsome style, and neither ham, tarts, nor marmalade were wanting among its accompaniments.
The curates, summoned to this bounteous182 repast, entered joyous183; but at once, on seeing the ladies, of whose presence they had not been forewarned, they came to a stand in the doorway184. Malone headed the party; he stopped short and fell back, almost capsizing Donne, who was behind him. Donne, staggering three paces in retreat, sent little Sweeting into the arms of old Helstone, who brought up the rear. There was some expostulation, some tittering. Malone was desired to mind what he was about, and urged to push forward, which at last he did, though colouring to the top of his peaked forehead a bluish purple. Helstone, advancing, set the shy curates aside, welcomed all his fair guests, shook hands and passed a jest with each, and seated himself snugly185 between the lovely Harriet and the dashing Hannah. Miss Mary he requested to move to the seat opposite to him, that he might see her if he couldn't be near her. Perfectly186 easy and gallant187, in his way, were his manners always to young ladies, and most popular was he amongst them; yet at heart he neither respected nor liked the sex, and such of them as circumstances had brought into intimate relation with him had ever feared rather than loved him.
The curates were left to shift for themselves. Sweeting, who was the least embarrassed of the three, took refuge beside Mrs. Sykes, who, he knew, was almost as fond of him as if he had been her son. Donne, after making his general bow with a grace all his own, and saying in a high, pragmatical voice, "How d'ye do, Miss Helstone?" dropped into a seat at Caroline's elbow, to her unmitigated annoyance188, for she had a peculiar antipathy to Donne, on account of his stultified189 and immovable self-conceit and his incurable190 narrowness of mind. Malone, grinning most unmeaningly, inducted himself into the corresponding seat on the other side. She was thus blessed in a pair of supporters, neither of whom, she knew, would be of any mortal use, whether for keeping up the conversation, handing cups, circulating the muffins, or even lifting the plate from the slop-basin. Little Sweeting, small and boyish as he was, would have been worth twenty of them.
Malone, though a ceaseless talker when there were only men present, was usually tongue-tied in the presence of ladies. Three phrases, however, he had ready cut and dried, which he never failed to produce:—
1stly. "Have you had a walk to-day, Miss Helstone?"
2ndly. "Have you seen your cousin Moore lately?"
3rdly. "Does your class at the Sunday school keep up its number?"
With Donne it was otherwise; he was troublesome, exasperating192. He had a stock of small-talk on hand, at once the most trite193 and perverse194 that can well be imagined—abuse of the people of Briarfield; of the natives of Yorkshire generally; complaints of the want of high society; of the backward state of civilization in these districts; murmurings against the disrespectful conduct of the lower orders in the north toward their betters; silly ridicule195 of the manner of living in these parts—the want of style, the absence of elegance196, as if he, Donne, had been accustomed to very great doings indeed, an insinuation which his somewhat underbred manner and aspect failed to bear out. These strictures, he seemed to think, must raise him in the estimation of Miss Helstone or of any other lady who heard him; whereas with her, at least, they brought him to a level below contempt, though sometimes, indeed, they incensed197 her; for, a Yorkshire girl herself, she hated to hear Yorkshire abused by such a pitiful prater198; and when wrought199 up to a certain pitch, she would turn and say something of which neither the matter nor the manner recommended her to Mr. Donne's good-will. She would tell him it was no proof of refinement200 to be ever scolding others for vulgarity, and no sign of a good pastor201 to be eternally censuring202 his flock. She would ask him what he had entered the church for, since he complained there were only cottages to visit, and poor people to preach to—whether he had been ordained203 to the ministry204 merely to wear soft clothing and sit in king's houses. These questions were considered by all the curates as, to the last degree, audacious and impious.
Tea was a long time in progress; all the guests gabbled as their hostess had expected they would. Mr. Helstone, being in excellent spirits—when, indeed, was he ever otherwise in society, attractive female society? it being only with the one lady of his own family that he maintained a grim taciturnity—kept up a brilliant flow of easy prattle205 with his right-hand and left-hand neighbours, and even with his vis-à-vis, Miss Mary; though, as Mary was the most sensible, the least coquettish, of the three, to her the elderly widower207 was the least attentive208. At heart he could not abide209 sense in women. He liked to see them as silly, as light-headed, as vain, as open to ridicule as possible, because they were then in reality what he held them to be, and wished them to be—inferior, toys to play with, to amuse a vacant hour, and to be thrown away.
Hannah was his favourite. Harriet, though beautiful, egotistical, and self-satisfied, was not quite weak enough for him. She had some genuine self-respect amidst much false pride, and if she did not talk like an oracle210, neither would she babble211 like one crazy; she would not permit herself to be treated quite as a doll, a child, a plaything; she expected to be bent156 to like a queen.
Hannah, on the contrary, demanded no respect, only flattery. If her admirers only told her that she was an angel, she would let them treat her like an idiot. So very credulous212 and frivolous213 was she, so very silly did she become when besieged214 with attention, flattered and admired to the proper degree, that there were moments when Helstone actually felt tempted127 to commit matrimony a second time, and to try the experiment of taking her for his second helpmeet; but fortunately the salutary recollection of the ennuis of his first marriage, the impression still left on him of the weight of the millstone he had once worn round his neck, the fixity of his feelings respecting the insufferable evils of conjugal215 existence, operated as a check to his tenderness, suppressed the sigh heaving his old iron lungs, and restrained him from whispering to Hannah proposals it would have been high fun and great satisfaction to her to hear.
It is probable she would have married him if he had asked her; her parents would have quite approved the match. To them his fifty-five years, his bend-leather heart, could have presented no obstacles; and as he was a rector, held an excellent living, occupied a good house, and was supposed even to have private property (though in that the world was mistaken; every penny of the £5,000 inherited by him from his father had been devoted216 to the building and endowing of a new church at his native village in Lancashire—for he could show a lordly munificence217 when he pleased, and if the end was to his liking218, never hesitated about making a grand sacrifice to attain219 it)—her parents, I say, would have delivered Hannah over to his lovingkindness and his tender mercies without one scruple220; and the second Mrs. Helstone, inverting221 the natural order of insect existence, would have fluttered through the honeymoon222 a bright, admired butterfly, and crawled the rest of her days a sordid223, trampled224 worm.
Little Mr. Sweeting, seated between Mrs. Sykes and Miss Mary, both of whom were very kind to him, and having a dish of tarts before him, and marmalade and crumpet upon his plate, looked and felt more content than any monarch225. He was fond of all the Misses Sykes; they were all fond of him. He thought them magnificent girls, quite proper to mate with one of his inches. If he had a cause of regret at this blissful moment, it was that Miss Dora happened to be absent—Dora being the one whom he secretly hoped one day to call Mrs. David Sweeting, with whom he dreamt of taking stately walks, leading her like an empress through the village of Nunnely; and an empress she would have been, if size could make an empress. She was vast, ponderous226. Seen from behind, she had the air of a very stout227 lady of forty; but withal she possessed a good face, and no unkindly character.
The meal at last drew to a close. It would have been over long ago if Mr. Donne had not persisted in sitting with his cup half full of cold tea before him, long after the rest had finished and after he himself had discussed such allowance of viands as he felt competent to swallow—long, indeed, after signs of impatience228 had been manifested all round the board, till chairs were pushed back, till the talk flagged, till silence fell. Vainly did Caroline inquire repeatedly if he would have another cup, if he would take a little hot tea, as that must be cold, etc.; he would neither drink it nor leave it. He seemed to think that this isolated229 position of his gave him somehow a certain importance, that it was dignified230 and stately to be the last, that it was grand to keep all the others waiting. So long did he linger, that the very urn died; it ceased to hiss231. At length, however, the old rector himself, who had hitherto been too pleasantly engaged with Hannah to care for the delay, got impatient.
"For whom are we waiting?" he asked.
"For me, I believe," returned Donne complacently232, appearing to think it much to his credit that a party should thus be kept dependent on his movements.
"Tut!" cried Helstone. Then standing up, "Let us return thanks," said he; which he did forthwith, and all quitted the table. Donne, nothing abashed233, still sat ten minutes quite alone, whereupon Mr. Helstone rang the bell for the things to be removed. The curate at length saw himself forced to empty his cup, and to relinquish234 the rôle which, he thought, had given him such a felicitous235 distinction, drawing upon him such flattering general notice.
And now, in the natural course of events (Caroline, knowing how it would be, had opened the piano, and produced music-books in readiness), music was asked for. This was Mr. Sweeting's chance for showing off. He was eager to commence. He undertook, therefore, the arduous236 task of persuading the young ladies to favour the company with an air—a song. Con7 amore he went through the whole business of begging, praying, resisting excuses, explaining away difficulties, and at last succeeded in persuading Miss Harriet to allow herself to be led to the instrument. Then out came the pieces of his flute237 (he always carried them in his pocket, as unfailingly as he carried his handkerchief). They were screwed and arranged, Malone and Donne meanwhile herding238 together and sneering239 at him, which the little man, glancing over his shoulder, saw, but did not heed240 at all. He was persuaded their sarcasm241 all arose from envy. They could not accompany the ladies as he could; he was about to enjoy a triumph over them.
The triumph began. Malone, much chagrined242 at hearing him pipe up in most superior style, determined243 to earn105 distinction too, if possible, and all at once assuming the character of a swain (which character he had endeavoured to enact244 once or twice before, but in which he had not hitherto met with the success he doubtless opined his merits deserved), approached a sofa on which Miss Helstone was seated, and depositing his great Irish frame near her, tried his hand (or rather tongue) at a fine speech or two, accompanied by grins the most extraordinary and incomprehensible. In the course of his efforts to render himself agreeable, he contrived245 to possess himself of the two long sofa cushions and a square one; with which, after rolling them about for some time with strange gestures, he managed to erect246 a sort of barrier between himself and the object of his attentions. Caroline, quite willing that they should be sundered247, soon devised an excuse for stepping over to the opposite side of the room, and taking up a position beside Mrs. Sykes, of which good lady she entreated248 some instruction in a new stitch in ornamental249 knitting, a favour readily granted; and thus Peter Augustus was thrown out.
Very sullenly250 did his countenance lower when he saw himself abandoned—left entirely251 to his own resources, on a large sofa, with the charge of three small cushions on his hands. The fact was, he felt disposed seriously to cultivate acquaintance with Miss Helstone, because he thought, in common with others, that her uncle possessed money, and concluded that, since he had no children, he would probably leave it to his niece. Gérard Moore was better instructed on this point: he had seen the neat church that owed its origin to the rector's zeal252 and cash, and more than once, in his inmost soul, had cursed an expensive caprice which crossed his wishes.
The evening seemed long to one person in that room. Caroline at intervals253 dropped her knitting on her lap, and gave herself up to a sort of brain-lethargy—closing her eyes and depressing her head—caused by what seemed to her the unmeaning hum around her,—the inharmonious, tasteless rattle206 of the piano keys, the squeaking254 and gasping255 notes of the flute, the laughter and mirth of her uncle, and Hannah, and Mary, she could not tell whence originating, for she heard nothing comic or gleeful in their discourse; and more than all, by the interminable gossip of Mrs. Sykes murmured close at her ear, gossip which rang the changes on four subjects—her own health and that of the various106 members of her family; the missionary and Jew baskets and their contents; the late meeting at Nunnely, and one which was expected to come off next week at Whinbury.
Tired at length to exhaustion, she embraced the opportunity of Mr. Sweeting coming up to speak to Mrs. Sykes to slip quietly out of the apartment, and seek a moment's respite256 in solitude257. She repaired to the dining-room, where the clear but now low remnant of a fire still burned in the grate. The place was empty and quiet, glasses and decanters were cleared from the table, the chairs were put back in their places, all was orderly. Caroline sank into her uncle's large easy-chair, half shut her eyes, and rested herself—rested at least her limbs, her senses, her hearing, her vision—weary with listening to nothing, and gazing on vacancy258. As to her mind, that flew directly to the Hollow. It stood on the threshold of the parlour there, then it passed to the counting-house, and wondered which spot was blessed by the presence of Robert. It so happened that neither locality had that honour; for Robert was half a mile away from both, and much nearer to Caroline than her deadened spirit suspected. He was at this moment crossing the churchyard, approaching the rectory garden-gate—not, however, coming to see his cousin, but intent solely259 on communicating a brief piece of intelligence to the rector.
Yes, Caroline; you hear the wire of the bell vibrate; it rings again for the fifth time this afternoon. You start, and you are certain now that this must be he of whom you dream. Why you are so certain you cannot explain to yourself, but you know it. You lean forward, listening eagerly as Fanny opens the door. Right! That is the voice—low, with the slight foreign accent, but so sweet, as you fancy. You half rise. "Fanny will tell him Mr. Helstone is with company, and then he will go away." Oh! she cannot let him go. In spite of herself, in spite of her reason, she walks half across the room; she stands ready to dart260 out in case the step should retreat; but he enters the passage. "Since your master is engaged," he says, "just show me into the dining-room. Bring me pen and ink. I will write a short note and leave it for him."
Now, having caught these words, and hearing him advance, Caroline, if there was a door within the dining-room, would glide261 through it and disappear. She feels caught, hemmed262 in; she dreads263 her unexpected presence107 may annoy him. A second since she would have flown to him; that second past, she would flee from him. She cannot. There is no way of escape. The dining-room has but one door, through which now enters her cousin. The look of troubled surprise she expected to see in his face has appeared there, has shocked her, and is gone. She has stammered264 a sort of apology:—
"I only left the drawing-room a minute for a little quiet."
There was something so diffident and downcast in the air and tone with which she said this, any one might perceive that some saddening change had lately passed over her prospects265, and that the faculty266 of cheerful self-possession had left her. Mr. Moore, probably, remembered how she had formerly267 been accustomed to meet him with gentle ardour and hopeful confidence. He must have seen how the check of this morning had operated. Here was an opportunity for carrying out his new system with effect, if he chose to improve it. Perhaps he found it easier to practise that system in broad daylight, in his mill-yard, amidst busy occupations, than in a quiet parlour, disengaged, at the hour of eventide. Fanny lit the candles, which before had stood unlit on the table, brought writing materials, and left the room. Caroline was about to follow her. Moore, to act consistently, should have let her go; whereas he stood in the doorway, and, holding out his hand, gently kept her back. He did not ask her to stay, but he would not let her go.
"No; I can say to you all I had to say to him. You will be my messenger?"
"Yes, Robert."
"Then you may just inform him that I have got a clue to the identity of one, at least, of the men who broke my frames; that he belongs to the same gang who attacked Sykes and Pearson's dressing-shop, and that I hope to have him in custody269 to-morrow. You can remember that?"
"Oh yes!" These two monosyllables were uttered in a sadder tone than ever; and as she said them she shook her head slightly and sighed. "Will you prosecute270 him?"
"Doubtless."
"No, Robert."
"And why no, Caroline?"
"Because it will set all the neighbourhood against you more than ever."
"That is no reason why I should not do my duty, and defend my property. This fellow is a great scoundrel, and ought to be incapacitated from perpetrating further mischief271."
"But his accomplices272 will take revenge on you. You do not know how the people of this country bear malice273. It is the boast of some of them that they can keep a stone in their pocket seven years, turn it at the end of that time, keep it seven years longer, and hurl26 it and hit their mark 'at last.'"
Moore laughed.
"A most pithy274 vaunt," said he—"one that redounds275 vastly to the credit of your dear Yorkshire friends. But don't fear for me, Lina. I am on my guard against these lamb-like compatriots of yours. Don't make yourself uneasy about me."
"How can I help it? You are my cousin. If anything happened——" She stopped.
"Nothing will happen, Lina. To speak in your own language, there is a Providence276 above all—is there not?"
"Yes, dear Robert. May He guard you!"
"And if prayers have efficacy, yours will benefit me. You pray for me sometimes?"
"Not sometimes, Robert. You, and Louis, and Hortense are always remembered."
"So I have often imagined. It has occurred to me when, weary and vexed, I have myself gone to bed like a heathen, that another had asked forgiveness for my day, and safety for my night. I don't suppose such vicarial piety will avail much, but the petitions come out of a sincere breast, from innocent lips. They should be acceptable as Abel's offering; and doubtless would be, if the object deserved them."
"Annihilate277 that doubt. It is groundless."
"When a man has been brought up only to make money, and lives to make it, and for nothing else, and scarcely breathes any other air than that of mills and markets, it seems odd to utter his name in a prayer, or to mix his idea with anything divine; and very strange it seems that a good, pure heart should take him in and harbour him, as if he had any claim to that sort of nest. If I could guide109 that benignant heart, I believe I should counsel it to exclude one who does not profess145 to have any higher aim in life than that of patching up his broken fortune, and wiping clean from his bourgeois278 scutcheon the foul279 stain of bankruptcy280."
The hint, though conveyed thus tenderly and modestly (as Caroline thought), was felt keenly and comprehended clearly.
"Indeed, I only think—or I will only think—of you as my cousin," was the quick answer. "I am beginning to understand things better than I did, Robert, when you first came to England—better than I did a week, a day ago. I know it is your duty to try to get on, and that it won't do for you to be romantic; but in future you must not misunderstand me if I seem friendly. You misunderstood me this morning, did you not?"
"What made you think so?"
"Your look—your manner."
"But look at me now——"
"Oh! you are different now. At present I dare speak to you."
"Yet I am the same, except that I have left the tradesman behind me in the Hollow. Your kinsman281 alone stands before you."
"My cousin Robert—not Mr. Moore."
"Not a bit of Mr. Moore. Caroline——"
Here the company was heard rising in the other room. The door was opened; the pony-carriage was ordered; shawls and bonnets282 were demanded; Mr. Helstone called for his niece.
"I must go, Robert."
"Yes, you must go, or they will come in and find us here; and I, rather than meet all that host in the passage, will take my departure through the window. Luckily it opens like a door. One minute only—put down the candle an instant—good-night. I kiss you because we are cousins, and, being cousins, one—two—three kisses are allowable. Caroline, good-night."
该作者的其它作品
《Jane Eyre简爱》
该作者的其它作品
《Jane Eyre简爱》
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
narrative
|
|
| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
tempting
|
|
| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
drearier
|
|
| 使人闷闷不乐或沮丧的( dreary的比较级 )； 阴沉的； 令人厌烦的； 单调的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
5
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
urn
|
|
| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
con
|
|
| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
illusive
|
|
| adj.迷惑人的，错觉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
azure
|
|
| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
bliss
|
|
| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
wrestled
|
|
| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
gem
|
|
| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
beads
|
|
| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
rustles
|
|
| n.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的名词复数 )v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
implicitly
|
|
| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
penetrate
|
|
| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
barb
|
|
| n.（鱼钩等的）倒钩，倒刺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
perilous
|
|
| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
humbling
|
|
| adj.令人羞辱的v.使谦恭( humble的现在分词 )；轻松打败（尤指强大的对手）；低声下气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
mentor
|
|
| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
novice
|
|
| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
intrude
|
|
| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
hurl
|
|
| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
hurled
|
|
| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
intruded
|
|
| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
aloof
|
|
| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
rite
|
|
| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
gadding
|
|
| n.叮搔症adj.蔓生的v.闲逛( gad的现在分词 )；游荡；找乐子；用铁棒刺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
wavy
|
|
| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
meditating
|
|
| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
overflowing
|
|
| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
superfluous
|
|
| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
disapprove
|
|
| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
fascination
|
|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
derive
|
|
| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
confirmation
|
|
| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
docile
|
|
| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
tolling
|
|
| [财]来料加工 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
courageous
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
revered
|
|
| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
emboldened
|
|
| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
impunity
|
|
| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
antipathy
|
|
| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
cynical
|
|
| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
grunt
|
|
| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
smiting
|
|
| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
puerile
|
|
| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
perusal
|
|
| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
gulf
|
|
| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
chasm
|
|
| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
sinister
|
|
| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
rumours
|
|
| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
recollected
|
|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
raving
|
|
| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
coffin
|
|
| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
speculations
|
|
| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
downwards
|
|
| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
premises
|
|
| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
depressed
|
|
| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
willow
|
|
| n.柳树 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
shuffling
|
|
| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
phantom
|
|
| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
bestowed
|
|
| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
demonstration
|
|
| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
vindictively
|
|
| adv.恶毒地；报复地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
remonstrances
|
|
| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
shriek
|
|
| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
scorpion
|
|
| n.蝎子，心黑的人，蝎子鞭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
consternation
|
|
| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
swelled
|
|
| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
interdicting
|
|
| v.禁止（行动）( interdict的现在分词 )；禁用；限制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
92
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
placid
|
|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
dissimulation
|
|
| n.掩饰，虚伪，装糊涂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
mien
|
|
| n.风采；态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
fortifying
|
|
| 筑防御工事于( fortify的现在分词 )； 筑堡于； 增强； 强化（食品） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
tonic
|
|
| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
apathetic
|
|
| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
exhaustion
|
|
| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
injustice
|
|
| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
ballad
|
|
| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
crouched
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
auld
|
|
| adj.老的，旧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
guffaw
|
|
| n.哄笑；突然的大笑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
villains
|
|
| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
germane
|
|
| adj.关系密切的，恰当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
distilled
|
|
| adj.由蒸馏得来的v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
entangled
|
|
| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
vanquish
|
|
| v.征服，战胜；克服；抑制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
subdue
|
|
| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
knotty
|
|
| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
conscientiously
|
|
| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
alteration
|
|
| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
temperate
|
|
| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
genial
|
|
| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
ennui
|
|
| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
aperture
|
|
| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
exulted
|
|
| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
usher
|
|
| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
ushered
|
|
| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
rendezvous
|
|
| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
landlady
|
|
| n.女房东，女地主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
advent
|
|
| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
chid
|
|
| v.责骂，责备( chide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
destined
|
|
| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
tune
|
|
| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
buxom
|
|
| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
wring
|
|
| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
deficient
|
|
| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
bilious
|
|
| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
profess
|
|
| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
piety
|
|
| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
clergy
|
|
| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
sprightly
|
|
| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
lookout
|
|
| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
conceited
|
|
| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
majestic
|
|
| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
rheumatism
|
|
| n.风湿病 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
fatigued
|
|
| adj. 疲乏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
incompetency
|
|
| n.无能力，不适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
intercourse
|
|
| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
inmate
|
|
| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
discourse
|
|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
specified
|
|
| adj.特定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
incubus
|
|
| n.负担；恶梦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
missionary
|
|
| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
dedicated
|
|
| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
exorbitant
|
|
| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
compulsory
|
|
| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
conversion
|
|
| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
foist
|
|
| vt.把…强塞给，骗卖给 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
varied
|
|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
plentiful
|
|
| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
viands
|
|
| n.食品，食物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
assortment
|
|
| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
tarts
|
|
| n.果馅饼( tart的名词复数 )；轻佻的女人；妓女；小妞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
garnished
|
|
| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
invaders
|
|
| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
regained
|
|
| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
bounteous
|
|
| adj.丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
snugly
|
|
| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
stultified
|
|
| v.使成为徒劳，使变得无用( stultify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
incurable
|
|
| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
reigned
|
|
| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
exasperating
|
|
| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
trite
|
|
| adj.陈腐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
perverse
|
|
| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
ridicule
|
|
| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
elegance
|
|
| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
incensed
|
|
| 盛怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
prater
|
|
| 多嘴的人，空谈者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
refinement
|
|
| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
201
pastor
|
|
| n.牧师，牧人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
202
censuring
|
|
| v.指责，非难，谴责( censure的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
203
ordained
|
|
| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
204
ministry
|
|
| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
205
prattle
|
|
| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
206
rattle
|
|
| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
207
widower
|
|
| n.鳏夫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
208
attentive
|
|
| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
209
abide
|
|
| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
210
oracle
|
|
| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
211
babble
|
|
| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
212
credulous
|
|
| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
213
frivolous
|
|
| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
214
besieged
|
|
| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
215
conjugal
|
|
| adj.婚姻的，婚姻性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
216
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
217
munificence
|
|
| n.宽宏大量，慷慨给与 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
218
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
219
attain
|
|
| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
220
scruple
|
|
| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
221
inverting
|
|
| v.使倒置，使反转( invert的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
222
honeymoon
|
|
| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
223
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
224
trampled
|
|
| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
225
monarch
|
|
| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
226
ponderous
|
|
| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
228
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
229
isolated
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
230
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
231
hiss
|
|
| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
232
complacently
|
|
| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
233
abashed
|
|
| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
234
relinquish
|
|
| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
235
felicitous
|
|
| adj.恰当的，巧妙的；n.恰当，贴切 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
236
arduous
|
|
| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
237
flute
|
|
| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
238
herding
|
|
| 中畜群 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
239
sneering
|
|
| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
240
heed
|
|
| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
241
sarcasm
|
|
| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
242
chagrined
|
|
| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
243
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
244
enact
|
|
| vt.制定(法律)；上演，扮演 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
245
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
246
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
247
sundered
|
|
| v.隔开，分开( sunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
248
entreated
|
|
| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
249
ornamental
|
|
| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
250
sullenly
|
|
| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
251
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
252
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
253
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
254
squeaking
|
|
| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
255
gasping
|
|
| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
256
respite
|
|
| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
257
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
258
vacancy
|
|
| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
259
solely
|
|
| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
260
dart
|
|
| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
261
glide
|
|
| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
262
hemmed
|
|
| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
263
dreads
|
|
| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
264
stammered
|
|
| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
265
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
266
faculty
|
|
| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
267
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
268
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
269
custody
|
|
| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
270
prosecute
|
|
| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
271
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
272
accomplices
|
|
| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
273
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
274
pithy
|
|
| adj.(讲话或文章)简练的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
275
redounds
|
|
| v.有助益( redound的第三人称单数 )；及于；报偿；报应 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
276
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
277
annihilate
|
|
| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
278
bourgeois
|
|
| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
279
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
280
bankruptcy
|
|
| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
281
kinsman
|
|
| n.男亲属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
282
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |