"I rather like to entertain a circle of gentlemen," said she. "It is amusing to observe how they enjoy a judiciously1 concocted2 repast. For ourselves, you see, these choice wines and these scientific dishes are of no importance to us; but gentlemen seem to retain something of the naïveté of children about food, and one likes to please them—that is, when they show the becoming, decent self-government of our admirable rectors. I watch Moore sometimes, to try and discover how he can be pleased; but he has not that child's simplicity3 about him. Did you ever find out his accessible point, Caroline? you have seen more of him than I."
"It is not, at any rate, that of my uncle and Dr. Boultby," returned Caroline, smiling. She always felt a sort of shy pleasure in following Miss Keeldar's lead respecting the discussion of her cousin's character. Left to herself, she would never have touched on the subject; but when invited, the temptation of talking about him of whom she was ever thinking was irresistible5. "But," she added, "I really don't know what it is, for I never watched Robert in my life but my scrutiny6 was presently baffled by finding he was watching me."
"There it is!" exclaimed Shirley. "You can't fix your eyes on him but his presently flash on you. He is never off his guard. He won't give you an advantage. Even when he does not look at you, his thoughts seem to be busy amongst your own thoughts, tracing your words and actions to their source, contemplating7 your motives8 at his ease. Oh! I know that sort of character, or something in the same style. It is one that piques10 me singularly. How does it affect you?"
This question was a specimen11 of one of Shirley's sharp,240 sudden turns. Caroline used to be fluttered by them at first, but she had now got into the way of parrying these home-thrusts like a little Quakeress.
"Here he comes!" suddenly exclaimed Shirley, breaking off, starting up and running to the window. "Here comes a diversion. I never told you of a superb conquest I have made lately—made at those parties to which I can never persuade you to accompany me; and the thing has been done without effort or intention on my part—that I aver12. There is the bell—and, by all that's delicious! there are two of them. Do they never hunt, then, except in couples? You may have one, Lina, and you may take your choice. I hope I am generous enough. Listen to Tartar!"
The black-muzzled, tawny13 dog, a glimpse of which was seen in the chapter which first introduced its mistress to the reader, here gave tongue in the hall, amidst whose hollow space the deep bark resounded14 formidably. A growl15 more terrible than the bark, menacing as muttered thunder, succeeded.
"Listen!" again cried Shirley, laughing. "You would think that the prelude16 to a bloody17 onslaught. They will be frightened. They don't know old Tartar as I do. They are not aware his uproars18 are all sound and fury, signifying nothing!"
Some bustle19 was heard. "Down, sir, down!" exclaimed a high-toned, imperious voice, and then came a crack of a cane20 or whip. Immediately there was a yell—a scutter—a run—a positive tumult21.
"O Malone, Malone!"
"Down! down! down!" cried the high voice.
"He really is worrying them!" exclaimed Shirley. "They have struck him. A blow is what he is not used to, and will not take."
Out she ran. A gentleman was fleeing up the oak staircase, making for refuge in the gallery or chambers22 in hot haste; another was backing fast to the stairfoot, wildly flourishing a knotty24 stick, at the same time reiterating25, "Down! down! down!" while the tawny dog bayed, bellowed26, howled at him, and a group of servants came bundling from the kitchen. The dog made a spring; the second gentleman turned tail and rushed after his comrade. The first was already safe in a bedroom; he held the door241 against his fellow—nothing so merciless as terror. But the other fugitive28 struggled hard; the door was about to yield to his strength.
"Gentlemen," was uttered in Miss Keeldar's silvery but vibrating tones, "spare my locks, if you please. Calm yourselves! Come down! Look at Tartar; he won't harm a cat."
She was caressing30 the said Tartar. He lay crouched31 at her feet, his fore32 paws stretched out, his tail still in threatening agitation33, his nostrils34 snorting, his bulldog eyes conscious of a dull fire. He was an honest, phlegmatic35, stupid, but stubborn canine36 character. He loved his mistress and John—the man who fed him—but was mostly indifferent to the rest of the world. Quiet enough he was, unless struck or threatened with a stick, and that put a demon37 into him at once.
"Mr. Malone, how do you do?" continued Shirley, lifting up her mirth-lit face to the gallery. "That is not the way to the oak parlour; that is Mrs. Pryor's apartment. Request your friend Mr. Donne to evacuate38. I shall have the greatest pleasure in receiving him in a lower room."
"Ha! ha!" cried Malone, in hollow laughter, quitting the door, and leaning over the massive balustrade. "Really that animal alarmed Donne. He is a little timid," he proceeded, stiffening39 himself, and walking trimly to the stairhead. "I thought it better to follow, in order to reassure40 him."
"It appears you did. Well, come down, if you please.—John" (turning to her manservant), "go upstairs and liberate41 Mr. Donne.—Take care, Mr. Malone; the stairs are slippery."
In truth they were, being of polished oak. The caution came a little late for Malone. He had slipped already in his stately descent, and was only saved from falling by a clutch at the banisters, which made the whole structure creak again.
Tartar seemed to think the visitor's descent effected with unwarranted éclat, and accordingly he growled42 once more. Malone, however, was no coward. The spring of the dog had taken him by surprise, but he passed him now in suppressed fury rather than fear. If a look could have strangled Tartar, he would have breathed no more. Forgetting politeness in his sullen43 rage, Malone pushed into the parlour before Miss Keeldar. He glanced at Miss Helstone;242 he could scarcely bring himself to bend to her. He glared on both the ladies. He looked as if, had either of them been his wife, he would have made a glorious husband at the moment. In each hand he seemed as if he would have liked to clutch one and gripe her to death.
However, Shirley took pity. She ceased to laugh; and Caroline was too true a lady to smile even at any one under mortification44. Tartar was dismissed; Peter Augustus was soothed—for Shirley had looks and tones that might soothe45 a very bull. He had sense to feel that, since he could not challenge the owner of the dog, he had better be civil. And civil he tried to be; and his attempts being well received, he grew presently very civil and quite himself again. He had come, indeed, for the express purpose of making himself charming and fascinating. Rough portents46 had met him on his first admission to Fieldhead; but that passage got over, charming and fascinating he resolved to be. Like March, having come in like a lion, he purposed to go out like a lamb.
For the sake of air, as it appeared, or perhaps for that of ready exit in case of some new emergency arising, he took his seat,—not on the sofa, where Miss Keeldar offered him enthronization, nor yet near the fireside, to which Caroline, by a friendly sign, gently invited him, but on a chair close to the door. Being no longer sullen or furious, he grew, after his fashion, constrained47 and embarrassed. He talked to the ladies by fits and starts, choosing for topics whatever was most intensely commonplace. He sighed deeply, significantly, at the close of every sentence; he sighed in each pause; he sighed ere he opened his mouth. At last, finding it desirable to add ease to his other charms, he drew forth49 to aid him an ample silk pocket-handkerchief. This was to be the graceful50 toy with which his unoccupied hands were to trifle. He went to work with a certain energy. He folded the red-and-yellow square cornerwise; he whipped it open with a waft51; again he folded it in narrower compass; he made of it a handsome band. To what purpose would he proceed to apply the ligature? Would he wrap it about his throat—his head? Should it be a comforter or a turban? Neither. Peter Augustus had an inventive, an original genius. He was about to show the ladies graces of action possessing at least the charm of novelty. He sat on the chair with his athletic52 Irish legs crossed, and these legs, in that attitude, he circled with the bandana and bound firmly together.243 It was evident he felt this device to be worth an encore; he repeated it more than once. The second performance sent Shirley to the window, to laugh her silent but irrepressible laugh unseen; it turned Caroline's head aside, that her long curls might screen the smile mantling53 on her features. Miss Helstone, indeed, was amused by more than one point in Peter's demeanour. She was edified54 at the complete though abrupt55 diversion of his homage56 from herself to the heiress. The £5,000 he supposed her likely one day to inherit were not to be weighed in the balance against Miss Keeldar's estate and hall. He took no pains to conceal57 his calculations and tactics. He pretended to no gradual change of views; he wheeled about at once. The pursuit of the lesser58 fortune was openly relinquished59 for that of the greater. On what grounds he expected to succeed in his chase himself best knew; certainly not by skilful60 management.
From the length of time that elapsed, it appeared that John had some difficulty in persuading Mr. Donne to descend61. At length, however, that gentleman appeared; nor, as he presented himself at the oak-parlour door, did he seem in the slightest degree ashamed or confused—not a whit62. Donne, indeed, was of that coldly phlegmatic, immovably complacent63, densely64 self-satisfied nature which is insensible to shame. He had never blushed in his life; no humiliation65 could abash66 him; his nerves were not capable of sensation enough to stir his life and make colour mount to his cheek; he had no fire in his blood and no modesty67 in his soul; he was a frontless, arrogant68, decorous slip of the commonplace—conceited, inane69, insipid70; and this gentleman had a notion of wooing Miss Keeldar! He knew no more, however, how to set about the business than if he had been an image carved in wood. He had no idea of a taste to be pleased, a heart to be reached in courtship. His notion was, when he should have formally visited her a few times, to write a letter proposing marriage. Then he calculated she would accept him for love of his office; then they would be married; then he should be master of Fieldhead; and he should live very comfortably, have servants at his command, eat and drink of the best, and be a great man. You would not have suspected his intentions when he addressed his intended bride in an impertinent, injured tone—"A very dangerous dog that, Miss Keeldar. I wonder you should keep such an animal."
244"Do you, Mr. Donne? Perhaps you will wonder more when I tell you I am very fond of him."
"I should say you are not serious in the assertion. Can't fancy a lady fond of that brute71—'tis so ugly—a mere72 carter's dog. Pray hang him."
"Hang what I am fond of!"
"And purchase in his stead some sweetly pooty pug or poodle—something appropriate to the fair sex. Ladies generally like lap-dogs."
"Perhaps I am an exception."
"Oh, you can't be, you know. All ladies are alike in those matters. That is universally allowed."
"Tartar frightened you terribly, Mr. Donne. I hope you won't take any harm."
"That I shall, no doubt. He gave me a turn I shall not soon forget. When I sor him" (such was Mr. Donne's pronunciation) "about to spring, I thought I should have fainted."
"Perhaps you did faint in the bedroom; you were a long time there."
"No; I bore up that I might hold the door fast. I was determined73 not to let any one enter. I thought I would keep a barrier between me and the enemy."
"But what if your friend Mr. Malone had been worried?"
"Malone must take care of himself. Your man persuaded me to come out at last by saying the dog was chained up in his kennel74. If I had not been assured of this, I would have remained all day in the chamber23. But what is that? I declare the man has told a falsehood! The dog is there!"
And indeed Tartar walked past the glass door opening to the garden, stiff, tawny, and black-muzzled as ever. He still seemed in bad humour. He was growling75 again, and whistling a half-strangled whistle, being an inheritance from the bulldog side of his ancestry76.
"There are other visitors coming," observed Shirley, with that provoking coolness which the owners of formidable-looking dogs are apt to show while their animals are all bristle77 and bay. Tartar sprang down the pavement towards the gate, bellowing78 avec explosion. His mistress quietly opened the glass door, and stepped out chirruping to him. His bellow27 was already silenced, and he was lifting up his huge, blunt, stupid head to the new callers to be patted.
245"What! Tartar, Tartar!" said a cheery, rather boyish voice, "don't you know us? Good-morning, old boy!"
And little Mr. Sweeting, whose conscious good nature made him comparatively fearless of man, woman, child, or brute, came through the gate, caressing the guardian79. His vicar, Mr. Hall, followed. He had no fear of Tartar either, and Tartar had no ill-will to him. He snuffed both the gentlemen round, and then, as if concluding that they were harmless, and might be allowed to pass, he withdrew to the sunny front of the hall, leaving the archway free. Mr. Sweeting followed, and would have played with him; but Tartar took no notice of his caresses80. It was only his mistress's hand whose touch gave him pleasure; to all others he showed himself obstinately81 insensible.
Shirley advanced to meet Messrs. Hall and Sweeting, shaking hands with them cordially. They were come to tell her of certain successes they had achieved that morning in applications for subscriptions82 to the fund. Mr. Hall's eyes beamed benignantly through his spectacles, his plain face looked positively84 handsome with goodness; and when Caroline, seeing who was come, ran out to meet him, and put both her hands into his, he gazed down on her with a gentle, serene85, affectionate expression that gave him the aspect of a smiling Melanchthon.
Instead of re-entering the house, they strayed through the garden, the ladies walking one on each side of Mr. Hall. It was a breezy sunny day; the air freshened the girls' cheeks and gracefully86 dishevelled their ringlets. Both of them looked pretty—one gay. Mr. Hall spoke87 oftenest to his brilliant companion, looked most frequently at the quiet one. Miss Keeldar gathered handfuls of the profusely88 blooming flowers whose perfume filled the enclosure. She gave some to Caroline, telling her to choose a nosegay for Mr. Hall; and with her lap filled with delicate and splendid blossoms, Caroline sat down on the steps of a summer-house. The vicar stood near her, leaning on his cane.
Shirley, who could not be inhospitable, now called out the neglected pair in the oak parlour. She convoyed Donne past his dread90 enemy Tartar, who, with his nose on his fore paws, lay snoring under the meridian91 sun. Donne was not grateful—he never was grateful for kindness and attention—but he was glad of the safeguard. Miss Keeldar, desirous of being impartial92, offered the curates flowers. They accepted246 them with native awkwardness. Malone seemed specially93 at a loss, when a bouquet94 filled one hand, while his shillelah occupied the other. Donne's "Thank you!" was rich to hear. It was the most fatuous95 and arrogant of sounds, implying that he considered this offering a homage to his merits, and an attempt on the part of the heiress to ingratiate herself into his priceless affections. Sweeting alone received the posy like a smart, sensible little man, as he was, putting it gallantly96 and nattily97 into his buttonhole.
As a reward for his good manners, Miss Keeldar, beckoning98 him apart, gave him some commission, which made his eyes sparkle with glee. Away he flew, round by the courtyard to the kitchen. No need to give him directions; he was always at home everywhere. Ere long he reappeared, carrying a round table, which he placed under the cedar99; then he collected six garden-chairs from various nooks and bowers100 in the grounds, and placed them in a circle. The parlour-maid—Miss Keeldar kept no footman—came out, bearing a napkin-covered tray. Sweeting's nimble fingers aided in disposing glasses, plates, knives, and forks; he assisted her too in setting forth a neat luncheon101, consisting of cold chicken, ham, and tarts48.
This sort of impromptu102 regale103 it was Shirley's delight to offer any chance guests; and nothing pleased her better than to have an alert, obliging little friend, like Sweeting, to run about her hand, cheerily receive and briskly execute her hospitable89 hints. David and she were on the best terms in the world; and his devotion to the heiress was quite disinterested104, since it prejudiced in nothing his faithful allegiance to the magnificent Dora Sykes.
The repast turned out a very merry one. Donne and Malone, indeed, contributed but little to its vivacity105, the chief part they played in it being what concerned the knife, fork, and wine-glass; but where four such natures as Mr. Hall, David Sweeting, Shirley, and Caroline were assembled in health and amity106, on a green lawn, under a sunny sky, amidst a wilderness107 of flowers, there could not be ungenial dullness.
In the course of conversation Mr. Hall reminded the ladies that Whitsuntide was approaching, when the grand united Sunday-school tea-drinking and procession of the three parishes of Briarfield, Whinbury, and Nunnely were to take place. Caroline, he knew, would be at her post as teacher,247 he said, and he hoped Miss Keeldar would not be wanting. He hoped she would make her first public appearance amongst them at that time. Shirley was not the person to miss an occasion of this sort. She liked festive108 excitement, a gathering109 of happiness, a concentration and combination of pleasant details, a throng110 of glad faces, a muster111 of elated hearts. She told Mr. Hall they might count on her with security. She did not know what she would have to do, but they might dispose of her as they pleased.
"And," said Caroline, "you will promise to come to my table, and to sit near me, Mr. Hall?"
"I shall not fail, Deo volente," said he.—"I have occupied the place on her right hand at these monster tea-drinkings for the last six years," he proceeded, turning to Miss Keeldar. "They made her a Sunday-school teacher when she was a little girl of twelve. She is not particularly self-confident by nature, as you may have observed; and the first time she had to 'take a tray,' as the phrase is, and make tea in public, there was some piteous trembling and flushing. I observed the speechless panic, the cups shaking in the little hand, and the overflowing112 teapot filled too full from the urn4. I came to her aid, took a seat near her, managed the urn and the slop-basin, and in fact made the tea for her like any old woman."
"I was very grateful to you," interposed Caroline.
"You were. You told me so with an earnest sincerity113 that repaid me well, inasmuch as it was not like the majority of little ladies of twelve, whom you may help and caress29 for ever without their evincing any quicker sense of the kindness done and meant than if they were made of wax and wood instead of flesh and nerves.—She kept close to me, Miss Keeldar, the rest of the evening, walking with me over the grounds where the children were playing; she followed me into the vestry when all were summoned into church; she would, I believe, have mounted with me to the pulpit, had I not taken the previous precaution of conducting her to the rectory pew."
"And he has been my friend ever since," said Caroline.
"And always sat at her table, near her tray, and handed the cups—that is the extent of my services. The next thing I do for her will be to marry her some day to some curate or mill-owner.—But mind, Caroline, I shall inquire about the bridegroom's character; and if he is not a gentleman likely to render happy the little girl who walked with248 me hand in hand over Nunnely Common, I will not officiate. So take care."
"The caution is useless. I am not going to be married. I shall live single, like your sister Margaret, Mr. Hall."
"Very well. You might do worse. Margaret is not unhappy. She has her books for a pleasure, and her brother for a care, and is content. If ever you want a home, if the day should come when Briarfield rectory is yours no longer, come to Nunnely vicarage. Should the old maid and bachelor be still living, they will make you tenderly welcome."
"There are your flowers. Now," said Caroline, who had kept the nosegay she had selected for him till this moment, "you don't care for a bouquet, but you must give it to Margaret; only—to be sentimental115 for once—keep that little forget-me-not, which is a wild flower I gathered from the grass; and—to be still more sentimental—let me take two or three of the blue blossoms and put them in my souvenir."
And she took out a small book with enamelled cover and silver clasp, wherein, having opened it, she inserted the flowers, writing round them in pencil, "To be kept for the sake of the Rev114. Cyril Hall, my friend. May —, 18—."
The Rev. Cyril Hall, on his part, also placed a sprig in safety between the leaves of a pocket Testament116. He only wrote on the margin117, "Caroline."
"Now," said he, smiling, "I trust we are romantic enough. Miss Keeldar," he continued (the curates, by-the-bye, during this conversation, were too much occupied with their own jokes to notice what passed at the other end of the table), "I hope you are laughing at this trait of 'exaltation' in the old gray-headed vicar; but the fact is, I am so used to comply with the requests of this young friend of yours, I don't know how to refuse her when she tells me to do anything. You would say it is not much in my way to traffic with flowers and forget-me-nots; but, you see, when requested to be sentimental, I am obedient."
"He is naturally rather sentimental," remarked Caroline. "Margaret told me so, and I know what pleases him."
"That you should be good and happy? Yes; that is one of my greatest pleasures. May God long preserve to you the blessings118 of peace and innocence119! By which phrase I mean comparative innocence; for in His sight, I am well aware, none are pure. What to our human perceptions249 looks spotless as we fancy angels, is to Him but frailty120, needing the blood of His Son to cleanse121, and the strength of His Spirit to sustain. Let us each and all cherish humility—I, as you, my young friends; and we may well do it when we look into our own hearts, and see there temptations, inconsistencies, propensities122, even we blush to recognize. And it is not youth, nor good looks, nor grace, nor any gentle outside charm which makes either beauty or goodness in God's eyes.—Young ladies, when your mirror or men's tongues flatter you, remember that, in the sight of her Maker123, Mary Ann Ainley—a woman whom neither glass nor lips have ever panegyrized—is fairer and better than either of you. She is indeed," he added, after a pause—"she is indeed. You young things, wrapt up in yourselves and in earthly hopes, scarcely live as Christ lived. Perhaps you cannot do it yet, while existence is so sweet and earth so smiling to you; it would be too much to expect. She, with meek124 heart and due reverence125, treads close in her Redeemer's steps."
Here the harsh voice of Donne broke in on the mild tones of Mr. Hall. "Ahem!" he began, clearing his throat evidently for a speech of some importance—"ahem! Miss Keeldar, your attention an instant, if you please."
"Well," said Shirley nonchalantly, "what is it? I listen. All of me is ear that is not eye."
"I hope part of you is hand also," returned Donne, in his vulgarly presumptuous126 and familiar style, "and part purse. It is to the hand and purse I propose to appeal. I came here this morning with a view to beg of you——"
"You should have gone to Mrs. Gill; she is my almoner."
"To beg of you a subscription83 to a school. I and Dr. Boultby intend to erect127 one in the hamlet of Ecclefigg, which is under our vicarage of Whinbury. The Baptists have got possession of it. They have a chapel128 there, and we want to dispute the ground."
"But I have nothing to do with Ecclefigg. I possess no property there."
"What does that signify? You're a churchwoman, ain't you?"
"Admirable creature!" muttered Shirley, under her breath. "Exquisite129 address! Fine style! What raptures130 he excites in me!" Then aloud, "I am a churchwoman, certainly."
"Then you can't refuse to contribute in this case. The250 population of Ecclefigg are a parcel of brutes131; we want to civilize132 them."
"Who is to be the missionary133?"
"Myself, probably."
"You won't fail through lack of sympathy with your flock."
"I hope not—I expect success; but we must have money. There is the paper. Pray give a handsome sum."
When asked for money, Shirley rarely held back. She put down her name for £5. After the £300 she had lately given, and the many smaller sums she was giving constantly, it was as much as she could at present afford. Donne looked at it, declared the subscription "shabby," and clamorously demanded more. Miss Keeldar flushed up with some indignation and more astonishment134.
"At present I shall give no more," said she.
"Not give more! Why, I expected you to head the list with a cool hundred. With your property, you should never put down a signature for less."
She was silent.
"In the south," went on Donne, "a lady with a thousand a year would be ashamed to give five pounds for a public object."
Shirley, so rarely haughty135, looked so now. Her slight frame became nerved; her distinguished136 face quickened with scorn.
"Bounty! Do you call five pounds bounty?"
"I do; and bounty which, had I not given it to Dr. Boultby's intended school, of the erection of which I approve, and in no sort to his curate, who seems ill-advised in his manner of applying for, or rather extorting138, subscriptions—bounty, I repeat, which, but for this consideration, I should instantly reclaim139."
Donne was thick-skinned. He did not feel all or half that the tone, air, glance of the speaker expressed. He knew not on what ground he stood.
"Wretched place this Yorkshire," he went on. "I could never have formed an idear of the country had I not seen it. And the people—rich and poor—what a set! How corse and uncultivated! They would be scouted140 in the south."
Shirley leaned forwards on the table, her nostrils dilating251 a little, her taper141 fingers interlaced and compressing each other hard.
"The rich," pursued the infatuated and unconscious Donne, "are a parcel of misers142, never living as persons with their incomes ought to live. You scarsley"—(you must excuse Mr. Donne's pronunciation, reader; it was very choice; he considered it genteel, and prided himself on his southern accent; northern ears received with singular sensations his utterance143 of certain words)—"you scarsley ever see a fam'ly where a propa carriage or a reg'la butla is kep; and as to the poor—just look at them when they come crowding about the church doors on the occasion of a marriage or a funeral, clattering144 in clogs145; the men in their shirt-sleeves and wool-combers' aprons146, the women in mob-caps and bed-gowns. They positively deserve that one should turn a mad cow in amongst them to rout147 their rabble-ranks. He-he! what fun it would be!"
"There! you have reached the climax," said Shirley quietly. "You have reached the climax," she repeated, turning her glowing glance towards him. "You cannot go beyond it, and," she added with emphasis, "you shall not, in my house."
Up she rose—nobody could control her now, for she was exasperated—straight she walked to her garden gates, wide she flung them open.
Donne was astounded149. He had thought all the time he was showing himself off to high advantage, as a lofty-souled person of the first "ton;" he imagined he was producing a crushing impression. Had he not expressed disdain150 of everything in Yorkshire? What more conclusive151 proof could be given that he was better than anything there? And yet here was he about to be turned like a dog out of a Yorkshire garden! Where, under such circumstances, was the "concatenation accordingly"?
"Rid me of you instantly—instantly!" reiterated152 Shirley, as he lingered.
"Madam—a clergyman! turn out a clergyman!"
"Off! Were you an archbishop you have proved yourself no gentleman, and must go. Quick!"
She was quite resolved. There was no trifling153 with her. Besides, Tartar was again rising; he perceived symptoms of a commotion154; he manifested a disposition155 to join in.252 There was evidently nothing for it but to go, and Donne made his exodus156, the heiress sweeping157 him a deep curtsy as she closed the gates on him.
"How dare the pompous158 priest abuse his flock! How dare the lisping cockney revile159 Yorkshire!" was her sole observation on the circumstance, as she returned to the table.
Ere long the little party broke up; Miss Keeldar's ruffled160 and darkened brow, curled lip, and incensed161 eye gave no invitation to further social enjoyment162.
该作者的其它作品
《Jane Eyre简爱》
该作者的其它作品
《Jane Eyre简爱》
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1 judiciously | |
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15 growl | |
v.(狗等)嗥叫,(炮等)轰鸣;n.嗥叫,轰鸣 | |
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16 prelude | |
n.序言,前兆,序曲 | |
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17 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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18 uproars | |
吵闹,喧嚣,骚乱( uproar的名词复数 ) | |
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19 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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20 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
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21 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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22 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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23 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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24 knotty | |
adj.有结的,多节的,多瘤的,棘手的 | |
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25 reiterating | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的现在分词 ) | |
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26 bellowed | |
v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的过去式和过去分词 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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27 bellow | |
v.吼叫,怒吼;大声发出,大声喝道 | |
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28 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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29 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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30 caressing | |
爱抚的,表现爱情的,亲切的 | |
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31 crouched | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32 fore | |
adv.在前面;adj.先前的;在前部的;n.前部 | |
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33 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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34 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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35 phlegmatic | |
adj.冷静的,冷淡的,冷漠的,无活力的 | |
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36 canine | |
adj.犬的,犬科的 | |
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37 demon | |
n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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38 evacuate | |
v.遣送;搬空;抽出;排泄;大(小)便 | |
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39 stiffening | |
n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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40 reassure | |
v.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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41 liberate | |
v.解放,使获得自由,释出,放出;vt.解放,使获自由 | |
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42 growled | |
v.(动物)发狺狺声, (雷)作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 );低声咆哮着说 | |
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43 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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44 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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45 soothe | |
v.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承 | |
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46 portents | |
n.预兆( portent的名词复数 );征兆;怪事;奇物 | |
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47 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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48 tarts | |
n.果馅饼( tart的名词复数 );轻佻的女人;妓女;小妞 | |
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49 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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50 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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51 waft | |
v.飘浮,飘荡;n.一股;一阵微风;飘荡 | |
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52 athletic | |
adj.擅长运动的,强健的;活跃的,体格健壮的 | |
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53 mantling | |
覆巾 | |
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54 edified | |
v.开导,启发( edify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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56 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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57 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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58 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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59 relinquished | |
交出,让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 ); 放弃 | |
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60 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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61 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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62 whit | |
n.一点,丝毫 | |
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63 complacent | |
adj.自满的;自鸣得意的 | |
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64 densely | |
ad.密集地;浓厚地 | |
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65 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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66 abash | |
v.使窘迫,使局促不安 | |
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67 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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68 arrogant | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的 | |
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69 inane | |
adj.空虚的,愚蠢的,空洞的 | |
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70 insipid | |
adj.无味的,枯燥乏味的,单调的 | |
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71 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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72 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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73 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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74 kennel | |
n.狗舍,狗窝 | |
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75 growling | |
n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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76 ancestry | |
n.祖先,家世 | |
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77 bristle | |
v.(毛发)直立,气势汹汹,发怒;n.硬毛发 | |
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78 bellowing | |
v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的现在分词 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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79 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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80 caresses | |
爱抚,抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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81 obstinately | |
ad.固执地,顽固地 | |
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82 subscriptions | |
n.(报刊等的)订阅费( subscription的名词复数 );捐款;(俱乐部的)会员费;捐助 | |
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83 subscription | |
n.预订,预订费,亲笔签名,调配法,下标(处方) | |
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84 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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85 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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86 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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87 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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88 profusely | |
ad.abundantly | |
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89 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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90 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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91 meridian | |
adj.子午线的;全盛期的 | |
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92 impartial | |
adj.(in,to)公正的,无偏见的 | |
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93 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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94 bouquet | |
n.花束,酒香 | |
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95 fatuous | |
adj.愚昧的;昏庸的 | |
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96 gallantly | |
adv. 漂亮地,勇敢地,献殷勤地 | |
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97 nattily | |
adv.整洁地,帅地 | |
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98 beckoning | |
adj.引诱人的,令人心动的v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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99 cedar | |
n.雪松,香柏(木) | |
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100 bowers | |
n.(女子的)卧室( bower的名词复数 );船首锚;阴凉处;鞠躬的人 | |
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101 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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102 impromptu | |
adj.即席的,即兴的;adv.即兴的(地),无准备的(地) | |
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103 regale | |
v.取悦,款待 | |
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104 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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105 vivacity | |
n.快活,活泼,精神充沛 | |
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106 amity | |
n.友好关系 | |
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107 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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108 festive | |
adj.欢宴的,节日的 | |
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109 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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110 throng | |
n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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111 muster | |
v.集合,收集,鼓起,激起;n.集合,检阅,集合人员,点名册 | |
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112 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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113 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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114 rev | |
v.发动机旋转,加快速度 | |
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115 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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116 testament | |
n.遗嘱;证明 | |
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117 margin | |
n.页边空白;差额;余地,余裕;边,边缘 | |
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118 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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119 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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120 frailty | |
n.脆弱;意志薄弱 | |
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121 cleanse | |
vt.使清洁,使纯洁,清洗 | |
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122 propensities | |
n.倾向,习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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123 maker | |
n.制造者,制造商 | |
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124 meek | |
adj.温顺的,逆来顺受的 | |
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125 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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126 presumptuous | |
adj.胆大妄为的,放肆的,冒昧的,冒失的 | |
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127 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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128 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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129 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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130 raptures | |
极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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131 brutes | |
兽( brute的名词复数 ); 畜生; 残酷无情的人; 兽性 | |
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132 civilize | |
vt.使文明,使开化 (=civilise) | |
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133 missionary | |
adj.教会的,传教(士)的;n.传教士 | |
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134 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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135 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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136 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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137 bounty | |
n.慷慨的赠予物,奖金;慷慨,大方;施与 | |
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138 extorting | |
v.敲诈( extort的现在分词 );曲解 | |
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139 reclaim | |
v.要求归还,收回;开垦 | |
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140 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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141 taper | |
n.小蜡烛,尖细,渐弱;adj.尖细的;v.逐渐变小 | |
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142 misers | |
守财奴,吝啬鬼( miser的名词复数 ) | |
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143 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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144 clattering | |
发出咔哒声(clatter的现在分词形式) | |
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145 clogs | |
木屐; 木底鞋,木屐( clog的名词复数 ) | |
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146 aprons | |
围裙( apron的名词复数 ); 停机坪,台口(舞台幕前的部份) | |
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147 rout | |
n.溃退,溃败;v.击溃,打垮 | |
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148 austerely | |
adv.严格地,朴质地 | |
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149 astounded | |
v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词);愕然;愕;惊讶 | |
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150 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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151 conclusive | |
adj.最后的,结论的;确凿的,消除怀疑的 | |
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152 reiterated | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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154 commotion | |
n.骚动,动乱 | |
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155 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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156 exodus | |
v.大批离去,成群外出 | |
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157 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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158 pompous | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
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159 revile | |
v.辱骂,谩骂 | |
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160 ruffled | |
adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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161 incensed | |
盛怒的 | |
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162 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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