At the sight of her Eugene was beside himself. He was always at the breaking point over any romantic situation. The beauty of the idea—the beauty of love as love; the delight of youth filled his mind as a song might, made him tense, feverish9, enthusiastic.
"You're here at last, Angela!" he said, trying to keep hold of her hands. "What word?"
"Oh, you musn't ask so soon," she replied. "I want to talk to you first. I'll play you something."
"No," he said, following her as she backed toward the piano. "I want to know. I must. I can't wait."
"I haven't made up my mind," she pleaded evasively. "I want to think. You had better let me play."
"Oh, no," he urged.
"Yes, let me play."
She ignored him and swept into the composition, but all the while she was conscious of him hovering10 over her—a force. At the close, when she had been made even more emotionally responsive by the suggestion of the music, he slipped his arms about her as he had once before, but she struggled away again, slipping to a corner and standing11 at bay. He liked her flushed face, her shaken hair, the roses awry12 at her waist.
"You must tell me now," he said, standing before her. "Will you have me?"
She dropped her head down as though doubting, and fearing familiarities; he slipped to one knee to see her eyes. Then, looking up, he caught her about the waist. "Will you?" he asked.
She looked at his soft hair, dark and thick, his smooth pale brow, his black eyes and even chin. She wanted to yield dramatically and this was dramatic enough. She put her hands to his head, bent13 over and looked into his eyes; her hair fell forward about her face. "Will you be good to me?" she asked, yearning14 into his eyes.
"Yes, yes," he declared. "You know that. Oh, I love you so."
She put his head far back and laid her lips to his. There was fire, agony in it. She held him so and then he stood up heaping kisses upon her cheeks, her lips, her eyes, her neck.
"Good God!" he exclaimed, "how wonderful you are!"
The expression shocked her.
"You mustn't," she said.
"I can't help it. You are so beautiful!"
She forgave him for the compliment.
There were burning moments after this, moments in which they clung to each other desperately15, moments in which he took her in his arms, moments in which he whispered his dreams of the future. He took the ring he had bought and put it on her finger. He was going to be a great artist, she was going to be an artist's bride; he was going to paint her lovely face, her hair, her form. If he wanted love scenes he would paint these which they were now living together. They talked until one in the morning and then she begged him to go, but he would not. At two he left, only to come early the next morning to take her to church.
There ensued for Eugene a rather astonishing imaginative and emotional period in which he grew in perception of things literary and artistic16 and in dreams of what marriage with Angela would mean to him. There was a peculiar17 awareness18 about Eugene at this time, which was leading him into an understanding of things. The extraordinary demands of some phases of dogma in the matter of religion; the depths of human perversity19 in the matter of morality; the fact that there were worlds within worlds of our social organism; that really basically and actually there was no fixed20 and definite understanding of anything by anybody. From Mathews he learned of philosophies—Kant, Hegel, Schopenhauer—faint inklings of what they believed. From association with Howe he heard of current authors who expressed new moods, Pierre Loti, Thomas Hardy21, Maeterlinck, Tolstoi. Eugene was no person to read—he was too eager to live,—but he gained much by conversation and he liked to talk. He began to think he could do almost anything if he tried—write poems, write plays, write stories, paint, illustrate22, etc. He used to conceive of himself as a general, an orator23, a politician—thinking how wonderful he would be if he could set himself definitely to any one thing. Sometimes he would recite passages from great speeches he had composed in his imagination as he walked. The saving grace in his whole make-up was that he really loved to work and he would work at the things he could do. He would not shirk his assignments or dodge24 his duties.
After his evening class Eugene would sometimes go out to Ruby25's house, getting there by eleven and being admitted by an arrangement with her that the front door be left open so that he could enter quietly. More than once he found her sleeping in her little room off the front room, arrayed in a red silk dressing26 gown and curled up like a little black-haired child. She knew he liked her art instincts and she strove to gratify them, affecting the peculiar and the exceptional. She would place a candle under a red shade on a small table by her bed and pretend to have been reading, the book being usually tossed to one side on the coverlet where he would see it lying when he came. He would enter silently, gathering27 her up in his arms as she dozed28, kissing her lips to waken her, carrying her in his arms into the front room to caress29 her and whisper his passion. There was no cessation of this devotion to Ruby the while he was declaring his love for Angela, and he really did not see that the two interfered30 greatly. He loved Angela, he thought. He liked Ruby, thought she was sweet. He felt sorry for her at times because she was such a little thing, so unthinking. Who was going to marry her eventually? What was going to become of her?
Because of this very attitude he fascinated the girl who was soon ready to do anything for him. She dreamed dreams of how nice it would be if they could live in just a little flat together—all alone. She would give up her art posing and just keep house for him. He talked to her of this—imagining it might possibly come to pass—realizing quite fully31 that it probably wouldn't. He wanted Angela for his wife, but if he had money he thought [Pg 94] Ruby and he might keep a separate place—somehow. What Angela would think of this did not trouble him—only that she should not know. He never breathed anything to either of the other, but there were times when he wondered what they would think each of the other if they knew. Money, money, that was the great deterrent32. For lack of money he could not marry anybody at present—neither Angela nor Ruby nor anyone else. His first duty, he thought, was so to place himself financially that he could talk seriously to any girl. That was what Angela expected of him, he knew. That was what he would have to have if he wanted Ruby.
There came a time when the situation began to grow irksome. He had reached the point where he began to understand how limited his life was. Mathews and Howe, who drew more money, were able to live better than he. They went out to midnight suppers, theatre parties, and expeditions to the tenderloin section (not yet known by that name). They had time to browse33 about the sections of the city which had peculiar charms for them as Bohemians after dark—the levee, as a certain section of the Chicago River was called; Gambler's Row in South Clark Street; the Whitechapel Club, as a certain organization of newspaper men was called, and other places frequented by the literati and the more talented of the newspaper makers34. Eugene, first because of a temperament35 which was introspective and reflective, and second because of his æsthetic taste, which was offended by much that he thought was tawdry and cheap about these places, and third by what he considered his lack of means, took practically no part in these diversions. While he worked in his class he heard of these things—usually the next day—and they were amplified36 and made more showy and interesting by the narrative37 powers of the participants. Eugene hated coarse, vulgar women and ribald conduct, but he felt that he was not even permitted to see them at close range had he wanted to. It took money to carouse38 and he did not have it.
Perhaps, because of his youth and a certain air of unsophistication and impracticability which went with him, his employers were not inclined to consider money matters in connection with him. They seemed to think he would work for little and would not mind. He was allowed to drift here six months without a sign of increase, though he really deserved more than any one of those who worked with him during the same period. He was not the one to push his claims personally but he grew restless and slightly embittered39 under the strain and ached to be free, though his work was as effective as ever.
It was this indifference40 on their part which fixed his determination to leave Chicago, although Angela, his art career, his natural restlessness and growing judgment41 of what he might possibly become were deeper incentives42. Angela haunted him as a dream of future peace. If he could marry her and settle down he would be happy. He felt now, having fairly satiated himself in the direction of Ruby, that he might leave her. She really would not care so very much. Her sentiments were not deep enough. Still, he knew she would care, and when he began going less regularly to her home, really becoming indifferent to what she did in the artists' world, he began also to feel ashamed of himself, for he knew that it was a cruel thing to do. He saw by her manner when he absented himself that she was hurt and that she knew he was growing cold.
"Are you coming out Sunday night?" she asked him once, wistfully.
"I can't," he apologized; "I have to work."
"Yes, I know how you have to work. But go on. I don't mind, I know."
"Oh, Ruby, how you talk. I can't always be here."
"I know what it is, Eugene," she replied. "You don't care any more. Oh, well, don't mind me."
"Now, sweet, don't talk like that," he would say, but after he was gone she would stand by her window and look out upon the shabby neighborhood and sigh sadly. He was more to her than anyone she had met yet, but she was not the kind that cried.
"He is going to leave me," was her one thought. "He is going to leave me."
Goldfarb had watched Eugene a long time, was interested in him, realized that he had talent. He was leaving shortly to take a better Sunday-Editorship himself on a larger paper, and he thought Eugene was wasting his time and ought to be told so.
"I think you ought to try to get on one of the bigger papers here, Witla," he said to him one Saturday afternoon when things were closing up. "You'll never amount to anything on this paper. It isn't big enough. You ought to get on one of the big ones. Why don't you try the Tribune—or else go to New York? I think you ought to do magazine work."
Eugene drank it all in. "I've been thinking of that," he said. "I think I'll go to New York. I'll be better off there."
"I would either do one or the other. If you stay too long in a place like this it's apt to do you harm."
Eugene went back to his desk with the thought of change ringing in his ears. He would go. He would save up his money until he had one hundred and fifty or two hundred dollars and then try his luck in the East. He would leave Ruby and Angela, the latter only temporarily, the former for good very likely, though he only vaguely43 confessed this to himself. He would make some money and then he would come back and marry his dream from Blackwood. Already his imaginative mind ran forward to a poetic44 wedding in a little country church, with Angela standing beside him in white. Then he would bring her back with him to New York—he, Eugene Witla, already famous in the East. Already the lure45 of the big eastern city was in his mind, its palaces, its wealth, its fame. It was the great world he knew, this side of Paris and London. He would go to it now, shortly. What would he be there? How great? How soon?
So he dreamed.
Eugene thought of this as a great opportunity, and when he went back in three weeks and actually secured the place, he felt that he was now fairly on the road to prosperity. He was given a desk in a small back room on a fourth floor where there was accidentally west and north light. He was in a department which held two other men, both several years older than himself, one of whom posed as "dean" of the staff.
The work here was peculiar in that it included not only pen and ink but the chalk plate process which was a method of drawing with a steel point upon a zinc46 plate covered with a deposit of chalk, which left a design which was easily reproduced. Eugene had never done this, he had to be shown by the "dean," but he soon picked it up. He found it hard on his lungs, for he had constantly to keep blowing the chalk away as he scratched the surface of the plate, and sometimes the dust went up into his nostrils47. He hoped sincerely there would not be much of this work, but there was rather an undue48 proportion at first owing to the fact that it was shouldered on to him by the other two—he being the beginner. He suspected as much after a little time, but by that time he was beginning to make friends with his companions and things were not so bad.
These two, although they did not figure vastly in his life, introduced him to conditions and personalities49 in the Chicago newspaper world which broadened him and presented points of view which were helpful. The elder of the two, the "dean," was dressy and art-y; his name was Horace Howe. The other, Jeremiah Mathews, Jerry for short, was short and fat, with a round, cheerful, smiling countenance50 and a wealth of coarse black hair. He loved chewing tobacco, was a little mussy about his clothes, but studious, generous and good natured. Eugene found that he had several passions, one for good food, another for oriental curios and a third for archæology. He was alive to all that was going on in the world, and was utterly51 without any prejudices, social, moral or religious. He liked his work, and whistled or talked as he did it. Eugene took a secret like for him from the beginning.
It was while working on this paper that Eugene first learned that he really could write. It came about accidentally for he had abandoned the idea that he could ever do anything in newspaper work, which was the field he had originally contemplated52. Here there was great need for cheap Sunday specials of a local character, and in reading some of these, which were given to him for illustration, he came to the conclusion that he could do much better himself.
"Say," he asked Mathews, "who writes the articles in here?" He was looking over the Sunday issue.
"Oh, the reporters on the staff—anyone that wants to. I think they buy some from outsiders. They only pay four dollars a column."
Eugene wondered if they would pay him, but pay or no pay he wanted to do them. Maybe they would let him sign his name. He saw that some were signed. He suggested he believed he could do that sort of thing but Howe, as a writer himself, frowned on this. He wrote and drew. Howe's opposition53 piqued54 Eugene who decided55 to try when the opportunity offered. He wanted to write about the Chicago River, which he thought he could illustrate effectively. Goose Island, because of the description he had read of it several years before, the simple beauties of the city parks where he liked to stroll and watch the lovers on Sundays. There were many things, but these stood as susceptible56 of delicious, feeling illustration and he wanted to try his hand. He suggested to the Sunday Editor, Mitchell Goldfarb, with whom he had become friendly, that he thought something nice in an illustrative way could be done on the Chicago River.
"Go ahead, try your hand," exclaimed that worthy57, who was a vigorous, robust58, young American of about thirty-one, with a gaspy laugh that sounded as if someone had thrown cold water down his back. "We need all that stuff. Can you write?"
"I sometimes think I might if I practiced a little."
"Why not," went on the other, who saw visions of a little free copy. "Try your hand. You might make a good thing of it. If your writing is anything like your drawing it will be all right. We don't pay people on the staff, but you can sign your name to it."
This was enough for Eugene. He tried his hand at once. His art work had already begun to impress his companions. It was rough, daring, incisive59, with a touch of soul to it. Howe was already secretly envious60, Mathews full of admiration61. Encouraged thus by Goldfarb Eugene took a Sunday afternoon and followed up the branches of the Chicago River, noting its wonders and peculiarities62, and finally made his drawings. Afterward63 he went to the Chicago library and looked up its history—accidentally coming across the reports of some government engineers who dwelt on the oddities of its traffic. He did not write an article so much as a panegyric64 on its beauty and littleness, finding the former where few would have believed it to exist. Goldfarb was oddly surprised when he read it. He had not thought Eugene could do it.
The charm of Eugene's writing was that while his mind was full of color and poetry he had logic65 and a desire for facts which gave what he wrote stability. He liked to know the history of things and to comment on the current phases of life. He wrote of the parks, Goose Island, the Bridewell, whatever took his fancy.
His real passion was for art, however. It was a slightly easier medium for him—quicker. He thrilled to think, sometimes, that he could tell a thing in words and then actually draw it. It seemed a beautiful privilege and he loved the thought of making the commonplace dramatic. It was all dramatic to him—the wagons66 in the streets, the tall buildings, the street lamps—anything, everything.
His drawing was not neglected meantime, but seemed to get stronger.
"I don't know what there is about your stuff, Witla, that gets me," Mathews said to him one day, "but you do something to it. Now why did you put those birds flying above that smokestack?"
"Oh, I don't know," replied Eugene. "It's just the way I feel about it. I've seen pigeons flying like that."
"It's all to the good," replied Mathews. "And then you handle your masses right. I don't see anybody doing this sort of thing over here."
He meant in America, for these two art workers considered themselves connoisseurs67 of pen and ink and illustration generally. They were subscribers to Jugend, Simplicissimus, Pick-Me-Up and the radical68 European art journals. They were aware of Steinlen and Cheret and Mucha and the whole rising young school of French poster workers. Eugene was surprised to hear of these men and these papers. He began to gain confidence in himself—to think of himself as somebody.
It was while he was gaining this knowledge—finding out who was who and what and why that he followed up his relationship with Angela Blue to its logical conclusion—he became engaged to her. In spite of his connection with Ruby Kenny, which continued unbroken after the dinner, he nevertheless felt that he must have Angela; partly because she offered more resistance than any girl since Stella, and partly because she appeared to be so innocent, simple and good hearted. And she was altogether lovely. She had a beautiful figure, which no crudity69 of country dressmaking could conceal70. She had her wonderful wealth of hair and her large, luring71, water-clear blue eyes. She had colorful lips and cheeks, a natural grace in walking, could dance and play the piano. Eugene looked at her and came to the conclusion after a time that she was as beautiful as any girl he had ever seen—that she had more soul, more emotion, more sweetness. He tried to hold her hand, to kiss her, to take her in his arms, but she eluded72 him in a careful, wary73 and yet half yielding way. She wanted him to propose to her, not because she was anxious to trap him, but because her conventional conscience told her these things were not right outside a definite engagement and she wanted to be engaged first. She was already in love with him. When he pleaded, she was anxious to throw herself in his arms in a mad embrace, but she restrained herself, waiting. At last he flung his arms about her as she was sitting at the piano one evening and holding her tight pressed his lips to her cheek.
She struggled to her feet. "You musn't," she said. "It isn't right. I can't let you do that."
"But I love you," he exclaimed, pursuing her. "I want to marry you. Will you have me, Angela? Will you be mine?"
She looked at him yearningly74, for she realized that she had made him do things her way—this wild, unpractical, artistic soul. She wanted to yield then and there but something told her to wait.
"I won't tell you now," she said, "I want to talk to papa and mamma. I haven't told them anything as yet. I want to ask them about you, and then I'll tell you when I come again."
"Oh, Angela," he pleaded.
"Now, please wait, Mr. Witla," she pleaded. She had never yet called him Eugene. "I'll come again in two or three weeks. I want to think it over. It's better."
He curbed75 his desire and waited, but it made all the more vigorous and binding76 the illusion that she was the one woman in the world for him. She aroused more than any woman yet a sense of the necessity of concealing77 the eagerness of his senses—of pretending something higher. He even tried to deceive himself into the belief that this was a spiritual relationship, but underneath78 all was a burning sense of her beauty, her physical charm, her passion. She was sleeping as yet, bound in convention and a semi-religious interpretation79 of life. If she were aroused! He closed his eyes and dreamed.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
plight
|
|
| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
depot
|
|
| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
anticipation
|
|
| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
savings
|
|
| n.存款，储蓄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
parlor
|
|
| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
sensuously
|
|
| adv.感觉上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
elation
|
|
| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
feverish
|
|
| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
hovering
|
|
| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
awry
|
|
| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
yearning
|
|
| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
desperately
|
|
| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
awareness
|
|
| n.意识，觉悟，懂事，明智 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
perversity
|
|
| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
hardy
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
illustrate
|
|
| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
orator
|
|
| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
dodge
|
|
| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
ruby
|
|
| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
dozed
|
|
| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
caress
|
|
| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
interfered
|
|
| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
deterrent
|
|
| n.阻碍物，制止物；adj.威慑的，遏制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
browse
|
|
| vi.随意翻阅，浏览；(牛、羊等)吃草 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
makers
|
|
| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
amplified
|
|
| 放大，扩大( amplify的过去式和过去分词 )； 增强； 详述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
narrative
|
|
| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
carouse
|
|
| v.狂欢；痛饮；n.狂饮的宴会 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
embittered
|
|
| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
incentives
|
|
| 激励某人做某事的事物( incentive的名词复数 )； 刺激； 诱因； 动机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
poetic
|
|
| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
lure
|
|
| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
zinc
|
|
| n.锌；vt.在...上镀锌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
nostrils
|
|
| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
undue
|
|
| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
personalities
|
|
| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
contemplated
|
|
| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
piqued
|
|
| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
susceptible
|
|
| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
robust
|
|
| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
incisive
|
|
| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
envious
|
|
| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
peculiarities
|
|
| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
panegyric
|
|
| n.颂词，颂扬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
logic
|
|
| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
wagons
|
|
| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
connoisseurs
|
|
| n.鉴赏家，鉴定家，行家( connoisseur的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
radical
|
|
| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
crudity
|
|
| n.粗糙，生硬；adj.粗略的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
luring
|
|
| 吸引，引诱（lure的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
eluded
|
|
| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
wary
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
yearningly
|
|
| 怀念地，思慕地，同情地； 渴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
curbed
|
|
| v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
binding
|
|
| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
concealing
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
underneath
|
|
| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
interpretation
|
|
| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |