The acquaintance sought advice from G.J. about the shutting up of households for Belgian refugees. G.J. answered absently, not concealing13 that he was in a hurry. He had, in fact, been held up within three minutes of the scene of his secret idyll, and was anxious to arrive there. He had promised himself this surprise visit to Christine as some sort of recompense and narcotic14 for the immense disturbance15 of spirit which he had suffered at Wrikton.
That morning Concepcion had been invisible, but at his early breakfast he had received a note from her, a brief but masterly composition, if ever so slightly theatrical16. He was conscious of tenderness for Concepcion, of sympathy with her, of a desire to help to restore her to that which by misfortune she had lost. But the first of these sentiments he resolutely17 put aside. He was determined18 to change his mood towards her for the sake of his own tranquillity19; and he had convinced himself that his wise, calm, common sense was capable of saving her from any tragic20 and fatal folly21. He had her in the hollow of his hand; but if she was expecting too much from him she would be gradually disappointed. He must have peace; he could not allow a bomb to be thrown into his habits; he was a bachelor of over fifty whose habits had the value of inestimable jewels and whose perfect independence was the most precious thing in the world. At his age he could not marry a volcano, a revolution, a new radio-active element exhibiting properties which were an enigma22 to social science. Concepcion would turn his existence into an endless drama of which she alone, with her deep-rooted, devilish talent for the sensational23, would always choose the setting, as she had chosen the window and the weir24. No; he must not mistake affectionate sympathy for tenderness, nor tolerate the sexual exploitation of his pity.
As he listened and talked to the acquaintance his inner mind shifted with relief to the vision of Christine, contented25 and simple and compliant26 in her nest—Christine, at once restful and exciting, Christine, the exquisite27 symbol of acquiescence28 and response. What a contrast to Concepcion! It had been a bold and sudden stroke to lift Christine to another plane, but a stroke well justified29 and entirely30 successful, fulfilling his dream.
At this moment he noticed a figure pass the doorway31 in whose shadow he was, and he exclaimed within himself incredulously:
"That is Christine!"
In the shortest possible delay he said "Good-night" to his acquaintance, and jumped down the steps and followed eastwards32 the figure. He followed warily33, for already the strange and distressing34 idea had occurred to him that he must not overtake her—if she it was. It was she. He caught sight of her again in the thick obscurity by the prison-wall of Devonshire House. He recognised the peculiar35 brim of the new hat and the new "military" umbrella held on the wrist by a thong36.
What was she doing abroad? She could not be going to a theatre. She had not a friend in London. He was her London. And la mère Gaston was not with her. Theoretically, of course, she was free. He had laid down no law. But it had been clearly understood between them that she should never emerge at night alone. She herself had promulgated37 the rule, for she had a sense of propriety38 and a strong sense of reality. She had belonged to the class which respectable, broadminded women, when they bantered39 G.J., always called [333] "the pretty ladies," and as a postulant for respectability she had for her own satisfaction to mind her p's and q's. She could not afford not to keep herself above suspicion.
She had been a courtesan. Did she look like one? As an individual figure in repose40, no! None could have said that she did. He had long since learnt that to decide always correctly by appearance, and apart from environment and gesture, whether an unknown woman was or was not a wanton, presented a task beyond the powers of even the completest experience. But Christine was walking in Piccadilly at night, and he soon perceived that she was discreetly41 showing the demeanour of a courtesan at her profession—she who had hated and feared the pavement! He knew too well the signs—the waverings, the turns of the head, the variations in speed, the scarcely perceptible hesitations42, the unmistakable air of wandering with no definite objective.
Near Dover Street he hastened through the thin, reflecting mire43, amid beams of light and illuminated44 numbers that advanced upon him in both directions thundering or purring, and crossed Piccadilly, and hurried ahead of her, to watch her in safety from the other side of the thoroughfare. He could hardly see her; she was only a moving shadow; but still he could see her; and in the long stretch of gloom beneath the facade45 of the Royal Academy he saw the shadow pause in front of a military figure, which by a flank movement avoided the shadow and went resolutely forward. He lost her in front of the Piccadilly Hotel, and found her again at the corner of Air Street. She swerved46 into Air Street and crossed Regent Street; he was following. In Denman Street, close to Shaftesbury Avenue, she stood still in front of another military figure—a common soldier as it proved—who also rebuffed her. The thing was flagrant. He halted, and deliberately47 let her go from his sight. She vanished into the dark crowds of the Avenue.
In horrible humiliation48, in atrocious disgust, he said to himself:
"Never will I set eyes on her again! Never! Never!"
Why was she doing it? Not for money. She could only be doing it from the nostalgia49 of adventurous50 debauch51. She was the slave of her temperament52, as the drunkard is the slave of his thirst. He had told her that he would be out of town for the week end, on committee business. He had distinctly told her that she must on no account expect him on the Monday night. And her temperament had roused itself from the obscene groves53 of her subconsciousness54 like a tiger and come up and driven her forth55. How easy for her to escape from la mère Gaston if she chose! And yet—would she dare, even at the bidding of the tiger, to introduce a stranger into the flat? Unnecessary, he reflected. There were a hundred accommodating dubious56 interiors between Shaftesbury Avenue and Leicester Square. He understood; he neither accused nor pardoned; but he was utterly57 revolted, and wounded not merely in his soul but in the most sensitive part of his soul—his pride. He called himself by the worst epithet of opprobrium58: Simpleton! The bold and sudden stroke had now become the fatuous59 caprice of a damned fool. Had he, at his age, been capable of overlooking the elementary axiom: once a wrong 'un, always a wrong 'un? Had he believed in reclamation60? He laughed out his disgust ...
No! He did not blame her. To blame her would have been ridiculous. She was only what she was, and not worth blame. She was nothing at all. How right, how cursedly right, were the respectable dames61 in the accent of amused indifference62 which they employed for their precious phrase, "the pretty ladies"! Well, he would treat her generously—but through his lawyer.
And in the desolation, the dismay, the disillusion63, the nausea64 which ravaged65 him he was unwillingly66 conscious of fragments of thoughts that flickered67 like transient flames far below in the deep mines of his being.... "You are an astounding68 woman, Con12." ... "Do you want me to go to the bad altogether?" ... In offering him Queen had not Concepcion made the supreme69 double sacrifice of attempting to bring together, at the price of her own separation from both of them, the two beings to whom she was most profoundly attached? It was a marvellous deed.... Worry, volcanoes, revolutions—was he afraid of them?... Were they not the very essence of life?... A figure of nobility!... Sitting there now by the window over the river, listening to the weir.... "I shall never be any more good." ... But she never had a gesture that was not superb.... Was he really encrusted in habits? Really like men whom he knew and despised at his club?... She loved him.... And what rich, flattering love was her love compared to—!... She was young.... Tenderness.... Such were the flames of dim promise that nickered immeasurably beneath the dark devastation71 of his mind. He ignored them, but he could not ignore them. He extinguished them, but they were continually relighted.... A wedding?... What sort of a wedding?... Poor Carlos, pathetically buried under the ruthless happiness of others! What a shame!... Poor Carlos!
(Nice enough little cocotte, nothing else! But, of course, incurable72!... He remembered all her crimes now. How she had been late in dressing73 for their first dinner. Her inexplicable74 vanishing from the supper-party, never explained, but easily explicable now, perhaps. And so on and so on.... Simpleton! Ass10!)
He had walked heedless of direction. He was near Lechford House. Many of its windows were lit. The great front doors were open. A commissionaire stood on guard in front of them. To the railings was affixed75 a newly-painted notice: "No person will be allowed to enter these premises76 without a pass. To this rule there is no exception." Lechford House had been "taken over" in its entirety by a Government department that believed in the virtue77 of mystery and of long hours. He looked up at the higher windows. He could not distinguish the chimney amid the newly-revealed stars. He thought of Queen, the white woman. Evidently he had never understood Queen, for if Concepcion admired her she was worth admiration78. Concepcion never made a mistake in assessing fundamental character.
The complete silent absorption of Lechford House into the war-machine rather dismayed him. He had seen not a word as to the affair in the newspapers—and Lechford House was one of the final strongholds of privilege! He strolled on into the quietness of the Park—of which one of the gate-keepers said to him that it would be shutting in a few minutes.
He was in solitude79, and surrounded by London. He stood still, and the vast sea of war seemed to be closing over him. The war was growing, or the sense of its measureless scope was growing. It had sprung, not out of this crime or that, but out of the secret invisible roots of humanity, and it was widening to the limits of evolution itself. It transcended80 judgment81. It defied conclusions and rendered equally impossible both hope and despair. His pride in his country was intensified82 as months passed; his faith in his country was not lessened83. And yet, wherein was the efficacy of grim words about British tenacity84? The great new Somme offensive was not succeeding in the North. Was victory possible? Was victory deserved? In his daily labour he was brought into contact with too many instances of official selfishness, folly, ignorance, stupidity, and sloth85, French as well as British, not to marvel70 at times that the conflict had not come to an ignominious86 end long ago through simple lack of imagination. He knew that he himself had often failed in devotion, in rectitude, in sheer grit87.
The supreme lesson of the war was its revelation of what human nature actually was. And the solace88 of the lesson, the hope for triumph, lay in the fact that human nature must be substantially the same throughout the world. If we were humanly imperfect, so at least was the enemy.
Perhaps the frame of society was about to collapse89. Perhaps Queen, deliberately courting destruction, and being destroyed, was the symbol of society. What matter? Perhaps civilisation90, by its nobility and its elements of reason, and by the favour of destiny, would be saved from disaster after frightful91 danger, and Concepcion was its symbol....
All he knew was that he had a heavy day's work before him on the morrow, and in relief from pain and insoluble problems he turned to face that work, thankful; thankful that (owing originally to Queen!) he had discovered in the war a task which suited his powers, which was genuinely useful, and which would only finish with the war; thankful for the prospect92 of meeting Concepcion at the week-end and exploring with her the marvellous provocative93 potentialities that now drew them together; thankful, too, that he had a balanced and sagacious mind, and could judge justly. (Yes, he was already forgetting his bitter condemnation94 of himself as a simpleton!)
How in his human self-sufficiency could he be expected to know that he had judged the negligible Christine unjustly? Was he divine that he could [339] see in the figure of the wanton who peered at soldiers in the street a self-convinced mystic envoy95 of the most clement96 Virgin97, an envoy passionately98 repentant99 after apostasy100, bound at all costs to respond to an imagined voice long unheard, and seeking—though in vain this second time—the protégé of the Virgin so that she might once more succour and assuage101 his affliction?
点击收听单词发音
1 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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2 by-product | |
n.副产品,附带产生的结果 | |
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3 paucity | |
n.小量,缺乏 | |
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4 locomotion | |
n.运动,移动 | |
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5 permissible | |
adj.可允许的,许可的 | |
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6 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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7 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 | |
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8 stylish | |
adj.流行的,时髦的;漂亮的,气派的 | |
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9 overtime | |
adj.超时的,加班的;adv.加班地 | |
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10 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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11 transparent | |
adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
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12 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 | |
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13 concealing | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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14 narcotic | |
n.麻醉药,镇静剂;adj.麻醉的,催眠的 | |
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15 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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16 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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17 resolutely | |
adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
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18 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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19 tranquillity | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
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20 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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21 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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22 enigma | |
n.谜,谜一样的人或事 | |
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23 sensational | |
adj.使人感动的,非常好的,轰动的,耸人听闻的 | |
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24 weir | |
n.堰堤,拦河坝 | |
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25 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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26 compliant | |
adj.服从的,顺从的 | |
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27 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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28 acquiescence | |
n.默许;顺从 | |
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29 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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30 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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31 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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32 eastwards | |
adj.向东方(的),朝东(的);n.向东的方向 | |
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33 warily | |
adv.留心地 | |
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34 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
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35 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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36 thong | |
n.皮带;皮鞭;v.装皮带 | |
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37 promulgated | |
v.宣扬(某事物)( promulgate的过去式和过去分词 );传播;公布;颁布(法令、新法律等) | |
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38 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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39 bantered | |
v.开玩笑,说笑,逗乐( banter的过去式和过去分词 );(善意地)取笑,逗弄 | |
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40 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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41 discreetly | |
ad.(言行)审慎地,慎重地 | |
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42 hesitations | |
n.犹豫( hesitation的名词复数 );踌躇;犹豫(之事或行为);口吃 | |
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43 mire | |
n.泥沼,泥泞;v.使...陷于泥泞,使...陷入困境 | |
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44 illuminated | |
adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
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45 facade | |
n.(建筑物的)正面,临街正面;外表 | |
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46 swerved | |
v.(使)改变方向,改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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48 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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49 nostalgia | |
n.怀乡病,留恋过去,怀旧 | |
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50 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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51 debauch | |
v.使堕落,放纵 | |
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52 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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53 groves | |
树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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54 subconsciousness | |
潜意识;下意识 | |
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55 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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56 dubious | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
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57 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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58 opprobrium | |
n.耻辱,责难 | |
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59 fatuous | |
adj.愚昧的;昏庸的 | |
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60 reclamation | |
n.开垦;改造;(废料等的)回收 | |
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61 dames | |
n.(在英国)夫人(一种封号),夫人(爵士妻子的称号)( dame的名词复数 );女人 | |
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62 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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63 disillusion | |
vt.使不再抱幻想,使理想破灭 | |
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64 nausea | |
n.作呕,恶心;极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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65 ravaged | |
毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 ); 蹂躏; 劫掠; 抢劫 | |
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66 unwillingly | |
adv.不情愿地 | |
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67 flickered | |
(通常指灯光)闪烁,摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68 astounding | |
adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊,使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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69 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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70 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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71 devastation | |
n.毁坏;荒废;极度震惊或悲伤 | |
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72 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 | |
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73 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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74 inexplicable | |
adj.无法解释的,难理解的 | |
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75 affixed | |
adj.[医]附着的,附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 );粘贴;加以;盖(印章) | |
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76 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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77 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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78 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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79 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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80 transcended | |
超出或超越(经验、信念、描写能力等)的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 ); 优于或胜过… | |
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81 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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82 intensified | |
v.(使)增强, (使)加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83 lessened | |
减少的,减弱的 | |
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84 tenacity | |
n.坚韧 | |
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85 sloth | |
n.[动]树懒;懒惰,懒散 | |
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86 ignominious | |
adj.可鄙的,不光彩的,耻辱的 | |
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87 grit | |
n.沙粒,决心,勇气;v.下定决心,咬紧牙关 | |
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88 solace | |
n.安慰;v.使快乐;vt.安慰(物),缓和 | |
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89 collapse | |
vi.累倒;昏倒;倒塌;塌陷 | |
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90 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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91 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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92 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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93 provocative | |
adj.挑衅的,煽动的,刺激的,挑逗的 | |
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94 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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95 envoy | |
n.使节,使者,代表,公使 | |
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96 clement | |
adj.仁慈的;温和的 | |
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97 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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98 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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99 repentant | |
adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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100 apostasy | |
n.背教,脱党 | |
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101 assuage | |
v.缓和,减轻,镇定 | |
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