When Paul Morgan, a rising young lawyer with justifiable1 political aspirations2, married Elinor Ashton, leading woman at the Green Square Theatre, his old schoolmates and neighbours back in Spring Valley held up their hands in horror, and his father and mother up in the weather-grey Morgan homestead were crushed in the depths of humiliation3. They had been too proud of Paul ... their only son and such a clever fellow ... and this was their punishment! He had married an actress! To Cyrus and Deborah Morgan, brought up and nourished all their lives on the strictest and straightest of old-fashioned beliefs both as regards this world and that which is to come, this was a tragedy.
They could not be brought to see it in any other light. As their neighbours said, "Cy Morgan never hilt up his head again after Paul married the play-acting4 woman." But perhaps it was less his humiliation than his sorrow which bowed down his erect5 form and sprinkled grey in his thick black hair that fifty years had hitherto spared. For Paul, forgetting the sacrifices his mother and father had made for him, had bitterly resented the letter of protest his father had written concerning his marriage. He wrote one angry, unfilial letter back and then came silence. Between grief and shame Cyrus and Deborah Morgan grew old rapidly in the year that followed.
At the end of that time Elinor Morgan, the mother of an hour, died; three months later Paul Morgan was killed in a railroad collision. After the funeral Cyrus Morgan brought home to his wife their son's little daughter, Joscelyn Morgan.
Her aunt, Annice Ashton, had wanted the baby. Cyrus Morgan had been almost rude in his refusal. His son's daughter should never be brought up by an actress; it was bad enough that her mother had been one and had doubtless transmitted the taint6 to her child. But in Spring Valley, if anywhere, it might be eradicated7.
At first neither Cyrus nor Deborah cared much for Joscelyn. They resented her parentage, her strange, un-Morgan-like name, and the pronounced resemblance she bore to the dark-haired, dark-eyed mother they had never seen. All the Morgans had been fair. If Joscelyn had had Paul's blue eyes and golden curls her grandfather and grandmother would have loved her sooner.
But the love came ... it had to. No living mortal could have resisted Joscelyn. She was the most winsome8 and lovable little mite9 of babyhood that ever toddled10. Her big dark eyes overflowed11 with laughter before she could speak, her puckered12 red mouth broke constantly into dimples and cooing sounds. She had ways that no orthodox Spring Valley baby ever thought of having. Every smile was a caress13, every gurgle of attempted speech a song. Her grandparents came to worship her and were stricter than ever with her by reason of their love. Because she was so dear to them she must be saved from her mother's blood.
Joscelyn shot up through a roly-poly childhood into slim, bewitching girlhood in a chill repressive atmosphere. Cyrus and Deborah were nothing if not thorough. The name of Joscelyn's mother was never mentioned to her; she was never called anything but Josie, which sounded more "Christian-like" than Joscelyn; and all the flowering out of her alien beauty was repressed as far as might be in the plainest and dullest of dresses and the primmest14 arrangement possible to riotous15 ripe-brown curls.
The girl was never allowed to visit her Aunt Annice, although frequently invited. Miss Ashton, however, wrote to her occasionally, and every Christmas sent a box of presents which even Cyrus and Deborah Morgan could not forbid her to accept, although they looked with disapproving16 eyes and ominously17 set lips at the dainty, frivolous18 trifles the actress woman sent. They would have liked to cast those painted fans and lace frills and beflounced lingerie into the fire as if they had been infected rags from a pest-house.
The path thus set for Joscelyn's dancing feet to walk in was indeed sedate19 and narrow. She was seldom allowed to mingle20 with the young people of even quiet, harmless Spring Valley; she was never allowed to attend local concerts, much less take part in them; she was forbidden to read novels, and Cyrus Morgan burned an old copy of Shakespeare which Paul had given him years ago and which he had himself read and treasured, lest its perusal21 should awaken22 unlawful instincts in Joscelyn's heart. The girl's passion for reading was so marked that her grandparents felt that it was their duty to repress it as far as lay in their power.
But Joscelyn's vitality23 was such that all her bonds and bands served but little to check or retard24 the growth of her rich nature. Do what they might they could not make a Morgan of her. Her every step was a dance, her every word and gesture full of a grace and virility25 that filled the old folks with uneasy wonder. She seemed to them charged with dangerous tendencies all the more potent26 from repression27. She was sweet-tempered and sunny, truthful28 and modest, but she was as little like the trim, simple Spring Valley girls as a crimson29 rose is like a field daisy, and her unlikeness bore heavily on her grandparents.
Yet they loved her and were proud of her. "Our girl Josie," as they called her, was more to them than they would have admitted even to themselves, and in the main they were satisfied with her, although the grandmother grumbled30 because Josie did not take kindly31 to patchwork32 and rug-making and the grandfather would fain have toned down that exuberance34 of beauty and vivacity35 into the meeker36 pattern of maidenhood37 he had been accustomed to.
When Joscelyn was seventeen Deborah Morgan noticed a change in her. The girl became quieter and more brooding, falling at times into strange, idle reveries, with her hands clasped over her knee and her big eyes fixed39 unseeingly on space; or she would creep away for solitary40 rambles41 in the beech42 wood, going away droopingly and returning with dusky glowing cheeks and a nameless radiance, as of some newly discovered power, shining through every muscle and motion. Mrs. Morgan thought the child needed a tonic43 and gave her sulphur and molasses.
One day the revelation came. Cyrus and Deborah had driven across the valley to visit their married daughter. Not finding her at home they returned. Mrs. Morgan went into the house while her husband went to the stable. Joscelyn was not in the kitchen, but the grandmother heard the sound of voices and laughter in the sitting room across the hall.
"What company has Josie got?" she wondered, as she opened the hall door and paused for a moment on the threshold to listen. As she listened her old face grew grey and pinched; she turned noiselessly and left the house, and flew to her husband as one distracted.
"Cyrus, Josie is play-acting in the room ... laughing and reciting and going on. I heard her. Oh, I've always feared it would break out in her and it has! Come you and listen to her."
The old couple crept through the kitchen and across the hall to the open parlour door as if they were stalking a thief. Joscelyn's laugh rang out as they did so ... a mocking, triumphant44 peal45. Cyrus and Deborah shivered as if they had heard sacrilege.
Joscelyn had put on a trailing, clinging black skirt which her aunt had sent her a year ago and which she had never been permitted to wear. It transformed her into a woman. She had cast aside her waist of dark plum-coloured homespun and wrapped a silken shawl about herself until only her beautiful arms and shoulders were left bare. Her hair, glossy46 and brown, with burnished47 red lights where the rays of the dull autumn sun struck on it through the window, was heaped high on her head and held in place by a fillet of pearl beads48. Her cheeks were crimson, her whole body from head to foot instinct and alive with a beauty that to Cyrus and Deborah, as they stood mute with horror in the open doorway49, seemed akin33 to some devilish enchantment50.
Joscelyn, rapt away from her surroundings, did not perceive her grandparents. Her face was turned from them and she was addressing an unseen auditor51 in passionate52 denunciation. She spoke53, moved, posed, gesticulated, with an inborn54 genius shining through every motion and tone like an illuminating55 lamp.
"Josie, what are you doing?"
It was Cyrus who spoke, advancing into the room like a stern, hard impersonation of judgment56. Joscelyn's outstretched arm fell to her side and she turned sharply around; fear came into her face and the light went out of it. A moment before she had been a woman, splendid, unafraid; now she was again the schoolgirl, too confused and shamed to speak.
"What are you doing, Josie?" asked her grandfather again, "dressed up in that indecent manner and talking and twisting to yourself?"
"I was trying Aunt Annice's part in her new play," she answered. "I have not been doing anything wrong, Grandfather."
"Wrong! It's your mother's blood coming out in you, girl, in spite of all our care! Where did you get that play?"
"Aunt Annice sent it to me," answered Joscelyn, casting a quick glance at the book on the table. Then, when her grandfather picked it up gingerly, as if he feared contamination, she added quickly, "Oh, give it to me, please, Grandfather. Don't take it away."
"I am going to burn it," said Cyrus Morgan sternly.
"Oh, don't, Grandfather," cried Joscelyn, with a sob58 in her voice. "Don't burn it, please. I ... I ... won't practise out of it any more. I'm sorry I've displeased59 you. Please give me my book."
"No," was the stern reply. "Go to your room, girl, and take off that rig. There is to be no more play-acting in my house, remember that."
He flung the book into the fire that was burning in the grate. For the first time in her life Joscelyn flamed out into passionate defiance60.
"You are cruel and unjust, Grandfather. I have done no wrong ... it is not doing wrong to develop the one gift I have. It's the only thing I can do ... and I am going to do it. My mother was an actress and a good woman. So is Aunt Annice. So I mean to be."
"Oh, Josie, Josie," said her grandmother in a scared voice. Her grandfather only repeated sternly, "Go, take that rig off, girl, and let us hear no more of this."
Joscelyn went but she left consternation61 behind her. Cyrus and Deborah could not have been more shocked if they had discovered the girl robbing her grandfather's desk. They talked the matter over bitterly at the kitchen hearth62 that night.
"We haven't been strict enough with the girl, Mother," said Cyrus angrily. "We'll have to be stricter if we don't want to have her disgracing us. Did you hear how she defied me? 'So I mean to be,' she says. Mother, we'll have trouble with that girl yet."
"I ain't going to be harsh. What I do is for her own good, you know that, Mother. Josie is as dear to me as she is to you, but we've got to be stricter with her."
They were. From that day Josie was watched and distrusted. She was never permitted to be alone. There were no more solitary walks. She felt herself under the surveillance of cold, unsympathetic eyes every moment and her very soul writhed64. Joscelyn Morgan, the high-spirited daughter of high-spirited parents, could not long submit to such treatment. It might have passed with a child; to a woman, thrilling with life and conscious power to her very fingertips, it was galling65 beyond measure. Joscelyn rebelled, but she did nothing secretly ... that was not her nature. She wrote to her Aunt Annice, and when she received her reply she went straight and fearlessly to her grandparents with it.
"Grandfather, this letter is from my aunt. She wishes me to go and live with her and prepare for the stage. I told her I wished to do so. I am going."
Cyrus and Deborah looked at her in mute dismay.
"I know you despise the profession of an actress," the girl went on with heightened colour. "I am sorry you think so about it because it is the only one open to me. I must go ... I must."
"Yes, you must," said Cyrus cruelly. "It's in your blood ... your bad blood, girl."
"My blood isn't bad," cried Joscelyn proudly. "My mother was a sweet, true, good woman. You are unjust, Grandfather. But I don't want you to be angry with me. I love you both and I am very grateful indeed for all your kindness to me. I wish that you could understand what...."
"We understand enough," interrupted Cyrus harshly. "This is all I have to say. Go to your play-acting aunt if you want to. Your grandmother and me won't hinder you. But you'll come back here no more. We'll have nothing further to do with you. You can choose your own way and walk in it."
With this dictum Joscelyn went from Spring Valley. She clung to Deborah and wept at parting, but Cyrus did not even say goodbye to her. On the morning of her departure he went away on business and did not return until evening.
Joscelyn went on the stage. Her aunt's influence and her mother's fame helped her much. She missed the hard experiences that come to the unassisted beginner. But her own genius must have won in any case. She had all her mother's gifts, deepened by her inheritance of Morgan intensity66 and sincerity67 ... much, too, of the Morgan firmness of will. When Joscelyn Morgan was twenty-two she was famous over two continents.
When Cyrus Morgan returned home on the evening after his granddaughter's departure he told his wife that she was never to mention the girl's name in his hearing again. Deborah obeyed. She thought her husband was right, albeit68 she might in her own heart deplore69 the necessity of such a decree. Joscelyn had disgraced them; could that be forgiven?
Nevertheless both the old people missed her terribly. The house seemed to have lost its soul with that vivid, ripely tinted70 young life. They got their married daughter's oldest girl, Pauline, to come and stay with them. Pauline was a quiet, docile71 maiden38, industrious72 and commonplace—just such a girl as they had vainly striven to make of Joscelyn, to whom Pauline had always been held up as a model. Yet neither Cyrus nor Deborah took to her, and they let her go unregretfully when they found that she wished to return home.
"She hasn't any of Josie's gimp," was old Cyrus's unspoken fault. Deborah spoke, but all she said was, "Polly's a good girl, Father, only she hasn't any snap."
Joscelyn wrote to Deborah occasionally, telling her freely of her plans and doings. If it hurt the girl that no notice was ever taken of her letters she still wrote them. Deborah read the letters grimly and then left them in Cyrus's way. Cyrus would not read them at first; later on he read them stealthily when Deborah was out of the house.
When Joscelyn began to succeed she sent to the old farmhouse73 papers and magazines containing her photographs and criticisms of her plays and acting. Deborah cut them out and kept them in her upper bureau drawer with Joscelyn's letters. Once she overlooked one and Cyrus found it when he was kindling74 the fire. He got the scissors and cut it out carefully. A month later Deborah discovered it between the leaves of the family Bible.
But Joscelyn's name was never mentioned between them, and when other people asked them concerning her their replies were cold and ungracious. In a way they had relented towards her, but their shame of her remained. They could never forget that she was an actress.
Once, six years after Joscelyn had left Spring Valley, Cyrus, who was reading a paper by the table, got up with an angry exclamation75 and stuffed it into the stove, thumping76 the lid on over it with grim malignity77.
"That fool dunno what he's talking about," was all he would say. Deborah had her share of curiosity. The paper was the National Gazette and she knew that their next-door neighbour, James Pennan, took it. She went over that evening and borrowed it, saying that their own had been burned before she had had time to read the serial78 in it. With one exception she read all its columns carefully without finding anything to explain her husband's anger. Then she doubtfully plunged79 into the exception ... a column of "Stage Notes." Halfway80 down she came upon an adverse81 criticism of Joscelyn Morgan and her new play. It was malicious82 and vituperative83. Deborah Morgan's old eyes sparkled dangerously as she read it.
"I guess somebody is pretty jealous of Josie," she muttered. "I don't wonder Pa was riled up. But I guess she can hold her own. She's a Morgan."
No long time after this Cyrus took a notion he'd like a trip to the city. He'd like to see the Horse Fair and look up Cousin Hiram Morgan's folks.
"Hiram and me used to be great chums, Mother. And we're getting kind of mossy, I guess, never stirring out of Spring Valley. Let's go and dissipate for a week—what say?"
Deborah agreed readily, albeit of late years she had been much averse84 to going far from home and had never at any time been very fond of Cousin Hiram's wife. Cyrus was as pleased as a child over their trip. On the second day of their sojourn85 in the city he slipped away when Deborah had gone shopping with Mrs. Hiram and hurried through the streets to the Green Square Theatre with a hang-dog look. He bought a ticket apologetically and sneaked86 in to his seat. It was a matinee performance, and Joscelyn Morgan was starring in her famous new play.
Cyrus waited for the curtain to rise, feeling as if every one of his Spring Valley neighbours must know where he was and revile87 him for it. If Deborah were ever to find out ... but Deborah must never find out! For the first time in their married life the old man deliberately88 plotted to deceive his old wife. He must see his girl Josie just once; it was a terrible thing that she was an actress, but she was a successful one, nobody could deny that, except fools who yapped in the National Gazette.
The curtain went up and Cyrus rubbed his eyes. He had certainly braced89 his nerves to behold90 some mystery of iniquity91; instead he saw an old kitchen so like his own at home that it bewildered him; and there, sitting by the cheery wood stove, in homespun gown, with primly92 braided hair, was Joscelyn—his girl Josie, as he had seen her a thousand times by his own ingle-side. The building rang with applause; one old man pulled out a red bandanna93 and wiped tears of joy and pride from his eyes. She hadn't changed—Josie hadn't changed. Play-acting hadn't spoiled her—couldn't spoil her. Wasn't she Paul's daughter! And all this applause was for her—for Josie.
Joscelyn's new play was a homely94, pleasant production with rollicking comedy and heart-moving pathos95 skilfully96 commingled97. Joscelyn pervaded98 it all with a convincing simplicity99 that was really the triumph of art. Cyrus Morgan listened and exulted100 in her; at every burst of applause his eyes gleamed with pride. He wanted to go on the stage and box the ears of the villain101 who plotted against her; he wanted to shake hands with the good woman who stood by her; he wanted to pay off the mortgage and make Josie happy. He wiped tears from his eyes in the third act when Josie was turned out of doors and, when the fourth left her a happy, blushing bride, hand in hand with her farmer lover, he could have wept again for joy.
Cyrus Morgan went out into the daylight feeling as if he had awakened102 from a dream. At the outer door he came upon Mrs. Hiram and Deborah. Deborah's face was stained with tears, and she caught at his hand.
"Oh, Pa, wasn't it splendid—wasn't our girl Josie splendid! I'm so proud of her. Oh, I was bound to hear her. I was afraid you'd be mad, so I didn't let on and when I saw you in the seat down there I couldn't believe my eyes. Oh, I've just been crying the whole time. Wasn't it splendid! Wasn't our girl Josie splendid?"
The crowd around looked at the old pair with amused, indulgent curiosity, but they were quite oblivious103 to their surroundings, even to Mrs. Hiram's anxiety to decoy them away. Cyrus Morgan cleared his throat and said, "It was great, Mother, great. She took the shine off the other play-actors all right. I knew that National Gazette man didn't know what he was talking about. Mother, let us go and see Josie right off. She's stopping with her aunt at the Maberly Hotel—I saw it in the paper this morning. I'm going to tell her she was right and we were wrong. Josie's beat them all, and I'm going to tell her so!"
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1
justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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eradicated
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| 画着根的 | |
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winsome
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| n.迷人的，漂亮的 | |
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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toddled
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的过去式和过去分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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primmest
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| adj.循规蹈矩的( prim的最高级 )；整洁的；（人）一本正经 | |
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riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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disapproving
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| adj.不满的，反对的v.不赞成( disapprove的现在分词 ) | |
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ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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retard
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| n.阻止，延迟；vt.妨碍，延迟，使减速 | |
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virility
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| n.雄劲，丈夫气 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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repression
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| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
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truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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meeker
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| adj.温顺的，驯服的( meek的比较级 ) | |
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maidenhood
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| n. 处女性, 处女时代 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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46
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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47
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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51
auditor
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| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
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52
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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spoke
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| 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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inborn
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| adj.天生的，生来的，先天的 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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63
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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galling
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| adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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76
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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malignity
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| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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vituperative
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| adj.谩骂的；斥责的 | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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revile
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| v.辱骂，谩骂 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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primly
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| adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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bandanna
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| n.大手帕 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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commingled
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| v.混合，掺和，合并( commingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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100
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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102
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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103
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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