Mrs. Galbraith was a gentle sweet woman, who loved her husband, but was capable of loving a greater man better. Had she lived long enough to allow of their opinions confronting in the matter of their child's education, serious differences would probably have arisen between them; as it was, they had never quarrelled except about the name she should bear. The father, having for her sake—so he said to himself—sacrificed his patronymic, was anxious that in order to her retaining some rudimentary trace of himself in the ears of men, she should be overshadowed with his Christian4 name, and called Thomasina. But the mother was herein all the mother, and obdurate5 for her daughter's future; and, as was right between the two, she had her way, and her child a pretty name. Being more sentimental6 than artistic7, however, she did not perceive how imperfectly the sweet Italian Ginevra concorded with the strong Scotch8 Galbraith. Her father hated the name, therefore invariably abbreviated9 it after such fashion as rendered it inoffensive to the most conservative of Scotish ears; and for his own part, at length, never said Ginny, without seeing and hearing and meaning Jenny. As Jenny, indeed, he addressed her in the one or two letters which were all he ever wrote to her; and thus he perpetuated10 the one matrimonial difference across the grave.
Having no natural bent11 to literature, but having in his youth studied for and practised at the Scotish bar, he had brought with him into the country a taste for certain kinds of dry reading, judged pre-eminently respectable, and for its indulgence had brought also a not insufficient12 store of such provender13 as his soul mildly hungered after, in the shape of books bound mostly in yellow-calf—books of law, history, and divinity. What the books of law were, I would not foolhardily add to my many risks of blundering by presuming to recall; the history was mostly Scotish, or connected with Scotish affairs; the theology was entirely14 of the New England type of corrupted15 Calvinism, with which in Scotland they saddle the memory of great-souled, hard-hearted Calvin himself. Thoroughly16 respectable, and a little devout17, Mr. Galbraith was a good deal more of a Scotchman than a Christian; growth was a doctrine18 unembodied in his creed20; he turned from everything new, no matter how harmonious21 with the old, in freezing disapprobation; he recognized no element in God or nature which could not be reasoned about after the forms of the Scotch philosophy. He would not have said an Episcopalian could not be saved, for at the bar he had known more than one good lawyer of the episcopal party; but to say a Roman Catholic would not necessarily be damned, would to his judgment22 have revealed at once the impending23 fate of the rash asserter. In religion he regarded everything not only as settled but as understood; but seemed aware of no call in relation to truth, but to bark at anyone who showed the least anxiety to discover it. What truth he held himself, he held as a sack holds corn—not even as a worm holds earth.
To his servants and tenants24 he was what he thought just—never condescending25 to talk over a thing with any of the former but the game-keeper, and never making any allowance to the latter for misfortune. In general expression he looked displeased26, but meant to look dignified27. No one had ever seen him wrathful; nor did he care enough for his fellow-mortals ever to be greatly vexed—at least he never manifested vexation otherwise than by a silence that showed more of contempt than suffering.
In person, he was very tall and very thin, with a head much too small for his height; a narrow forehead, above which the brown hair looked like a wig28; pale-blue, ill-set eyes, that seemed too large for their sockets29, consequently tumbled about a little, and were never at once brought to focus; a large, but soft-looking nose; a loose-lipped mouth, and very little chin. He always looked as if consciously trying to keep himself together. He wore his shirt-collar unusually high, yet out of it far shot his long neck, notwithstanding the smallness of which, his words always seemed to come from a throat much too big for them. He had greatly the look of a hen, proud of her maternal30 experiences, and silent from conceit31 of what she could say if she would. So much better would he have done as an underling than as a ruler—as a journeyman even, than a master, that to know him was almost to disbelieve in the good of what is generally called education. His learning seemed to have taken the wrong fermentation, and turned to folly32 instead of wisdom. But he did not do much harm, for he had a great respect for his respectability. Perhaps if he had been a craftsman33, he might even have done more harm—making rickety wheelbarrows, asthmatic pumps, ill-fitting window-frames, or boots with a lurking34 divorce in each welt. He had no turn for farming, and therefore let all his land, yet liked to interfere35, and as much as possible kept a personal jurisdiction36.
There was one thing, however, which, if it did not throw the laird into a passion—nothing, as I have said, did that—brought him nearer to the outer verge37 of displeasure than any other, and that was, anything whatever to which he could affix38 the name of superstition39. The indignation of better men than the laird with even a confessedly harmless superstition, is sometimes very amusing; and it was a point of Mr. Galbraith's poverty-stricken religion to denounce all superstitions40, however diverse in character, with equal severity. To believe in the second sight, for instance, or in any form of life as having the slightest relation to this world, except that of men, that of animals, and that of vegetables, was with him wicked, antagonistic41 to the Church of Scotland, and inconsistent with her perfect doctrine. The very word ghost would bring upon his face an expression he meant for withering42 scorn, and indeed it withered43 his face, rendering44 it yet more unpleasant to behold45. Coming to the benighted46 country, then, with all the gathered wisdom of Edinburgh in his gallinaceous cranium, and what he counted a vast experience of worldly affairs besides, he brought with him also the firm resolve to be the death of superstition, at least upon his own property. He was not only unaware47, but incapable48 of becoming aware, that he professed49 to believe a number of things, any one of which was infinitely50 more hostile to the truth of the universe, than all the fancies and fables51 of a countryside, handed down from grandmother to grandchild. When, therefore, within a year of his settling at Glashruach, there arose a loud talk of the Mains, his best farm, as haunted by presences making all kinds of tumultuous noises, and even throwing utensils52 bodily about, he was nearer the borders of a rage, although he kept, as became a gentleman, a calm exterior53, than ever he had been in his life. For were not ignorant clodhoppers asserting as facts what he knew never could take place! At once he set himself, with all his experience as a lawyer to aid him, to discover the buffooning authors of the mischief54; where there were deeds there were doers, and where there were doers they were discoverable. But his endeavours, uninterrmitted for the space of three weeks, after which the disturbances55 ceased, proved so utterly56 without result, that he could never bear the smallest allusion57 to the hateful business. For he had not only been unhorsed, but by his dearest hobby.
He was seated with a game pie in front of him, over the top of which Ginevra was visible. The girl never sat nearer her father at meals than the whole length of the table, where she occupied her mother's place. She was a solemn-looking child, of eight or nine, dressed in a brown merino frock of the plainest description. Her hair, which was nearly of the same colour as her frock, was done up in two triple plaits, which hung down her back, and were tied at the tips with black ribbon. To the first glance she did not look a very interesting or attractive child; but looked at twice, she was sure to draw the eyes a third time. She was undeniably like her father, and that was much against her at first sight; but it required only a little acquaintance with her face to remove the prejudice; for in its composed, almost resigned expression, every feature of her father's seemed comparatively finished, and settled into harmony with the rest; its chaos58 was subdued59, and not a little of the original underlying60 design brought out. The nose was firm, the mouth modelled, the chin larger, the eyes a little smaller, and full of life and feeling. The longer it was regarded by any seeing eye, the child's countenance61 showed fuller of promise, or at least of hope. Gradually the look would appear in it of a latent sensitive anxiety—then would dawn a glimmer62 of longing63 question; and then, all at once, it would slip back into the original ordinary look, which, without seeming attractive, had yet attracted. Her father was never harsh to her, yet she looked rather frightened at him; but then he was cold, very cold, and most children would rather be struck and kissed alternately than neither. And the bond cannot be very close between father and child, when the father has forsaken64 his childhood. The bond between any two is the one in the other; it is the father in the child, and the child in the father, that reach to each other eternal hands. It troubled Ginevra greatly that, when she asked herself whether she loved her father better than anybody else, as she believed she ought, she became immediately doubtful whether she loved him at all.
She was eating porridge and milk: with spoon arrested in mid-passage, she stopped suddenly, and said:—
"Papa, what's a broonie?"
"I have told you, Jenny, that you are never to talk broad Scotch in my presence," returned her father. "I would lay severer commands upon you, were it not that I fear tempting65 you to disobey me, but I will have no vulgarity in the dining-room."
His words came out slowly, and sounded as if each was a bullet wrapped round with cotton wool to make it fit the barrel. Ginevra looked perplexed66 for a moment.
"Should I say brownie, papa?" she asked.
"How can I tell you what you should call a creature that has no existence?" rejoined her father.
"If it be a creature, papa, it must have a name!" retorted the little logician68, with great solemnity.
"What foolish person has been insinuating69 such contemptible70 superstition into your silly head?" he asked. "Tell me, child," he continued, "that I may put a stop to it at once."
He was rising to ring the bell, that he might give the orders consequent on the information he expected: he would have asked Mammon to dinner in black clothes and a white tie, but on Superstition in the loveliest garb71 would have loosed all the dogs of Glashruach, to hunt her from the property. Her next words, however, arrested him, and just as she ended, the butler came in with fresh toast.
"They say," said Ginevra, anxious to avoid the forbidden Scotch, therefore stumbling sadly in her utterance72, "there's a broonie—brownie—at the Mains, who dis a'—does all the work."
"What is the meaning of this, Joseph?" said Mr. Galbraith, turning from her to the butler, with the air of rebuke73, which was almost habitual74 to him, a good deal heightened.
"The meanin' o' what, sir?" returned Joseph, nowise abashed75, for to him his master was not the greatest man in the world, or even in the highlands. "He's no a Galbraith," he used to say, when more than commonly provoked with him.
"I ask you, Joseph," answered the laird, "what this—this outbreak of superstition imports? You must be aware that nothing in the world could annoy me more than that Miss Galbraith should learn folly in her father's house. That staid servants, such as I had supposed mine to be, should use their tongues as if their heads had no more in them than so many bells hung in a steeple, is to me a mortifying76 reflection."
"Tongues as weel's clappers was made to wag, sir; an, wag they wull, sir, sae lang's the tow (string) hings oot at baith lugs," answered Joseph. The forms of speech he employed were not unfrequently obscure to his master, and in that obscurity lay more of Joseph's impunity77 than he knew. "Forby (besides), sir," he went on, "gien tongues didna wag, what w'y wad you, 'at has to set a' thing richt, come to ken1 what was wrang?"
"That is not a bad remark, Joseph," replied the laird, with woolly condescension78. "Pray acquaint me with the whole matter."
"I hae naething till acquaint yer honour wi', sir, but the ting-a-ling o' tongues," replied Joseph; "an' ye'll hae till arreenge't like, till yer ain settisfaction."
Therewith he proceeded to report what he had heard reported, which was in the main the truth, considerably79 exaggerated—that the work of the house was done over night by invisible hands—and the work of the stables, too; but that in the latter, cantrips were played as well; that some of the men talked of leaving the place; and that Mr. Duff's own horse, Snowball, was nearly out of his mind with fear.
The laird clenched80 his teeth, and for a whole minute said nothing. Here were either his old enemies again, or some who had heard the old story, and in their turn were beating the drum of consternation81 in the ears of superstition.
"It is one of the men themselves," he said at last, with outward frigidity82. "Or some ill-designed neighbour," he added. "But I shall soon be at the bottom of it. Go to the Mains at once, Joseph, and ask young Fergus Duff to be so good as step over, as soon as he conveniently can."
Fergus was pleased enough to be sent for by the laird, and soon told him all he knew from his aunt and the men, confessing that he had himself been too lazy of a morning to take any steps towards personal acquaintance with the facts, but adding that, as Mr. Galbraith took an interest in the matter, "he would be only too happy to carry out any suggestion he might think proper to make on the subject.
"Fergus," returned the laird, "do you imagine things inanimate can of themselves change their relations in space? In other words, are the utensils in your kitchen endowed with powers of locomotion83? Can they take to themselves wings and fly? Or to use a figure more to the point, are they provided with members necessary to the washing of their own—persons, shall I say? Answer me those points, Fergus."
"Certainly not, sir," answered Fergus solemnly, for the laird's face was solemn, and his speech was very solemn.
"Then, Fergus, let me assure you, that to discover by what agency these apparent wonders are effected, you have merely to watch. If you fail, I will myself come to your assistance. Depend upon it, the thing when explained will prove simplicity84 itself."
Fergus at once undertook to watch, but went home not quite so comfortable as he had gone; for he did not altogether, notwithstanding his unbelief in the so-called supernatural, relish85 the approaching situation. Belief and unbelief are not always quite plainly distinguishable from each other, and Fear is not always certain which of them is his mother. He was not the less resolved, however, to carry out what he had undertaken—that was, to sit up all night, if necessary, in order to have an interview with the extravagant86 and erring—spirit, surely, whether embodied19 or not, that dared thus wrong "domestic awe87, night-rest, and neighbourhood," by doing people's work for them unbidden. Not even to himself did he confess that he felt frightened, for he was a youth of nearly eighteen; but he could not quite hide from himself the fact that he anticipated no pleasure in the duty which lay before him.
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1 ken | |
n.视野,知识领域 | |
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2 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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3 obtuse | |
adj.钝的;愚钝的 | |
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4 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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5 obdurate | |
adj.固执的,顽固的 | |
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6 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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7 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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8 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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9 abbreviated | |
adj. 简短的,省略的 动词abbreviate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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10 perpetuated | |
vt.使永存(perpetuate的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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11 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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12 insufficient | |
adj.(for,of)不足的,不够的 | |
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13 provender | |
n.刍草;秣料 | |
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14 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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15 corrupted | |
(使)败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)腐化; 引起(计算机文件等的)错误; 破坏 | |
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16 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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17 devout | |
adj.虔诚的,虔敬的,衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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18 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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19 embodied | |
v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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20 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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21 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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22 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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23 impending | |
a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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24 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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25 condescending | |
adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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26 displeased | |
a.不快的 | |
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27 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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28 wig | |
n.假发 | |
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29 sockets | |
n.套接字,使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 );孔( socket的名词复数 );(电器上的)插口;托座;凹穴 | |
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30 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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31 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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32 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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33 craftsman | |
n.技工,精于一门工艺的匠人 | |
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34 lurking | |
潜在 | |
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35 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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36 jurisdiction | |
n.司法权,审判权,管辖权,控制权 | |
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37 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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38 affix | |
n.附件,附录 vt.附贴,盖(章),签署 | |
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39 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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40 superstitions | |
迷信,迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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41 antagonistic | |
adj.敌对的 | |
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42 withering | |
使人畏缩的,使人害羞的,使人难堪的 | |
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43 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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44 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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45 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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46 benighted | |
adj.蒙昧的 | |
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47 unaware | |
a.不知道的,未意识到的 | |
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48 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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49 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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50 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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51 fables | |
n.寓言( fable的名词复数 );神话,传说 | |
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52 utensils | |
器具,用具,器皿( utensil的名词复数 ); 器物 | |
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53 exterior | |
adj.外部的,外在的;表面的 | |
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54 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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55 disturbances | |
n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 );打扰;困扰;障碍 | |
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56 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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57 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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58 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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59 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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60 underlying | |
adj.在下面的,含蓄的,潜在的 | |
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61 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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62 glimmer | |
v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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63 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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64 Forsaken | |
adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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65 tempting | |
a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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66 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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67 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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68 logician | |
n.逻辑学家 | |
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69 insinuating | |
adj.曲意巴结的,暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 );巧妙或迂回地潜入;(使)缓慢进入;慢慢伸入 | |
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70 contemptible | |
adj.可鄙的,可轻视的,卑劣的 | |
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71 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
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72 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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73 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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74 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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75 abashed | |
adj.窘迫的,尴尬的v.使羞愧,使局促,使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76 mortifying | |
adj.抑制的,苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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77 impunity | |
n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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78 condescension | |
n.自以为高人一等,贬低(别人) | |
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79 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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80 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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82 frigidity | |
n.寒冷;冷淡;索然无味;(尤指妇女的)性感缺失 | |
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83 locomotion | |
n.运动,移动 | |
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84 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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85 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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86 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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87 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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