By the first week in September I had abandoned all palliatives, and had settled into the dismal33 but dignified34 routine of office, club, and chambers. And now came the most cruel trial, for the hideous35 truth dawned on me that the world I found so indispensable could after all dispense36 with me. It was all very well for Lady Ashleigh to assure me that I was deeply missed; but a letter from F——, who was one of the party, written “in haste, just starting to shoot”, and coming as a tardy37 reply to one of my cleverest, made me aware that the house party had suffered little from my absence, and that few sighs were wasted on me, even in the quarter which I had assumed to have been discreetly38 alluded39 to by the underlined all in Lady Ashleigh’s “we shall all miss you”. A thrust which smarted more, if it bit less deeply, came from my cousin Nesta, who wrote: “It’s horrid40 for you to have to be baking in London now; but, after all, it must be a great pleasure to you” (malicious little wretch41!) “to have such interesting and important work to do.” Here was a nemesis42 for an innocent illusion I had been accustomed to foster in the minds of my relations and acquaintances, especially in the breasts of the trustful and admiring maidens44 whom I had taken down to dinner in the last two seasons; a fiction which I had almost reached the point of believing in myself. For the plain truth was that my work was neither interesting nor important, and consisted chiefly at present in smoking cigarettes, in saying that Mr So-and-So was away and would be back about October 1, in being absent for lunch from twelve till two, and in my spare moments making précis of—let us say—the less confidential45 consular46 reports, and squeezing the results into cast-iron schedules. The reason of my detention47 was not a cloud on the international horizon—though I may say in passing that there was such a cloud—but a caprice on the part of a remote and mighty48 personage, the effect of which, ramifying downwards49, had dislocated the carefully-laid holiday plans of the humble50 juniors, and in my own small case had upset the arrangement between myself and K——, who positively liked the dog-days in Whitehall.
Only one thing was needed to fill my cup of bitterness, and this it was that specially43 occupied me as I dressed for dinner this evening. Two days more in this dead and fermenting51 city and my slavery would be at an end. Yes, but—irony52 of ironies53!—I had nowhere to go to! The Morven Lodge party was breaking up. A dreadful rumour54 as to an engagement which had been one of its accursed fruits tormented55 me with the fresh certainty that I had not been missed, and bred in me that most desolating56 brand of cynicism which is produced by defeat through insignificance57. Invitations for a later date, which I had declined in July with a gratifying sense of being much in request, now rose up spectrally58 to taunt59 me. There was at least one which I could easily have revived, but neither in this case nor in any other had there been any renewal60 of pressure, and there are moments when the difference between proposing oneself and surrendering as a prize to one of several eagerly competing hostesses seems too crushing to be contemplated61. My own people were at Aix for my father’s gout; to join them was a pis-aller whose banality62 was repellent. Besides, they would be leaving soon for our home in Yorkshire, and I was not a prophet in my own country. In short, I was at the extremity63 of depression.
The usual preliminary scuffle on the staircase prepared me for the knock and entry of Withers64. (One of the things which had for some time ceased to amuse me was the laxity of manners, proper to the season, among the servants of the big block of chambers where I lived.) Withers demurely65 handed me a letter bearing a German postmark and marked “Urgent”. I had just finished dressing66, and was collecting my money and gloves. A momentary67 thrill of curiosity broke in upon my depression as I sat down to open it. A corner on the reverse of the envelope bore the blotted68 legend: “Very sorry, but there’s one other thing—a pair of rigging screws from Carey and Neilson’s, size 1⅜, galvanised.” Here it is:
Yacht Dulcibella,
Flensburg, Schleswig-Holstein, Sept. 21.
Dear Carruthers,—I daresay you’ll be surprised at hearing from me, as it’s ages since we met. It is more than likely, too, that what I’m going to suggest won’t suit you, for I know nothing of your plans, and if you’re in town at all you’re probably just getting into harness again and can’t get away. So I merely write on the offchance to ask if you would care to come out here and join me in a little yachting, and, I hope, duck-shooting. I know you’re keen on shooting, and I sort of remember that you have done some yachting too, though I rather forget about that. This part of the Baltic—the Schleswig fiords—is a splendid cruising-ground—A1 scenery—and there ought to be plenty of duck about soon, if it gets cold enough. I came out here via Holland and the Frisian Islands, starting early in August. My pals69 have had to leave me, and I’m badly in want of another, as I don’t want to lay up yet for a bit. I needn’t say how glad I should be if you could come. If you can, send me a wire to the P.O. here. Flushing and on by Hamburg will be your best route, I think. I’m having a few repairs done here, and will have them ready sharp by the time your train arrives. Bring your gun and a good lot of No. 4’s; and would you mind calling at Lancaster’s and asking for mine, and bringing it too? Bring some oilskins. Better get the eleven-shilling sort, jacket and trousers—not the “yachting” brand; and if you paint bring your gear. I know you speak German like a native, and that will be a great help. Forgive this hail of directions, but I’ve a sort of feeling that I’m in luck and that you’ll come. Anyway, I hope you and the F.O. both flourish. Good-bye.
Yours ever,
Arthur H. Davies.
This letter marked an epoch71 for me; but I little suspected the fact as I crumpled72 it into my pocket and started languidly on the voie douloureuse which I nightly followed to the club. In Pall Mall there were no dignified greetings to be exchanged now with well-groomed acquaintances. The only people to be seen were some late stragglers from the park, with a perambulator and some hot and dusty children lagging fretfully behind; some rustic73 sightseers draining the last dregs of the daylight in an effort to make out from their guide-books which of these reverend piles was which; a policeman and a builder’s cart. Of course the club was a strange one, both of my own being closed for cleaning, a coincidence expressly planned by Providence74 for my inconvenience. The club which you are “permitted to make use of” on these occasions always irritates with its strangeness and discomfort75. The few occupants seem odd and oddly dressed, and you wonder how they got there. The particular weekly that you want is not taken in; the dinner is execrable, and the ventilation a farce76. All these evils oppressed me to-night. And yet I was puzzled to find that somewhere within me there was a faint lightening of the spirits; causeless, as far as I could discover. It could not be Davies’s letter. Yachting in the Baltic at the end of September! The very idea made one shudder77. Cowes, with a pleasant party and hotels handy, was all very well. An August cruise on a steam yacht in French waters or the Highlands was all very well; but what kind of a yacht was this? It must be of a certain size to have got so far, but I thought I remembered enough of Davies’s means to know that he had no money to waste on luxuries. That brought me to the man himself. I had known him at Oxford—not as one of my immediate78 set; but we were a sociable79 college, and I had seen a good deal of him, liking80 him for his physical energy combined with a certain simplicity81 and modesty82, though, indeed, he had nothing to be conceited83 about; liked him, in fact, in the way that at that receptive period one likes many men whom one never keeps up with later. We had both gone down in the same year—three years ago now. I had gone to France and Germany for two years to learn the languages; he had failed for the Indian Civil, and then had gone into a solicitor’s office. I had only seen him since at rare intervals, though I admitted to myself that for his part he had clung loyally to what ties of friendship there were between us. But the truth was that we had drifted apart from the nature of things. I had passed brilliantly into my profession, and on the few occasions I had met him since I made my triumphant84 début in society I had found nothing left in common between us. He seemed to know none of my friends, he dressed indifferently, and I thought him dull. I had always connected him with boats and the sea, but never with yachting, in the sense that I understood it. In college days he had nearly persuaded me into sharing a squalid week in some open boat he had picked up, and was going to sail among some dreary85 mudflats somewhere on the east coast. There was nothing else, and the funereal86 function of dinner drifted on. But I found myself remembering at the entrée that I had recently heard, at second or third hand, of something else about him—exactly what I could not recall. When I reached the savoury, I had concluded, so far as I had centred my mind on it at all, that the whole thing was a culminating irony, as, indeed, was the savoury in its way. After the wreck87 of my pleasant plans and the fiasco of my martyrdom, to be asked as consolation88 to spend October freezing in the Baltic with an eccentric nonentity89 who bored me! Yet, as I smoked my cigar in the ghastly splendour of the empty smoking-room, the subject came up again. Was there anything in it? There were certainly no alternatives at hand. And to bury myself in the Baltic at this unearthly time of year had at least a smack90 of tragic91 thoroughness about it.
I pulled out the letter again, and ran down its impulsive92 staccato sentences, affecting to ignore what a gust12 of fresh air, high spirits, and good fellowship this flimsy bit of paper wafted93 into the jaded94 club-room. On reperusal, it was full of evil presage—“A1 scenery”—but what of equinoctial storms and October fogs? Every sane95 yachtsman was paying off his crew now. “There ought to be duck”—vague, very vague. “If it gets cold enough”—cold and yachting seemed to be a gratuitously96 monstrous97 union. His pals had left him; why? “Not the ‘yachting’ brand”; and why not? As to the size, comfort, and crew of the yacht—all cheerfully ignored; so many maddening blanks. And, by the way, why in Heaven’s name “a prismatic compass”? I fingered a few magazines, played a game of fifty with a friendly old fogey, too importunate98 to be worth the labour of resisting, and went back to my chambers to bed, ignorant that a friendly Providence had come to my rescue; and, indeed, rather resenting any clumsy attempt at such friendliness99.
点击收听单词发音
1 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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2 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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3 pall | |
v.覆盖,使平淡无味;n.柩衣,棺罩;棺材;帷幕 | |
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4 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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5 administrator | |
n.经营管理者,行政官员 | |
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6 complacent | |
adj.自满的;自鸣得意的 | |
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7 martyr | |
n.烈士,殉难者;vt.杀害,折磨,牺牲 | |
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8 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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9 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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10 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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11 dwindling | |
adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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12 gust | |
n.阵风,突然一阵(雨、烟等),(感情的)迸发 | |
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13 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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14 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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15 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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16 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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17 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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18 bracing | |
adj.令人振奋的 | |
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19 vein | |
n.血管,静脉;叶脉,纹理;情绪;vt.使成脉络 | |
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20 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
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21 indirectly | |
adv.间接地,不直接了当地 | |
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22 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
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23 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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24 sediment | |
n.沉淀,沉渣,沉积(物) | |
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25 prosaic | |
adj.单调的,无趣的 | |
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26 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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27 quenched | |
解(渴)( quench的过去式和过去分词 ); 终止(某事物); (用水)扑灭(火焰等); 将(热物体)放入水中急速冷却 | |
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28 immersion | |
n.沉浸;专心 | |
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29 reeking | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
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30 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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31 tepid | |
adj.微温的,温热的,不太热心的 | |
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33 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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34 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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35 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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36 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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37 tardy | |
adj.缓慢的,迟缓的 | |
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38 discreetly | |
ad.(言行)审慎地,慎重地 | |
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39 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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41 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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42 nemesis | |
n.给以报应者,复仇者,难以对付的敌手 | |
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43 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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44 maidens | |
处女( maiden的名词复数 ); 少女; 未婚女子; (板球运动)未得分的一轮投球 | |
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45 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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46 consular | |
a.领事的 | |
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47 detention | |
n.滞留,停留;拘留,扣留;(教育)留下 | |
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48 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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49 downwards | |
adj./adv.向下的(地),下行的(地) | |
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50 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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51 fermenting | |
v.(使)发酵( ferment的现在分词 );(使)激动;骚动;骚扰 | |
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52 irony | |
n.反语,冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事,嘲弄 | |
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53 ironies | |
n.反语( irony的名词复数 );冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事;嘲弄 | |
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54 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
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55 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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56 desolating | |
毁坏( desolate的现在分词 ); 极大地破坏; 使沮丧; 使痛苦 | |
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57 insignificance | |
n.不重要;无价值;无意义 | |
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58 spectrally | |
adv.幽灵似地,可怕地 | |
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59 taunt | |
n.辱骂,嘲弄;v.嘲弄 | |
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60 renewal | |
adj.(契约)延期,续订,更新,复活,重来 | |
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61 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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62 banality | |
n.陈腐;平庸;陈词滥调 | |
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63 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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64 withers | |
马肩隆 | |
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65 demurely | |
adv.装成端庄地,认真地 | |
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66 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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67 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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68 blotted | |
涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 ); (用吸墨纸)吸干 | |
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69 pals | |
n.朋友( pal的名词复数 );老兄;小子;(对男子的不友好的称呼)家伙 | |
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70 raven | |
n.渡鸟,乌鸦;adj.乌亮的 | |
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71 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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72 crumpled | |
adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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73 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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74 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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75 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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76 farce | |
n.闹剧,笑剧,滑稽戏;胡闹 | |
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77 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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78 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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79 sociable | |
adj.好交际的,友好的,合群的 | |
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80 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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81 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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82 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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83 conceited | |
adj.自负的,骄傲自满的 | |
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84 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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85 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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86 funereal | |
adj.悲哀的;送葬的 | |
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87 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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88 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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89 nonentity | |
n.无足轻重的人 | |
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90 smack | |
vt.拍,打,掴;咂嘴;vi.含有…意味;n.拍 | |
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91 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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92 impulsive | |
adj.冲动的,刺激的;有推动力的 | |
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93 wafted | |
v.吹送,飘送,(使)浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94 jaded | |
adj.精疲力竭的;厌倦的;(因过饱或过多而)腻烦的;迟钝的 | |
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95 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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96 gratuitously | |
平白 | |
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97 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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98 importunate | |
adj.强求的;纠缠不休的 | |
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99 friendliness | |
n.友谊,亲切,亲密 | |
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