The speculation1 is idle; anybody named Lopez has always a taste for onions because they are the nearest thing to garlic. Señor Francisco,—I suppose one may grant him the title at this distance—rested under an oak and dug up the wild root with his knife, and the tide of the world's emigration set toward the Coasts of Adventure. [48] I have, holding my papers as I write, an Indian basket reputed to be one of those in which, in those days, placer gold was washed out of the sandy loam2; it was given me by one who had it from Don Antonio Coronel, and has a pattern about it of the low serried3 hills of the coast district. Where it breaks, as all patterns of Indian baskets do, to give egress4 to the spirit resident in things dedicated5 to human use, there are two figures of men with arms outstretched, but divided as the pioneers who carried the cross into that country were from those who followed the lure6 of gold. The basket wears with time, but the pattern holds, inwoven with its texture7 as Romance is woven with the history of all that region lying between San Francisco on the north and Cahuenga where, after a bloodless battle, was consummated8 the cession9 of California from Mexico.
From the white landmark10 of San Juan Capistrano to a point opposite Santa Inez, saints thick as sea-birds, standing11 seaward, break the long Pacific swell12: San Clemente, Santa Catalina, Santa Rosa—their deep-scored cliffs searched by the light, revealing their kinship with the parallel mainland ranges. But there are hints here, in the plant and animal life and in the climate, milder [49] even than that of the opposing channel ports, hints which not even the Driest-Dustiness dare despise, of those mellower13 times than ours from which all fables14 of Blessed Islands are sprung. Islands "very near the terrestrial paradise" the old Spanish romancer described them. Often as not the imagination sees more truly than the eye. I myself am ready to affirm that something of man's early Eden drifted thither15 on the Kuro-Siwa, that warm current deflected16 to our coast, which, for all we know of it, might well be one of the four great rivers that went about the Garden and watered it. Great golden sun-fish doze17 upon the island tides, flying-fish go by in purple and silver streaks18, and under the flat bays, which take at times colour that rivals the lagoons19 of Venice, forests of kelp, a-crawl with rainbow-coloured life, sleep and sway upon tides unfelt of men. There are days at Catalina so steeped with harmonies of sea and sun that the singing of the birds excites the soothed20 sense no more than if the lucent air had that moment dripped in sound. These are the days when the accounts that Cabrillo left of his findings there, of a civil and religious development superior to the tribes of the mainland, beguile21 the imagination.
One thinks of the watery22 highway between the [50] west coast and the channel islands as another Camino Real of the sea, where in place of mule23 trains and pacing Padres, went balsas, skin canoes, galleons24, far-blown Chinese junks, Russian traders, slipping under the cliffs of San Juan for untaxed hides and tallow, Atlantic whalers, packets rounding the Horn, sunk past the load line with Argonauts of '49, opium26 smugglers dropping a contraband27 cask or an equally prohibited coolie under the very wing of San Clemente. So many things could have happened—Odysseys, Æneids—that it is with a sigh one resigns the peaks of the submerged range, paling and purpling on the west, to the student of sea-birds and sea-nourished plants.
Looking from the islands landward, the locked shores have still for long stretches the aspect of undiscovered country. Hills break abruptly28 in the surf or run into narrow moon-shaped belts of sand where a mountain arm curves out or the sea eats inward. And yet for nearly four centuries the secret of the land was blazoned29 to all the ships that passed, in the great fields of poppy gold that every wet season flamed fifty miles or more to seaward.
One must have seen the Eschscholtzia so, smouldering [51] under the mists of spring, to understand the thrill that comes of finding them later scattered30 as they are, throughout the gardens of the world. I recall how at Rome, coming up suddenly out of the catacombs—we had gone down by another entrance and had been wandering for hours in the mortuary gloom—memory leaped up to find a great bed of golden poppies tended by brown, bearded Franciscans. They couldn't say—Fray31 Filippo, whom I questioned, had no notion—whence the sun-bright cups had come, except that they were common in the gardens of his order. It seemed a natural sort of thing for some Mission Padre, seeking a memento32 of himself to send back to his Brothers of St. Francis half a world away, to have chosen these shining offsprings of the sun. There was confirmation33 in the fact that Fray Filippo knew them not by the unspellable botanical name, but by the endearing Castilian "dormidera," sleepy-eyed, in reference to their habit of unfolding only to the light; but the connecting thread was lost. Channel fishermen still, in spite of the obliterating34 crops, can trace the blue lines of lupins between faint streaks of poppy fires, and catch above the reek35 of their boats, when the land wind begins, blown scents36 of islay and ceanothus. [52]
No rivers of water of notable size pour down this west coast, but rivers of green flood the shallow cañons. Here and there from the crest37 of the range one catches an arrowy glimpse of a seasonal38 stream, but from the sea-view the furred chaparral is unbroken except for bare ridges39, wind-swept even of the round-headed oaks. This coast country is a favourite browsing40 place for deer; they can be seen there still in early summer, feeding on the acorns41 of the scrub oaks, and especially on the tender twigs42 of wind-fallen trees, or herding43 at noon in the deep fern which closes like cleft44 waters over their heads. Until within a few years it was no unlikely thing to hear little black bears snorting and snuffing under the manzanita, of the berries of which they are inordinately45 fond. This lovely shrub46 with its twisty, satiny stems of wine-red, suffusing47 brown, its pale conventionalised leaves and flat little umbels of berries, suggests somehow the carving48 on old Gothic choirs49, as though it borrowed its characteristic touch from an external shaping hand; as if with its predetermined habit of growth it had a secret affinity50 for man, and waited but to be transplanted into gardens. It needs, however, no garden facilities, but shapes itself to the most inhospitable conditions. About [53] the time it begins to put forth51 its thousand waxy52 bells, in December or January, the toyon, the native holly53, is at its handsomest. This is a late summer flowering shrub that in mid-winter loses a little of its glossy54 green, and above its yellowing foliage55 bears berries in great scarlet56 clusters. Between these two overlapping57 ends, the gaumet of the chaparral is run in blues58 of wild lilac, reds and purples of rhus and buckthorn and the wide, white umbels of the alder59, which here becomes a tree fifty to sixty feet in height. It is the only one of the tall chaparral which has edible60 fruit, for though bears and Indians make a meal of manzanita, it does not commend itself to cultivated taste. More humble61 species, huckleberry, thimble, and blackberry, crowd the open spaces under the oak-madroño forests, or, as if they knew their particular usefulness to man, come hurrying to clearings of the axe25, and may be seen holding hands as they climb to cover the track of careless fires. In June whole hill-slopes, under the pine and madroños, burn crimson62 with sweet, wild strawberries. The wild currant and the fuchsia-flowered gooseberry are not edible, but they are under no such obligation; they "make good" with long wands of jewel-red, drooping63 blossoms, and in the case of the [54] currant, with delicate pink racemes, thrown out almost before the leaves while the earth still smells of winter dampness. Though nobody seems to know how it travelled so far, the "incense64 shrub" is a favourite of English gardens where, before the primroses65 begin, it serves the same purpose as in the west coast cañons, quickening the sense into anticipations66 of beauty on every side.
Inland the close, round-backed hills draw into ranks and ranges, making way for chains of fertile valleys which also fill out the Californian's calendar of saints. But, in fact, your true Californian prays to his land as much as ever the early Roman did, and pours on it libations of water and continuous incense of praise. Every one of these longish, north-trending basins is superlatively good for something,—olives or wheat, perhaps; Pajaro produces apples and Santa Clara has become the patroness of prunes67.
Nothing could be more ethereally lovely than the spring aspect of the orchard68 country. It begins with the yellowing of the meadow lark's breast, and then of early mornings, with the appearance, as if flecks69 of the sky had fallen, of great flocks of bluebirds that blow about in the ploughed lands and are dissolved in rain. Then the poppies spring [55] up like torchmen in the winter wheat, and along the tips of the apricots, petals70 begin to show, crumpled72 as the pink lips of children shut upon mischievous73 secrets; a day or two of this and then the blossoms swarm74 as bees, white fire breaks out among the prunes, it scatters75 along the foothills like the surf. Toward the end of the blooming season all the country roads are defined by thin lines of petal71 drift, and any wind that blows is alive with whiteness. After which, thick leafage covers the ripening76 fruit and the valley dozes77 through the summer heat with the farms outlined in firm green, like a patchwork78 quilt drawn79 up across the mountains' knees.
The tree that gives the memorable80 touch to the landscape of the coast valleys is the oak, both the roble and encinas varieties. There are others with greater claims to distinction, the sequoia81, the "big tree," lurking82 in the Santa Cruz mountains, the madroño, red-breeched, green-coated, a very Robin83 Hood84 of trees, sequestered85 in cool cañons, and the redwood, the palo colorado, discovered by the first Governor, Don Gaspar de Portola, on his search for the lost port of Monte Rey. All these keep well back from the main lines of travel. The most that the rail tourist sees of them is a line of redwoods, [56] perhaps, climbing up from the sea-fronting cañons to peer and whisper on the ridges above the fruiting orchards86. But the oaks go on, keeping well in the laps of the hills, avoiding the wind rivers, marching steadily87 across the alluvial88 basins on into the hot interior. They are more susceptible89 to wind influence than almost any other, and mark the prevailing90 direction of the seasonal air currents with their three-hundred-year-old trunks as readily as reeds under a freshet. You can see them hugging the lee side of any cañon, leaning as far as they may out of the sea-born draughts91, but standing apart, true aristocrats92 among trees, disdaining93 alike one another and the whole race of orchard inmates94. When in full leaf, for the roble is deciduous95, they are both of them distinctly paintable, particularly when in summer the trunks, grey and aslant96, upbearing cloud-shaped masses of dark green, make an agreeable note against the fawn-coloured hills. The roble is a noble tree, high-crowned, with a great sweep of branches, but seen in winter stripped of its thick, small leafage, it loses interest. Its method of branching is fussy97, too finely divided, and without grace.
Around Santa Margarita and Paso Robles filmy moss98 spreads a veil over the robles as of Druid [57] meditation99; one fancies them aloof100 from the stir of present-day life as they were from the bears that used to feed on the mast under them. A hundred years or so ago the Franciscans drove out the bears by an incantation—I mean by the exorcism of the Church enforced with holy water and a procession with banners around the Mission precinct: "I adjure101 you, O Bears, by the true God, by the Holy God ... to leave the fields to our flocks, not to molest102 them nor come near them." But bears or homo sapiens, it is all one to the oaks of San Antonio; indeed, if legend is to be credited, the four-footed brothers would have been equally as acceptable to the patron of the Mission where this interesting ceremony took place. I can testify, however, that after all this lapse103 of time the exorcism is still in force, for though I have been up and down that country many times I have seen no bears in it.
Things more pestiferous than bears are driven out, humours of the blood, stiffness of the joints104, by the medicinal waters that bubble and seep105 along certain ancient fissures106 of the country rock. This has always seemed to me the very insolence107 of superfluity. Who wishes, when all the air is censed with the fragrance108 of wild vines, to have his nose [58] assaulted with fumes109 of sulphur, even though it is known to be good for a number of things? But there are some people who could never be got to observe the noble proportions of five-hundred-year-old oaks with the wild grapes going from tree to tree like a tent, except as a by-process incident to the drinking of nasty waters. So the land has its way even with our weaknesses.
Besides these excursions inland, which bring us in almost every case to one of the ancient Franciscan foundations, there are two or three ports of call on the sea front worth lingering at for more things than the pleasant air and the radiant wild bloom. One of these is Santa Barbara which Santa Inez holds in its lap, curving like a scimitar opposite the most northerly of the channel islands. Understand, however, that no good comes of thinking of Santa Barbara as a place on the map. It is a Sargossa of Romance, a haven110 of last things, the last Mission in the hands of the Franciscans, the last splendour of the Occupation, the last place where mantillas were worn and they danced the fandango and la jota; an eddy111 into which have drifted remnants of every delightful112 thing that has passed on the highways of land and sea, which here hail one another across the curving moon-white [59] beach. Summer has settled there, California summer which never swelters, never scorches113. Frost descends114 at times from Santa Inez to the roofs, but lays no finger on the fuchsias, poinsettias, and the heliotropes climbing to second-story windows. The wild thickets115 which connect the territory with the town, are vocal116 with night-singing mocking-birds; along the foreshore white pelicans117 divide the mountain-shadowed waters. The waters, taking all the sky's changes, race to the fairy islands, the chaparral runs back to the flanks of Santa Inez showing yellowly through the distant blue of pines; overhead a sky clouded with light. This is not a paradox118 but an attempt to express the misty119 luminosity of a heaven filled with refractions of the summer-tinted slope, the glaucous leafage of the chaparral, the white sand and sapphire-glinting water. The sky beyond the enclosing mountains has the cambric blueness of the superheated interior, but directly overhead it has depth and immensity of colour unequalled except along the Mediterranean120.
Santa Barbara is a port of distinguished121 visitors; more, and more varieties, of sea-birds put in there on the long flight from the Arctic to the Isthmus122 than is easily believable. In the Estero—esteril, [60] sterile—an ill-smelling tide pool lying behind the town, may be found at one season or another, all the western species that delight the ornithologist123. The black brant, going by night, and wild swans, as many as a score of them together, have been noted124 in its backwaters, and scarcely any stroll along the receding125 surf but is enlivened by the resonant126, sweet whistle of the plover127. In hollows of the sands thousands of beach-haunting birds may be seen camping for the night, looking like some sea-coloured, strange vegetation, and early mornings when the channel racing128 by, leaves the bay placid129, tens of thousands of shearwaters sleep in shouldering ranks that sway with the incoming swell as the kelp sways, without being scattered by it. One can see the same sight, augmented130 as to numbers, around Monterey, a long day's journey to the north as the car goes, long enough and lovely enough to deserve another chapter.
点击收听单词发音
1 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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2 loam | |
n.沃土 | |
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3 serried | |
adj.拥挤的;密集的 | |
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4 egress | |
n.出去;出口 | |
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5 dedicated | |
adj.一心一意的;献身的;热诚的 | |
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6 lure | |
n.吸引人的东西,诱惑物;vt.引诱,吸引 | |
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7 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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8 consummated | |
v.使结束( consummate的过去式和过去分词 );使完美;完婚;(婚礼后的)圆房 | |
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9 cession | |
n.割让,转让 | |
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10 landmark | |
n.陆标,划时代的事,地界标 | |
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11 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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12 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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13 mellower | |
成熟的( mellow的比较级 ); (水果)熟透的; (颜色或声音)柔和的; 高兴的 | |
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14 fables | |
n.寓言( fable的名词复数 );神话,传说 | |
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15 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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16 deflected | |
偏离的 | |
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17 doze | |
v.打瞌睡;n.打盹,假寐 | |
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18 streaks | |
n.(与周围有所不同的)条纹( streak的名词复数 );(通常指不好的)特征(倾向);(不断经历成功或失败的)一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 );使布满条纹 | |
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19 lagoons | |
n.污水池( lagoon的名词复数 );潟湖;(大湖或江河附近的)小而浅的淡水湖;温泉形成的池塘 | |
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20 soothed | |
v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
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21 beguile | |
vt.欺骗,消遣 | |
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22 watery | |
adj.有水的,水汪汪的;湿的,湿润的 | |
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23 mule | |
n.骡子,杂种,执拗的人 | |
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24 galleons | |
n.大型帆船( galleon的名词复数 ) | |
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25 axe | |
n.斧子;v.用斧头砍,削减 | |
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26 opium | |
n.鸦片;adj.鸦片的 | |
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27 contraband | |
n.违禁品,走私品 | |
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28 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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29 blazoned | |
v.广布( blazon的过去式和过去分词 );宣布;夸示;装饰 | |
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30 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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31 fray | |
v.争吵;打斗;磨损,磨破;n.吵架;打斗 | |
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32 memento | |
n.纪念品,令人回忆的东西 | |
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33 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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34 obliterating | |
v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 );涂去;擦掉;彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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35 reek | |
v.发出臭气;n.恶臭 | |
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36 scents | |
n.香水( scent的名词复数 );气味;(动物的)臭迹;(尤指狗的)嗅觉 | |
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37 crest | |
n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
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38 seasonal | |
adj.季节的,季节性的 | |
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39 ridges | |
n.脊( ridge的名词复数 );山脊;脊状突起;大气层的)高压脊 | |
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40 browsing | |
v.吃草( browse的现在分词 );随意翻阅;(在商店里)随便看看;(在计算机上)浏览信息 | |
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41 acorns | |
n.橡子,栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
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42 twigs | |
细枝,嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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43 herding | |
中畜群 | |
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44 cleft | |
n.裂缝;adj.裂开的 | |
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45 inordinately | |
adv.无度地,非常地 | |
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46 shrub | |
n.灌木,灌木丛 | |
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47 suffusing | |
v.(指颜色、水气等)弥漫于,布满( suffuse的现在分词 ) | |
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48 carving | |
n.雕刻品,雕花 | |
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49 choirs | |
n.教堂的唱诗班( choir的名词复数 );唱诗队;公开表演的合唱团;(教堂)唱经楼 | |
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50 affinity | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
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51 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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52 waxy | |
adj.苍白的;光滑的 | |
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53 holly | |
n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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54 glossy | |
adj.平滑的;有光泽的 | |
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55 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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56 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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57 overlapping | |
adj./n.交迭(的) | |
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58 blues | |
n.抑郁,沮丧;布鲁斯音乐 | |
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59 alder | |
n.赤杨树 | |
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60 edible | |
n.食品,食物;adj.可食用的 | |
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61 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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62 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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63 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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64 incense | |
v.激怒;n.香,焚香时的烟,香气 | |
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65 primroses | |
n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 );淡黄色;追求享乐(招至恶果) | |
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66 anticipations | |
预期( anticipation的名词复数 ); 预测; (信托财产收益的)预支; 预期的事物 | |
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67 prunes | |
n.西梅脯,西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪(树木等)( prune的第三人称单数 );精简某事物,除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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68 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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69 flecks | |
n.斑点,小点( fleck的名词复数 );癍 | |
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70 petals | |
n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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71 petal | |
n.花瓣 | |
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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 mischievous | |
adj.调皮的,恶作剧的,有害的,伤人的 | |
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74 swarm | |
n.(昆虫)等一大群;vi.成群飞舞;蜂拥而入 | |
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75 scatters | |
v.(使)散开, (使)分散,驱散( scatter的第三人称单数 );撒 | |
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76 ripening | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的现在分词 );熟化;熟成 | |
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77 dozes | |
n.打盹儿,打瞌睡( doze的名词复数 )v.打盹儿,打瞌睡( doze的第三人称单数 ) | |
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78 patchwork | |
n.混杂物;拼缝物 | |
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79 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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80 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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81 sequoia | |
n.红杉 | |
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82 lurking | |
潜在 | |
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83 robin | |
n.知更鸟,红襟鸟 | |
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84 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
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85 sequestered | |
adj.扣押的;隐退的;幽静的;偏僻的v.使隔绝,使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 );扣押 | |
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86 orchards | |
(通常指围起来的)果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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87 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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88 alluvial | |
adj.冲积的;淤积的 | |
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89 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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90 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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91 draughts | |
n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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92 aristocrats | |
n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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93 disdaining | |
鄙视( disdain的现在分词 ); 不屑于做,不愿意做 | |
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94 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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95 deciduous | |
adj.非永久的;短暂的;脱落的;落叶的 | |
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96 aslant | |
adv.倾斜地;adj.斜的 | |
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97 fussy | |
adj.为琐事担忧的,过分装饰的,爱挑剔的 | |
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98 moss | |
n.苔,藓,地衣 | |
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99 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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100 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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101 adjure | |
v.郑重敦促(恳请) | |
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102 molest | |
vt.骚扰,干扰,调戏 | |
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103 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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104 joints | |
接头( joint的名词复数 ); 关节; 公共场所(尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所) (非正式); 一块烤肉 (英式英语) | |
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105 seep | |
v.渗出,渗漏;n.渗漏,小泉,水(油)坑 | |
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106 fissures | |
n.狭长裂缝或裂隙( fissure的名词复数 );裂伤;分歧;分裂v.裂开( fissure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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107 insolence | |
n.傲慢;无礼;厚颜;傲慢的态度 | |
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108 fragrance | |
n.芬芳,香味,香气 | |
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109 fumes | |
n.(强烈而刺激的)气味,气体 | |
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110 haven | |
n.安全的地方,避难所,庇护所 | |
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111 eddy | |
n.漩涡,涡流 | |
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112 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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113 scorches | |
烧焦,烤焦( scorch的第三人称单数 ); 使(植物)枯萎,把…晒枯; 高速行驶 | |
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114 descends | |
v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 );下去;下降;下斜 | |
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115 thickets | |
n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 );丛状物 | |
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116 vocal | |
adj.直言不讳的;嗓音的;n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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117 pelicans | |
n.鹈鹕( pelican的名词复数 ) | |
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118 paradox | |
n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法;自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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119 misty | |
adj.雾蒙蒙的,有雾的 | |
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120 Mediterranean | |
adj.地中海的;地中海沿岸的 | |
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121 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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122 isthmus | |
n.地峡 | |
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123 ornithologist | |
n.鸟类学家 | |
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124 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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125 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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126 resonant | |
adj.(声音)洪亮的,共鸣的 | |
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127 plover | |
n.珩,珩科鸟,千鸟 | |
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128 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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129 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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130 Augmented | |
adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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