Tom Brown,
Dick Jones,
Their object in founding the Mutual Depreciation Society was of course to achieve literary success, but they soon perceived that their phalanx was too small for this, and as they had no power to add to their number except by inviting9 strangers from without, they took steps to induce three other gentlemen to solicit10 the privileges of membership. The second batch11 comprised,
Taffy Owen,
Andrew Mackay,
Patrick Boyle.
These six gentlemen being all blessed with youth, health and incompetence12, resolved to capture the town. Their tactics were very simple, though their first operations were hampered13 by their ignorance of one another's. Thus, it was some time before it was discovered that Andrew Mackay, who had been deployed14 to seize the Saturday Slasher, had no real acquaintance with the editor's fencing-master, while Dick Jones, who had undertaken to bombard the Acadæum, had started under the impression that the eminent15 critic to whom he had dedicated16 his poems (by permission) was still connected with the staff. But these difficulties were eliminated as soon as the Society got into working order. Everything comes to him who will not wait, and almost before they had time to wink17 our six gentlemen had secured the makings of an Influence. Each had loyally done his best for himself and the rest, and the first spoils of the campaign, as announced amid applause by the Secretary at the monthly dinner, were
Two Morning Papers,
Two Evening Papers,
Two Weekly Papers.
They were not the most influential18, nor even the best circulated, still it was not a bad beginning, though of course only a nucleus19. By putting out tentacles20 in every direction, by undertaking21 to write even on subjects with which they were acquainted, they gradually secured a more or less tenacious22 connection with the majority of the better journals and magazines. On taking stock they found that the account stood thus:
Three Morning Papers,
Four Evening Papers,
Eleven Weekly Papers,
Thirteen London Letters,
Seven Dramatic Columns,
Six Monthly Magazines,
Thirteen Influences on Advertisements,
Nine Friendships with Eminent Editors,
Seventeen ditto with Eminent Sub-editors,
Six ditto with Lady Journalists,
Fifty-three Loans (at two-and-six each) to Pressmen,
One hundred and nine Mentions of Editor's Womenkind at Fashionable Receptions.
It showed what could be achieved by six men, working together shoulder to shoulder for the highest aims in a spirit of mutual good-will and brotherhood23. They were undoubtedly24 greatly helped by having all been to Oxford25 or Cambridge, but still much was the legitimate26 result of their own manœuvres.
By the time the secret campaign had reached this stage, many well-meaning, unsuspecting men, not included in the above inventory27, had been pressed into the service of the Society, with the members of which they were connected by the thousand and one ties which spring up naturally in the intercourse28 of the world, so that there was hardly any journal in the three kingdoms on which the Society could not, by some hook or the other, fasten a paragraph, if we except such publications as the Newgate Calendar and Lloyds' Shipping29 List, which record history rather than make it.
Indeed, the success of the Society in this department was such as to suggest the advisability of having themselves formally incorporated under the Companies' Acts for the manufacture and distribution of paragraphs, for which they had unequalled facilities, and had obtained valuable concessions30, and it was only the publicity31 required by law which debarred them from enlarging their home trade to a profitable industry for the benefit of non-members. For, by the peculiar32 nature of the machinery33, it could only be worked if people were unaware34 of its existence. They resolved, however, that when they had made their pile, they would start the newspaper of the future, which any philosopher with an eye to the trend of things can see will be a journal written by advertisers for gentlemen, and will contain nothing calculated to bring a blush to the cheek of the young person except cosmetics35.
Contemporaneously with the execution of one side of the Plan of Campaign, the Society was working the supplementary36 side. Day and night, week-days and Sundays, in season and out, these six gentlemen praised themselves and one another, or got themselves and one another praised by non-members. There are many ways in which you can praise an author, from blame downwards37. There is the puff38 categorical and the puff allusive39, the lie direct and the eulogy40 insinuative, the downright abuse and the subtle innuendo41, the exaltation of your man or the depression of his rival. The attacking method of log-rolling must not be confounded with depreciation. In their outside campaign, the members used every variety of puff, but depreciation was strictly42 reserved for their private gatherings43. For this was the wisdom of the Club, and herein lay its immense superiority over every other log-rolling club, that whereas in those childish cliques44 every man is expected to admire every other, or to say so, in the Mutual Depreciation Society the obligation was all the other way. Every man was bound by the rules to sneer45 at the work of his fellow-members and, if he should happen to admire any of it, at least to have the grace to keep his feelings to himself. In practice, however, the latter contingency46 never arose, and each was able honestly to express all he thought, for it is impossible for men to work together for a common object without discovering that they do not deserve to get it. Needless to point out how this sagacious provision strengthened them in their campaign, for not having to keep up the tension of mutual admiration47, and being able to relax and breathe (and express themselves) freely at their monthly symposia48, as well as to slang one another in the street, they were able to write one another up with a clear conscience. It is well to found on human nature. Every other basis proves shifting sand. The success of the Mutual Depreciation Society justified49 their belief in human nature.
Not only did they depreciate50 one another, but they made reparation to the non-members they were always trying to write down during business hours, by eulogizing them in the most generous manner in those blessed hours of leisure when knife answers fork and soul speaks to soul. At such times even popular authors were allowed to have a little merit.
It was at one of these periods of soul-expansion, when the most petty-souled feels inclined to loosen the last two buttons of his waistcoat, that the idea of the English Shakespeare was first mooted51. But we are anticipating, which is imprudent, as anticipations52 are seldom realized.
One of the worst features of prosperity is that it is cloying53, and when the first gloss54 of novelty and adventure had worn off, the free lances of the Mutual Depreciation Society began to bore one another. You can get tired even of hearing your own dispraises; and the members were compelled to spice their mutual adverse55 criticism in the highest manner, so as to compensate56 for its staleness. The jaded57 appetite must needs be pampered58 if it is to experience anything of that relish59 which a natural healthy hunger for adverse criticism can command so easily.
This was the sort of thing that went on at the dinners:
"I say, Tom," said Andrew Mackay, "what in Heaven's name made you publish your waste-paper basket under the name of 'Stray Thoughts?' For utter and incomprehensible idiocy60 they are only surpassed by Dick's last volume of poems. I shouldn't have thought such things [pg 204] could come even out of a lunatic asylum61, certainly not without a keeper. Really you fellows ought to consider me a little——"
"We do. We consider you as little as they make them," they interrupted simultaneously62.
"It isn't fair to throw all the work on me," he went on. "How can I go on saying that Tom Brown is the supreme63 thinker of the time, the deepest intellect since Hegel, with a gift of style that rivals Berkeley's, if you go on turning out twaddle that a copy-book would boggle at? How can I keep repeating that for sure and consummate64 art, for unfailing certainty of insight, for unerring visualization65, for objective subjectivity66 and for subjective67 objectivity, for Swinburnian sweep of music and Shakespearean depth of suggestiveness, Dick Jones can give forty in a hundred (spot stroke barred) to all other contemporary poets, if you continue to spue out rhymes as false as your teeth, rhythms as musical as your voice when you read them, and words that would drive a drawing-room composer mad with envy to set them? I maintain, it is not sticking to the bargain to expose me to the danger of being found out. You ought at least to have the decency68 to wrap up your fatuousness69 in longer words or more abstruse70 themes. You're both so beastly intelligible71 that a child can understand you're asses72."
"Tut, tut, Andrew," said Taffy Owen, "it's all very well of you to talk who've only got to do the criticism. And I think it's deuced ungrateful of you after we've written you up into the position of leading English critic to want us to give you straw for your bricks! Do we ever complain when you call us cataclysmic, creative, esemplastic, or even epicene? We know it's rot, but we put up with it. When you said that Robinson's last novel had all the glow and genius of Dickens without his humor, all the ripe wisdom of Thackeray without his social knowingness, all the imaginativeness of Shakespeare without his definiteness of characterization, we all saw at once that you were incautiously allowing the donkey's ears to protrude73 too obviously from beneath the lion's skin. But did anyone grumble74? Did Robinson, though the edition was sold out the day after? Did I, though you had just called me a modern Buddhist75 with the soul of an ancient Greek and the radiant fragrance76 of a Cingalese tea-planter? I know these phrases take the public and I try to be patient."
"Owen is right," Harry Robinson put in emphatically. "When you said I was a cross between a Scandinavian skald and a Dutch painter, I bore my cross in silence."
"Yes, but what else can a fellow say, when you give the public such heterogeneous77 and formless balderdash that there is nothing for it but to pretend it's a new style, an epoch-making work, the foundation of a new era in literary art? Really I think you others have out and away the best of it. It's much easier to write bad books than to eulogize their merits in an adequately plausible78 manner. I think it's playing it too low upon a chap, the way you fellows are going on. It's taking a mean advantage of my position."
"And who put you into that position, I should like to know?" yelled Dick Jones, becoming poetically79 excited. "Didn't we lift you up into it on the point of our pens?"
"Fortunately they were not very pointed," ejaculated the great critic, wriggling81 uncomfortably at the suggestion. "I don't deny that, of course. All I say is, you're giving me away now."
"You give yourself away," shrieked82 Owen vehemently83, "with a pound of that Cingalese tea. How is it Boyle managed to crack up our plays without being driven to any of this new-fangled nonsense?"
"Plays!" said Patrick, looking up moodily84. "Anything is good enough for plays. You see I can always fall back on the acting85 and crack up that. I had to do that with Owen's thing at the Lymarket. My notice read like a gushing86 account of the play, in reality it was all devoted87 to the players. The trick of it is not easy. Those who can read between the lines could see that there were only three of them about the piece itself, and yet the outside public would never dream I was shirking the expression of an opinion about the merits of the play or the pinning myself to any definite statement. The only time, Owen, I dare say, that your plays are literature is when they are a frost, for that both explains the failure and justifies88 you. But, an you love me, Taffy, or if you have any care for my reputation, do not, I beg of you, be enticed89 into the new folly90 of printing your plays."
"But things have come to that stage I must do it," said Owen, "or incur91 the suspicion of illiterateness92."
"No, no!" pleaded Patrick in horror. "Sooner than that I will damn all the other printed plays en bloc93, and say that the real literary playwrights94, conscious of their position, are too dignified95 to resort to this cheap method of self-assertion."
"But you will not carry out your threat? Remember how dangerously near you came to exposing me over your Naquette."
The Club laughed. Everyone knew the incident, for it was Patrick's stock grievance96 against the dramatist. Patrick being out of town, had written his eulogy of this play of Owen's from his inner consciousness. On the fourth night in deference97 to Owen's persuasions98 he had gone to see Naquette.
After the tragedy, Owen found him seated moodily in the stalls, long after the audience had filed out.
"Yes, all to pieces!" snarled101 Patrick savagely102. "I shall never believe in my critical judgment103 again. I dare not look my notice in the face. When I wrote Naquette was a masterpiece, I thought at least there would be some merit in it—I didn't bargain for such rot as this."
In this wise things would have gone on—from bad to worse—had Heaven not created Cecilia nineteen years before.
Cecilia was a tall, fair girl, with dreamy eyes and unpronounced opinions, who longed for the ineffable104 with an unspeakable yearning105.
Frank Grey loved her. He always knew he was going to and one day he did it. After that it was impossible to drop the habit. And at last he went so far as to propose. He was a young lawyer, with a fondness for manly106 sports and a wealth of blonde moustache.
"Cecilia," he said, "I love you. Will you be mine?"
He had a habit of using unconventional phrases.
"No, Frank," she said gently, and there was a world and several satellites of tenderness in her tremulous tones. "It cannot be."
"Ah, do not decide so quickly," he pleaded. "I will not press you for an answer."
"I would press you for an answer, if I could," replied Cecilia, "but I do not love you."
"Why not?" he demanded desperately107.
"Because you are not what I should like you to be?"
"And what would you like me to be?" he demanded eagerly.
"If I told you, you would try to become it?"
"I would," he said, enthusiastically. "Be it what it may, I would leave no stone unturned. I would work, strive, study, reform—anything, everything."
"I feared so," she said despondently108. "That is why I will not tell you. Don't you understand that your charm to me is your being just yourself—your simple, honest, manly self? I will not have my enjoyment109 of your individuality spoilt by your transmogrification into some unnatural110 product of the forcing house. No, Frank, let us be true to ourselves, not to each other. I shall always remain your friend, looking up to you as to something stanch111, sturdy, stalwart, coming to consult you (unprofessionally) in all my difficulties. I will tell you all my secrets, Frank, so that you will know more of me than if I married you. Dear friend, let it remain as I say. It is for the best."
So Frank went away broken-hearted, and joined the Mutual Depreciation Society. He did not care what became of him. How they came to let him in was this. He was the one man in the world outside who knew all about them, having been engaged as the Society's legal adviser112. It was he who made their publishers and managers sit in an erect113 position. In applying for a more intimate connection, he stated that he had met with a misfortune, and a little monthly abuse would enliven him. The Society decided114 that, as he was already half one of themselves, and as he had never written a line in his life, and so could not diminish their takings, nothing but good could ensue from the infusion115 of new blood. In fact, they wanted it badly. Their mutual recriminations had degenerated116 into mere117 platitudes118. With a new man to insult and be insulted by, something of the old animation119 would be restored to their proceedings120. The wisdom of the policy was early seen, for the first fruit of it was the English Shakespeare, who for a whole year daily opened out new and exciting perspectives of sensation and amusement to a blasé Society. Andrew Mackay had written an enthusiastic article in the so-called Nineteenth Century on "The Cochin-China Shakespeare," and set all tongues wagging about the new literary phenomenon with whose verses the boatmen of the Irrawady rocked their children to sleep on the cradle of the river, and whose dramas were played in eight hours slices in the strolling-booths of Shanghai. Andrew had already arranged with Anyman to bring out a translation from the original Cochin-Chinese, for there was no language he could not translate from, provided it were sufficiently121 unknown.
"Cochin-Chinese Shakespeare, indeed!" said Dick Jones, at the next symposium122. "Why, judging from the copious123 extracts you gave from his greatest drama, Baby Bantam, it is the most tedious drivel. You might have written it yourself. Where is the Shakespearean quality of this, which is, you say, the whole of Act Thirteen?
"'Hang-ho: Out, Fu-sia, does your mother know you are?
"'Fu-sia: I have no mother, but I have a child.'"
"Where is the Shakespearean quality?" repeated Andrew. "Do you not feel the perfect pathos124 of those two lines, the infiniteness of incisive125 significance? To me they paint the whole scene in two strokes of matchless simplicity126, strophe and anti-strophe. Fu-sia the repentant127 outcast and Hang-ho whose honest love she rejected, stand out as in a flash of lightning. Nay128, Shakespeare himself never wrote an act of such tragic129 brevity, packed so full of the sense of anagke. Why, so far from it being tedious drivel, a lady in whose opinion I have great confidence and to whom I sent my article, told me afterwards that she couldn't sleep till she had read it."
She burst into tears. "A great writer has always been the ideal which I would not tell you of. It is the one thing I have kept from you. But oh, Frank, Frank, he can never be mine. He will probably never know of my existence and the most I can ever hope for is his autograph. To-morrow I shall join the Old Maids' Club, and then all will be over." A paroxysm of hopeless sobs131 punctuated132 her remarks.
How was he to explain to this fair young thing that she loved nobody and could never hope to marry him? There was no doubt that with her intense nature and her dreamy blue eyes she would pine away and die. Or worse, she would live to be an old maid.
He made an effort to laugh it off.
"Tush!" he said, "all this is mere imagination. I don't believe you really love anybody!"
"Frank!" She drew herself up, stony134 and rigid135, the warm tears on her poor white face frozen to ice. "Have you nothing better than this to say to me, after I have shown you my inmost soul?"
The wretched young lawyer's face returned from white to red. He could have faced a football team in open combat, but these complex psychical136 positions were beyond the healthy young Philistine137.
"For—or—give me," he stammered138. "I—I am—I—that is to say, Fladpick—oh how can I explain what I mean?"
Cecilia sobbed139 on. Every sob130 seemed to stick in Frank's own throat. His impotence maddened him. Was he to let the woman he loved fret140 herself to death for a shadow? And yet to undeceive her were scarcely less fatal. He could have cut out the tongue that first invented Fladpick. Verily, his sin was finding him out.
"Why can you not explain what you mean?" wept Cecilia.
"Because I—oh, hang it all—because I am the cause of your grief."
"You?" she said. A strange, wonderful look came into her eyes. The thought shot from her eyes to his and dazzled them.
Yes! why not? why should he not sacrifice himself to save this delicate creature from a premature141 tomb? Why should he not become "the English Shakespeare?" True, it was a heavy burden to sustain, but what will a man not dare or suffer for the woman he loves? Moreover, was he not responsible for Fladpick's being, and thus for all the evil done by his Frankenstein? He had employed Fladpick for his own amusement and the Employers' Liability Act was heavy upon him. The path of abnegation, of duty, was clear. He saw it and he went for it then and there—went, like a brave young Englishman, to meet his marriage.
"Yes," he said, "I am glad you love Mr. Fladpick."
"Why?" she murmured breathlessly.
"Because I love you."
"But—I—do—not—love—you," she said slowly.
"You will, when I tell you it is I who have provoked your love."
"Frank, is this true?"
"On my word of honor as an Englishman."
"You are Fladpick?"
"If I am not, he does not exist. There is no such person."
"Oh, Frank, this is no cruel jest?"
"Cecilia, it is the sacred truth. Fladpick is nobody, if he is not Frank Grey."
"But you never lived in Tartary?"
"Of course not. All that about Fladpick is the veriest poetry. But I did not mind it, for nobody suspected me. I'll introduce you to Andrew Mackay himself, and you shall hear from his own lips how the newspapers have lied about Fladpick."
"My noble, modest boy! So this was why you were so embarrassed before! But why not have told me that you were Fladpick?"
"Because I wanted you to love me for myself alone."
She fell into his arms.
"Frank—Frank—Fladpick, my own, my English Shakespeare," she sobbed ecstatically.
At the next meeting of the Mutual Depreciation Society, a bombshell in a stamped envelope was handed to Mr. Andrew Mackay. He tore open the envelope and the explosion followed—as follows:
"Gentlemen,
"I hereby beg to tender the resignation of my membership in your valued Society, as well as to anticipate your objections to my retaining the post of legal adviser I have the honor to hold. I am about to marry—the cynic will say I am laying the foundation of a Mutual Depreciation Society of my own. But this is not the reason of my retirement142. That is to be sought in my having accepted the position of the English Shakespeare which you were good enough to open up for me. It would be a pity to let the pedestal stand empty. From the various excerpts143 you were kind enough to invent, especially from the copious extracts in Mr. Mackay's articles, I have been able to piece together a considerable body of poetic80 work, and by carefully collecting every existing fragment, and studying the most authoritative144 expositions of my aims and methods, I have constructed several dramas, much as Professor Owen re-constructed the mastodon from the bones that were extant. As you know I had never written a line in my life before, but by the copious aid of your excellent and genuinely helpful criticism I was enabled to get along without much difficulty. I find that to write blank verse you have only to invert145 the order of the words and keep on your guard against rhyme. You may be interested to know that the last line in the last tragedy is:
When written, I got my dramas privately148 printed with a Tartary trademark149, after which I smudged the book and sold the copyright to Makemillion & Co. for ten thousand pounds. Needless to say I shall never write another book. In taking leave of you I cannot help feeling that, if I owe you some gratitude150 for the lofty pinnacle151 to which you have raised me, you are also not unindebted to me for finally removing the shadow of apprehension152 that must have dogged you in your sober moments—I mean the fear of being found out. Mr. Andrew Mackay, in particular, as the most deeply committed, I feel owes me what he can never hope to repay for my gallantry in filling the mantle153 designed by him, whose emptiness might one day have been exposed, to his immediate154 downfall.
"I am, gentlemen,
"The English Shakespeare."
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judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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depreciation
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| n.价值低落，贬值，蔑视，贬低 | |
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disintegration
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| n.分散，解体 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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founders
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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inviting
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solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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incompetence
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| n.不胜任，不称职 | |
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deployed
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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wink
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influential
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nucleus
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tentacles
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undertaking
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tenacious
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brotherhood
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undoubtedly
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Oxford
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legitimate
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inventory
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intercourse
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shipping
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concessions
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publicity
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peculiar
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machinery
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unaware
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cosmetics
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supplementary
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downwards
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puff
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allusive
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eulogy
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41
innuendo
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| n.暗指，讽刺 | |
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42
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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43
gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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44
cliques
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| n.小集团，小圈子，派系( clique的名词复数 ) | |
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45
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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46
contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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47
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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48
symposia
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| 座谈会，评论集； 讨论会( symposium的名词复数 )； 专题讨论会； 研讨会； 小型讨论会 | |
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49
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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50
depreciate
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| v.降价，贬值，折旧 | |
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51
mooted
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| adj.未决定的，有争议的，有疑问的v.提出…供讨论( moot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
anticipations
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| 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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53
cloying
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| adj.甜得发腻的 | |
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54
gloss
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| n.光泽，光滑；虚饰；注释；vt.加光泽于；掩饰 | |
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55
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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56
compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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57
jaded
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| 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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58
pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
relish
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| 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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60
idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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61
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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62
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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63
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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64
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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65
visualization
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| n.想像，设想 | |
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66
subjectivity
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| n.主观性（主观主义） | |
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67
subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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68
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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69
fatuousness
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| n.愚昧，昏庸，蠢 | |
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70
abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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71
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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72
asses
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| n. 驴，愚蠢的人，臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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73
protrude
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| v.使突出，伸出，突出 | |
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74
grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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75
Buddhist
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| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
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76
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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77
heterogeneous
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| adj.庞杂的；异类的 | |
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78
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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79
poetically
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| adv.有诗意地，用韵文 | |
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80
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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81
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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82
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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84
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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85
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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86
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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87
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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88
justifies
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| 证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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89
enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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91
incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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92
illiterateness
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| 文盲，无知 | |
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93
bloc
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| n.集团；联盟 | |
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94
playwrights
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| n.剧作家( playwright的名词复数 ) | |
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95
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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96
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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97
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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98
persuasions
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| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
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99
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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100
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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101
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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102
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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103
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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104
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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105
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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106
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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107
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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108
despondently
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| adv.沮丧地，意志消沉地 | |
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109
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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110
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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111
stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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112
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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113
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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114
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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115
infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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116
degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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118
platitudes
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| n.平常的话，老生常谈，陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 )；滥套子 | |
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119
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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120
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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121
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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122
symposium
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| n.讨论会，专题报告会；专题论文集 | |
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123
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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124
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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125
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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126
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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127
repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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128
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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129
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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130
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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131
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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132
punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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133
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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134
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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135
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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136
psychical
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| adj.有关特异功能现象的；有关特异功能官能的；灵魂的；心灵的 | |
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137
philistine
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| n.庸俗的人；adj.市侩的，庸俗的 | |
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138
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
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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140
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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141
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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142
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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143
excerpts
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| n.摘录，摘要( excerpt的名词复数 )；节选（音乐，电影）片段 | |
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144
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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145
invert
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| vt.使反转，使颠倒，使转化 | |
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146
coffined
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| vt.收殓（coffin的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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147
yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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148
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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149
trademark
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| n.商标；特征；vt.注册的…商标 | |
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150
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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151
pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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152
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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153
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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154
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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155
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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