The day after the Metcalfs, a hundred-and-twenty strong, journeyed to serve King Charles, she set out on a more peaceful quest. Her aunt, Lady Ingilby of Ripley, had commanded this favourite niece of hers—all in my lady's imperious, high-handed way—to join her in the widowhood that her husband's absence with the Royal army enforced on her. Her own father was somewhere in Oxfordshire with the King, her brothers with Prince Rupert, and in their absence Lady Grant had decided1 that her daughter must obey the command.
"I was always a little afraid of my sister of Ripley," she explained, in her pretty, inconsequent way. "She would not forgive me if I kept you here; and, after all, the roads may not be as dangerous as one fancies. You must go, child."
Joan took the road with some pomp. All the younger men had gone with the master to the wars; but her chaise was guarded by two old menservants who had pluck and good pistols, if no great strength to fight pitched battles; and she had her maid Pansy with her in the chaise.
"Do you know, mistress, what I found at the gate this morning?" asked the maid, as they went through the pleasant vale of Wensley.
"I could not guess, Pansy."
"Why, a stirrup-iron. Horseshoes are lucky enough, but a stirrup-iron——"
Joan laughed eagerly; she had the country superstitions2 close at heart, because she, too, was a daleswoman. "There's a knight3 riding somewhere for me, Pansy."
"Knights4 are as knights do," said the other, with the Puritan tartness5 ingrained in her. "For my part, I'll hope he's better than most men. It's not asking much."
"In the doldrums, girl? I shall have to train you. It's easier to laugh, than cry—that's the true Royalist faith."
Pansy—half maid, half confidante, and altogether spoiled—began to whimper. "It's easy to laugh, with all the road in front of you, and a riding knight ahead. I've no man to think of, and that leaves a woman lonesome-like."
"It is not for want of suitors," said Joan, humouring her maid as good mistresses do. "You had your choice of the dalesmen, Pansy."
Pansy bridled6 a little and shifted her headgear to a more becoming angle. "Ay, but they're rough." Her speech relapsed into the mother-tongue she had tried often to forget. "A lass that kens8 more doesn't mate with the li'le bit less. She has her pride."
The mistress did not answer, but fell into a long reverie. What was true of the maid was true of herself. Young Kit9 Metcalf, riding for the King, was just "the li'le bit less," somehow. She had a regard for him, half real and half fanciful; but he seemed shut off from her by some intangible difference that was not uncouthness10, but something near to it. He was big and forthright11, and shocked her daintiness.
They went through the pleasant dale. In Wensley village they met a waggon12 coming home with corn, ingathered for the threshing. All down the valley men were reaping in the fields. The land yielded its produce, and folk were gathering13 it as if no blight14 of civil war had fallen about the land. This, too, disturbed Joan Grant. She had pictured her journey to Ripley as one long road of peril15—a battle to every mile, and danger's swift excitement scudding16 on before her.
"There's no war at all, Pansy," she said fretfully, watching mile after tranquil17 mile go by. "They gather in their corn, and the peace is undisturbed."
"Oh, we should, girl, but we're not. Undoubtedly19 we are not thankful."
At Skipton, the day before, there had been battle enough, as the Riding Metcalfs knew. When the fight was ended, and they had spiked20 the guns lying wide across the highway of the Raikes, they gathered for the forward ride. A hundred-and-twenty of them had ridden out, and not one was missing from their number, though half of them were carrying wounds.
Old Metcalf—"Mecca," as his kinsfolk had the name—rounded up his company. "The Governor tells me, lads, that a company of Fairfax's men are coming through. We've to go wide of Skipton and ambush21 them."
Battle sat finely on the man. He had no doubts, no waywardness. He was here for the King, to take orders from those placed above him, and to enforce them so far as his own command went.
"A Mecca for the King!" roared Christopher, the six-foot baby of the flock.
The cry was to sing like a northern gale22 through the Yorkshire highlands; and now the running uproar23 of it drifted up the Raikes as they came to the track that led right-handed down to Embsay village. Down the pasture-lands they went, and through the small, grey township, and forward on the road to Bolton Abbey. Half between Bolton and Long Addingham they met a yeoman jogging forward at a tranquil trot24.
"Why, Squire25 Metcalf, it's a twelve-month and a day since we set eyes on each other," he said, reining26 up. "Are you riding for Otley market?"
"Nay28, nowt so much—not enough to bring all your Nappa men with you, Squire. Maybe it's men you're seeking, instead of ewes and cattle."
"Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't."
"Well, if it's men you're seeking, you'll find 'em. I overtook three hundred of Fairfax's soldiery just setting out from Otley."
"Oh, you did? Were they horsed?"
"No, they were going at a sharp marching pace. They were a likely set o' lads to look at—thick in the beam, but varry dour29 of face. I take no sides myself in this business of King and Parliament. I only say, Squire, that a nod's as good as a wink30 in troubled times."
"Thanks, Demaine," said the Squire of Nappa.
"Nay, no need. Neighbour knows neighbour, and good day to ye."
The whole intimacy31 of the dales was in that brief greeting—the freemasonry that ran like quicksilver in between the well-laid plans of ambitious generals. Fairfax had sent three hundred of his men to strengthen Lambert's attack on Skipton Castle. A country squire and a yeoman met on the highway and talked a while, and there was an ambush in the making.
"Hi, Christopher!" said the Squire, beckoning32 the lad to his side. "Ride forward on the Otley road till you see those men of Fairfax's. Then turn about and gallop33."
Kit saluted34 gravely, as he or any Metcalf of them would have saluted if the chief bade them ride through the Fiery35 Gate. His wounds smarted as he rode for Otley, and he relished36 the keen pain. He was young, with his eyes to the stars, and suffering for the King's sake was haloed by romance.
He went through Ilkley. Its straw-thatched cottages clustered round the brown stream of Wharfe; and, half a mile beyond, he saw a company of men on foot marching with quick and limber step. He forgot his wounds. With a boy's careless devilry, he galloped37 to meet them and reined38 up within twenty paces.
"Are you my Lord Fairfax's men?" he asked. "If so you're needed at Skipton. Put your best foot forward."
"We're Lord Fairfax's men, sir," said the officer in command. "Do you come from Captain Lambert?"
"From Skipton—yes, I come from Skipton. There's need for haste."
With a laugh and a light farewell, Kit reined about and spurred his horse. When he came to the top of the hill overlooking the wonderful, quiet sweep of river that rocked despoiled39 Bolton Priory into dreams of yester-year, he found his kinsmen40 waiting on the rise.
"What news, Kit?" asked the Squire.
"Sir, it will be butchery," said the lad, stirred by generous pity. "There's a big company of them, all on foot, and I—have led them into ambush."
Squire Metcalf snarled41 at his baby-boy. "The King will be well rid of his enemies. Men do not fight, Kit, on milk-and-water fancies."
A laugh went up from the Metcalfs—a laugh that was not easy for any lad to bear. "I've given my message, sir. Put me in the front of the hazard, if you doubt me."
The Squire had one of his sharp repentances. This son of his had shamed him, and for a moment he strove with the hot temper that was the inheritance of all the Metcalf breed.
"You shall lead us, Kit," he said at last.
The time seemed long in passing before the three hundred men of Fairfax's came marching at a stubborn pace into the hollow down below. Then, with a roar of "A Mecca for the King!" Christopher was down among them with his kinsmen.
When all was done, there was nothing left of the three hundred except a press of fugitives44, some prisoners, and many bodies scattered45 on the highroad. The garrison46 at Skipton might sleep well to-night, so far as recruits to the besieging47 forces went.
It was the prisoners who troubled the Squire of Nappa. His view of war had been that it was a downright affair of enemies who were killed or who escaped. He glanced at the fifty captives his men had taken, massed together in a sullen48 company, and was perplexed49. His roving troop of horse could not be burdened with such a dead weight of footmen. The garrison at Skipton Castle would not welcome them, for there were mouths enough to feed there already.
"What shall I do with them, lads?" he asked, riding apart with his men.
Michael Metcalf, a raking, black-haired fellow, laughed carelessly. "Best take powder and pistols from them and turn 'em adrift like sheep. They'll bleat50 to little purpose, sir, without their weapons."
The Squire nodded. "Thou'rt not noted51 for great strength of head, Michael, save so far as taking blows goes, but that was sage42 advice."
The Metcalfs, trusting first to their pikes, and afterwards—the gentry52-sort among them—to their swords, were disposed to look askance at the pistols as tools of slight account, until Michael again found wisdom. King's men, he said, might find a use for weapons the enemy found serviceable.
When the arms had been gathered, Squire Metcalf reined up in front of the prisoners. "Men of Fairfax's," he said bluntly, "you're a ragged53 lot to look at, but there are gentlemen among you. I do not speak of rank or class. The gentlemen, as the price of freedom, will take no further part in the Rebellion. The louts may do as they please, but they had best not let me catch them at the fighting."
The words came hot and ready, and though the dispersed54 company of prisoners laughed afterwards at the Squire's handling of the matter, they warmed to his faith in them. They had volunteered from many occupations to serve the Parliament. Blacksmiths and clothiers and carpenters from Otley were mingled55 with farmers and slips of the gentry from the outlying country. All answered to the keen issue Squire Metcalf had given them. They were trusted. On the next day twenty of them lost hold of his message, and went in search of arms; but thirty were constant to their pledge, and this, with human nature as it is, was a high tribute to the Squire's persuasiveness56.
The Metcalf men rode quietly toward Skipton. For the first time since their riding out from Nappa, they felt lonely. They had fought twice, and their appetite was whetted57; but no other battle showed ahead. They were young to warfare58, all of them, and thought it one happy road of skirmish, uproar, and hard blows, from end to end of the day's journey.
The only break in the monotony came as they rode up the steep track to Embsay Moor59. At the top of the hill, dark against the sunlit sky, a solitary60 horseman came into view, halted a moment to breathe his horse, then trotted61 down at a speed that the steepness of the road made foolhardy. He did not see the Metcalf company until it was too late to turn about, and trotted forward, since needs must.
"On which side are you, sir?"
"The King's, but you are not. No King's man ever bandies questions; he answers straight to the summons which side he stands for."
They found a message after diligent63 searching of his person. The message was in Lambert's neat Quakerish handwriting, and was addressed to a captain of horse in Ripon, bidding him take his men to Ripley and keep watch about the Castle. "That termagant, Lady Ingilby, is making her house a meeting-place for Cavaliers," the message read. "Her husband at the wars is one man only. She rallies twenty to the cause each day. See to it, and quickly."
"Ay," said the Squire, with his rollicking laugh, "we'll see to it."
It was astonishing to see the change in this man, who until yesterday had been content to tend his lands, to watch the dawn come up and sunset die over the hills he loved, and get to his early sleep. His father and his grandfather had handled big issues in the open, though he himself had chosen a stay-at-home squire's life; and the thing that is in the blood of a man leaps forward always at the call of need.
Squire Metcalf, with brisk courtesy, claimed the messenger's horse. "Lest you ride back to Skipton with the news," he explained, "and because a spare horse is always useful these days. For yourself, get back at leisure, and tell Mr. Lambert that the Riding Metcalfs have carried the message for him."
Without another word, he glanced at the sun, guessed hastily the line of country that pointed64 to Ripley, and rode forward at the head of his good company. It was rough going, with many turns and twists to avoid wet ground here, a steep face of rock there; but at the end of it they came to a high spur of moor, and beneath them, in a flood of crimson—the sun was near its setting—they saw the tower of Ripley Castle and the long, raking front of house and outbuildings.
The Squire laughed. His face was aglow65 with pride, like the sunset's. "I've few gifts, lads, but one of them is to know Yorkshire from end to end, as I know my way to bed o' nights. I've led you within sight of Ripley; the rest lies with lad Christopher."
"Kit will be saddle-sore if he rides all your errands. Give one o' them to me, sir."
The Squire looked him up and down. "You've a heart and a big body, Michael, but no head. I tell you, Kit must take this venture forward."
So Michael laughed. He was aware that, if wits were asked, he must give place to Kit, whom he loved with an odd, jealous liking67.
"What is your errand, sir?" asked Christopher.
The Squire put Lambert's letter into his hand, bade him read it over and over, then snatched it from him. "Have you got it by heart, Kit?"
Kit repeated it word by word, and his father tore the letter into shreds68 and threw them to the keen west wind that was piping over the moor. "That's the way to carry all messages. If you're taken, lad, they can turn your pockets inside out and search your boots, but they cannot find what's safe inside your head, not if they tap it with a sword-cut."
There was a high deed done on the moor at this hour of the declining day. Without a tremor69 or regret, the Squire of Nappa sent his son—the one nearest his warm heart—to certain danger, to a hazard from which there might well be no returning.
"Find Lady Ingilby," he said gruffly, "and beware of Roundheads guarding the approaches to the house. Give her the message."
"And then, sir?"
"It is this way, Kit," said the Squire, after a restless pacing up and down the moor. "Take counsel with Lady Ingilby and any Cavaliers you find at Ripley. Tell them the Metcalfs have picketed70 their horses here on the moor, and wait for orders. If she needs us, we are ready. And so good-bye, my lad."
The Metcalfs, by habit, were considerate toward the hale, big bodies that asked good feeding. On the way they had contrived71 to victual themselves with some thoroughness, and now they unstrapped each his own meal from the saddle. When they had eaten, and crowned the meal with a draught72 of water from the stream, Michael laughed that easy, thoughtless laugh of his.
"When the King comes to his own, I'll petition him to make the moors73 run ripe October ale. I never thrive on water, I."
"It's not in you to thrive, lad," snapped the Squire. "You've no gift that way, come ale or water."
They had not been idle, any of them, since yesterday's riding out from Nappa; and now they were glad to lie in the heather and doze74, and dream of the cornfields ripe for harvest and the ingle-nook at home. The Squire, for his part, had no wish for sleep. To and fro he paced in the warm, ruddy gloaming, and his dreams were of the future, not the past. Ambition, that had taken his forbears to high places, was changing all his old, quiet outlook. The King had summoned him. About his King there was a halo of romance and great deserving. It was good to be asked to fight for such a cause.
Metcalf did not know it, but his soul was ripening75, like his own harvest fields, under this fierce sun of battle and peril and hard riding. Instead of a pipe by the hearth76 o' nights, he was asked to bivouac on the moor, to throttle77 sleep until Kit rode back or sent a messenger. He was content. Better a week of riding for the King than years of safety in home-fields.
He had not cared specially78 for thinking, save of crops and horses and the way of rearing prime cattle for market; but to-night his mind was clear, marching out toward big issues. Little by little it grew plain to him that he had been given a leadership of no usual sort. There were a hundred-and-twenty of them, keen to charge with the whole weight of men and horses; but each of the six-score could ride alone on errands needing secrecy79, and summon his kinsmen when any hazard pressed too closely. The clan80 was one man or six-score, just as need asked, and the Squire was quick to realise the service they could render. It might well be that, long afterwards, men would tell their bairns, close huddled81 round the hearth on winter nights, what share the Riding Metcalfs had in crushing the rebellious82 Parliament.
As he thought about it all, his heart beating like a lad's, his imagination all afire, a step sounded close behind him. He turned to find Michael at his elbow.
"Well, scapegrace?" he asked. "It all goes bonnily enough."
"Ay, for Christopher," growled83 the other. The black mood was on him, and at these times he had no respect of persons. He was, indeed, like one possessed84 of an evil spirit. "Kit was a favourite always, and now he gets all errands."
"He can keep his temper, Michael, under hardship. I've proved him, and I know. A soldier needs that gift."
"My lad," said the Squire by and by, "you broke into a fine dream of mine. There were six-score Metcalfs, I fancied, pledged to ride together. Now there is one less."
"How so? We've a few wounds to boast of between us, but no dead."
"One of us is dying by slow stages. Jealousy87 is killing88 him, and I tell you, Michael, I'd rather see the plague among us than that other pestilence89 you're nursing. The sickness will spread. When times are slack—food short and nothing to be done by way of blows—you'll whisper in this man's ear and in that man's ear, and turn their blood to ice."
A great, overmastering repentance43 swept Michael's devilry away. He was himself again. "I love Christopher," he said very simply, "though I'm jealous of him."
"Ay, I know! But take this warning from me, Michael,—when the black dog's on your shoulder, shake him off. Jealousy's your prime failing. It will break up our company one day, if you let it."
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
superstitions
|
|
| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
knights
|
|
| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
tartness
|
|
| n.酸，锋利 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
bridled
|
|
| 给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
bridle
|
|
| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
kens
|
|
| vt.知道（ken的第三人称单数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
kit
|
|
| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
uncouthness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
forthright
|
|
| adj.直率的，直截了当的 [同]frank | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
waggon
|
|
| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
blight
|
|
| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
peril
|
|
| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
scudding
|
|
| n.刮面v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
tranquil
|
|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
austerely
|
|
| adv.严格地，朴质地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
spiked
|
|
| adj.有穗的；成锥形的；有尖顶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
ambush
|
|
| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
gale
|
|
| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
uproar
|
|
| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
trot
|
|
| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
reining
|
|
| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的现在分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
wariness
|
|
| n. 注意,小心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
dour
|
|
| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
wink
|
|
| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
beckoning
|
|
| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
gallop
|
|
| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
saluted
|
|
| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
relished
|
|
| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
galloped
|
|
| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
reined
|
|
| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
despoiled
|
|
| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
kinsmen
|
|
| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
snarled
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
sage
|
|
| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
repentance
|
|
| n.懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
fugitives
|
|
| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
garrison
|
|
| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
besieging
|
|
| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
bleat
|
|
| v.咩咩叫，(讲)废话，哭诉；n.咩咩叫，废话，哭诉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
gentry
|
|
| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
dispersed
|
|
| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
persuasiveness
|
|
| 说服力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
whetted
|
|
| v.（在石头上）磨（刀、斧等）( whet的过去式和过去分词 )；引起，刺激（食欲、欲望、兴趣等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
warfare
|
|
| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
moor
|
|
| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
trotted
|
|
| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
diligent
|
|
| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
aglow
|
|
| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
wastrel
|
|
| n.浪费者；废物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
shreds
|
|
| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
tremor
|
|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
picketed
|
|
| 用尖桩围住（picket的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
draught
|
|
| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
moors
|
|
| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
doze
|
|
| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
ripening
|
|
| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
hearth
|
|
| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
throttle
|
|
| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
specially
|
|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
secrecy
|
|
| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
clan
|
|
| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
huddled
|
|
| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
rebellious
|
|
| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
growled
|
|
| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
rebuke
|
|
| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
sullenly
|
|
| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
pestilence
|
|
| n.瘟疫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |