But there are others possessing in a painful degree this said quality of adhesiveness18, to whom the smallest change is obnoxious19; who like drinking out of a particular cup, and sitting in a particular chair; to whom even a variation in the position of furniture is unpleasant. Of course, this peculiarity20 has its bad side, and yet it is not in itself mean or ignoble21. For is not adhesiveness, faithfulness, constancy—call it what you will—at the root of all citizenship22, clanship, and family love? Is it not the same feeling which, granting they remain at all, makes old friendships dearer than any new? Nay23, to go to the very sacredest and closest bond, is it not that which makes an old man see to the last in his old wife's faded face the beauty which perhaps nobody ever saw except himself, but which he sees and delights in still, simply because it is familiar and his own.
To people who possess a large share of this rare—shall I say fatal?—characteristic of adhesiveness, living in lodgings is about the saddest life under the sun. Whether some dim foreboding of this fact crossed Elizabeth's mind as she stood at the window watching for her mistresses' first arrival at "home," it is impossible to say. She could feel, though she was not accustomed to analyze24 her feelings. But she looked dull and sad. Not cross, even Ascott could not have accused her of "savageness25."
And yet she had been somewhat tried. First, in going out what she termed "marketing," she had traversed a waste of streets, got lost several times, and returned with light weight in her butter, and sand in her moist sugar; also with the conviction that London tradesmen were the greatest rogues26 alive. Secondly27, a pottle of strawberries, which she had bought with her own money to grace the tea-table with the only fruit Miss Leaf cared for, had turned out a large delusion28, big and beautiful at top, and all below small, crushed, and stale. She had thrown it indignantly, pottle and all, into the kitchen fire.
Thirdly, she had a war with the landlady29, partly on the subject of their fire—which, with her Stowbury notions on the subject of coals, seemed wretchedly mean and small—and partly on the question of table cloths at tea, which Mrs. Jones had "never heard of," especially when the use of plate and lines was included in the rent. And the dinginess30 of the article produced at last out of an omnium-gatherum sort of kitchen cupboard, made an ominous31 impression upon the country girl, accustomed to clean, tidy, country ways—where the kitchen was kept as neat as the parlor, and the bedrooms were not a whit32 behind the sitting rooms in comfort and orderliness. Here it seemed as if, supposing people could show a few respectable living rooms, they were content to sleep any where, and cook any how, out of anything, in the midst of any quantity of confusion and dirt. Elizabeth set all this down as "London," and hated it accordingly.
She had tried to ease her mind by arranging and rearranging the furniture—regular lodging2 house furniture—table, six chairs, horse-hair sofa, a what not, and the chiffonnier, with a tea-caddy upon it, of which the respective keys had been solemnly presented to Miss Hilary. But still the parlor looked homeless and bare; and the yellowish paper on the walls, the large patterned, many colored Kidderminster on the floor, gave an involuntary sense of discomfort33 and dreariness34. Besides, No. 15 was on the shady side of the street—cheap lodgings always are; and no one who has not lived in the like lodgings—not a house—can imagine what it is to inhabit perpetually one room where the sunshine just peeps in for an hour a day, and vanishes by eleven A. M.; leaving behind in winter a chill dampness, and in summer a heavy, dusty atmosphere, that weighs like lead on the spirits in spite of one's self. No wonder that, as is statistically35 known and proved, cholera36 stalks, fever rages, and the registrar's list is always swelled37 along the shady side of a London street.
Elizabeth felt this, though she had not the dimmest idea why. She stood watching the sunset light fade out of the topmost windows of the opposite house—ghostly reflection of some sunset over fields and trees far away; and she listened to the long monotonous38 cry melting away round the crescent, and beginning again at the other end of the street—"Straw-berries—straw-ber-ries!" Also, with an eye to tomorrow's Sunday dinner, she investigated the cart of the tired costermonger, who crawled along beside his equally tired donkey, reiterating39 at times, in tones hoarse40 with a day's bawling41, his dreary42 "Cauli-flower! Cauli-flower!—Fine new pease, sixpence peck!"
But, alas43! the pease were neither fine nor new; and the cauliflowers were regular Saturday night's cauliflowers. Besides, Elizabeth suddenly doubted whether she had any right, unordered, to buy these things which, from being common garden necessaries, had become luxuries. This thought, with some others that it occasioned, her unwonted state of Idleness and the dullness of every thing about her—what is so dull as a "quiet" London street on a summer evening?—actually made Elizabeth stand, motionless and meditative44, for a quarter of an hour. Then she started to hear two cabs drive up to the door; the "family" had at length arrived.
Ascott was there too. Two new portmanteaus and a splendid hat-box east either ignominy or glory upon the poor Stowbury luggage; and—Elizabeth's sharp eye noticed—there was also his trunk which she had seen lying detained for rent in his Gower Street lodgings. But he looked quite easy and comfortable: handed out his Aunt Johanna, commanded the luggage about, and paid the cabmen with such a magnificent air, that they touched their bats to him, and winked45 at one another as much as to say. "That's a real gentleman!"
In which statement the landlady evidently coincided, and courtesied low when Miss Leaf introducing him as "my nephew," hoped that a room could be found for him. Which at last there was, by his appropriating Miss Leaf's, while she and Hilary took that at the top of the house. But they agreed, Ascott must have a good airy room to study in.
"You know, my dear boy," said his Aunt Johanna to him—and at her tender tone he looked a little downcast, as when he was a small fellow and had been forgiven something — "You know you will have to work very hard."
"All right, aunt! I'm your man for that! This will be a jolly room; and I can smoke up the chimney capitally!"
So they came down stairs quite cheerfully, and Ascott applied46 himself with the best of appetites to what he called a "hungry" tea. True, the ham, which Elizabeth had to fetch from an eating house some streets off, cost two shillings a pound, and the eggs, which caused her another war below over the relighting of a fire to boil them, were dismissed by the young gentleman as "horrid47 stale." Still, woman-like, when there is a man in the question, his aunts let him, have his why. It seemed as if they had resolved to try their utmost to make the new home to which he came, or rather was driven, a pleasant home, and to bind48 him to it with cords of love, the only cords worth any thing, though sometimes—Heaved knows why—even they fail, and are snapped and thrown aside like straws.
Whenever Elizabeth went in and out of the parlor she always heard lively talk going on among the family; Ascott making his jokes, telling about his college life, and planning his life to come as a surgeon in full practice, on the most extensive scale. And when she brought in the chamber49 candles, she saw him kiss his aunts affectionately, and even help his Aunt Johanna—who looked frightfully pale and tired, but smiling still—to her bed-room door.
"You'll not sit up long, my dear? No reading to night?" said she, anxiously.
"Not a bit of it. And I'll be up with the lark50 to-morrow morning. I really will auntie. I'm going to turn over a new leaf, you know."
She smiled again at the immemorial joke, kissed and blessed him, and the door shut up on her and Hilary.
Ascott descended51 to the parlor, threw himself on the sofa with an air of great relief, and an exclamation52 of satisfaction that "the women" were all gone. He did not perceive Elizabeth, who, hidden behind, was kneeling to arrange something in the chiffonnier, till she rose up and proceeded to fasten the parlor shutters53.
"Hollo! are you there? Come, I'll do that when I go to bed. You may 'slope' if you like."
"Eh, Sir."
"Slope, mizzle, cut your stick; don't you understand. Any how, don't stop here, bothering me."
"I don't mean to," replied Elizabeth; gravely, rather than gruffly, as if she had made up her mind to things as they were, and was determined54 to be a belligerent55 party no longer. Besides, she was older now; too old to have things forgiven to her that might be overlooked in a child; and she had received a long lecture from Miss Hilary on the necessity of showing respect to Mr. Ascott, or Mr. Leaf, as it was now decided56 he was to be called, in his dignity and responsibility as the only masculine head of the family. As he lay and lounged there, with his eyes lazily shut, Elizabeth stood a minute gazing at him. Then, steadfast57 in her new good behavior, she inquired "if he wanted any thing more to-night?"
"Confound you! no! Yes; stop." And the young man took a furtive58 investigation59 of the plain, honest face, and not over-graceful, ultra-provincial figure, which still characterized his aunt's "South Sea Islander."
"I say, Elizabeth, I want you to do something for me." He spoke60 so civilly, almost coaxingly61, that Elizabeth turned round surprised. "Would you just go and ask the landlady if she has got such thing as a latch62 key?"
"A what, Sir?"
"A latch-key—a—oh, she knows. Every London house has it. Tell her I'll take care of it, and lock the front door all right. She needn't be afraid of thieves."
"Very well, Sir."
Elizabeth went, but shortly reappeared with the information that Mrs. Jones had gone to bed: in the kitchen, she supposed, as she could not get in. But she laid on the table the large street door key.
"Perhaps that's what you wanted, Mr. Leaf. Though I think you needn't be the least afraid of robbers, for there's three bolts, and a chain besides."
"All right!" cried Ascott, smothering63 down a laugh. "Thank you!
That's for you," throwing a half-crown across the table.
Elizabeth took it up demurely64, and put it down again. Perhaps she did not like him enough to receive presents from him; perhaps she thought, being an honest minded girl, that a young man who could not pay his rent had no business to be giving away half-crowns; or else she herself had not been so much as many servants are, in the habit of taking them. For Miss Hilary had put into Elizabeth some of her own feeling as to this habit of paying an inferior with money for any little civility or kindness which, from an equal, would be accepted simply as kindness, and only requited65 with thanks. Any how, the coin remained on the table, and the door was just shutting upon Elizabeth, when the young gentleman turned round again.
"I say, since my aunts are so horridly66 timid of robbers and such like, you'd better not tell them any thing about the latch-key."
Elizabeth stood a minute perplexed67, and then replied briefly68: "Miss Hilary isn't a bit timid; and I always tells Miss Hilary every thing."
Nevertheless, though she was so ignorant as never to have heard of a latch-key, she had the wit to see that all was not right. She even lay awake, in her closet off Miss Leaf's room, whence she could hear the murmur69 of her two mistresses talking together, long after they retired—lay broad awake for an hour or more, trying to put things together—the sad things that she felt certain must have happened that day, and wondering what Mr. Ascott could possibly want with the key. Also, why he had asked her about it, instead of telling his aunts at once; and why he had treated her in the matter with such astonishing civility.
It may be said a servant had no business to think about these things, to criticize her young master's proceedings70, or wonder why her mistresses were sad: that she had only to go about her work like an automaton71, and take no interest in any thing. I can only answer to those who like such service, let them have it: and as they sow they will assuredly reap. But long after Elizabeth, young and hearty72, was soundly snoring on her hard, cramped73 bed, Johanna and Hilary Leaf, after a brief mutual74 pretence75 of sleep, soon discovered by both, lay consulting together over ways and means. How could the family expenses, beginning with twenty-five shillings per week as rent, possibly be met by the only actual certain family income, their £50 per annum from a mortgage? For the Misses Leaf were or that old-fashioned stamp which believed that to reckon an income by mere76 probabilities is either insanity77 or dishonesty.
Common arithmetic soon proved that this £50 a year could not maintain them; in fact they must soon draw on the little sum—already dipped into to-day, for Ascott—which had been produced by the sale of the Stowbury furniture. That sale, they now found had been a mistake; and they half feared whether the whole change from Stowbury to London had not been a mistake—one of those sad errors in judgment78 which we all commit sometimes, and have to abide79 by, and make the best of, and learn from if we can. Happy those who "Dinna greet ower spilt milk"—a proverb wise as cheerful, which Hilary, knowing well who it came from, repeated to Johanna to comfort her—teaches a second brave lesson, how to avoid spilling the milk a second time. And then they consulted anxiously about what was to be done to earn money.
Teaching presented itself as the only resource. In those days women's work and women's rights had not been discussed so freely as at present. There was a strong feeling that the principal thing required was our duties—owed to ourselves, our home, our family and friends. There was a deep conviction—now, alas! slowly disappearing—that a woman, single or married, should never throw herself out of the safe circle of domestic life till the last extremity80 of necessity; that it is wiser to keep or help to keep a home, by learning how to expend81 its income, cook its dinners, make and mend its clothes, and, by the law that "prevention is better than cure," studying all those preservative82 means of holding a family together—as women, and women alone, can—than to dash into men's sphere of trades and professions, thereby83, in most instances, fighting an unequal battle, and coming out of it maimed, broken, unsexed; turned into beings that are neither men nor women, with the faults and corresponding sufferings of both, and the compensations of neither.
"I don't see," said poor Hilary, "what I can do but teach. And oh, if I could only get daily pupils, so that I might come home or nights, and creep into the fireside; and have time to mend the stockings and look after Ascott's linen84, that he need not be so awfully85 extravagant86."
点击收听单词发音
1 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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2 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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3 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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4 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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5 evicted | |
v.(依法从房屋里或土地上)驱逐,赶出( evict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6 evade | |
vt.逃避,回避;避开,躲避 | |
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7 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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8 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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9 wither | |
vt.使凋谢,使衰退,(用眼神气势等)使畏缩;vi.枯萎,衰退,消亡 | |
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10 emigrants | |
n.(从本国移往他国的)移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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11 derives | |
v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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12 impulsive | |
adj.冲动的,刺激的;有推动力的 | |
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13 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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14 locomotion | |
n.运动,移动 | |
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15 degenerates | |
衰退,堕落,退化( degenerate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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16 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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17 moss | |
n.苔,藓,地衣 | |
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18 adhesiveness | |
粘[附着,胶粘]性,粘附[胶粘]度 | |
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19 obnoxious | |
adj.极恼人的,讨人厌的,可憎的 | |
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20 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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21 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
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22 citizenship | |
n.市民权,公民权,国民的义务(身份) | |
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23 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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24 analyze | |
vt.分析,解析 (=analyse) | |
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25 savageness | |
天然,野蛮 | |
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26 rogues | |
n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 );无赖;调皮捣蛋的人;离群的野兽 | |
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27 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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28 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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29 landlady | |
n.女房东,女地主 | |
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30 dinginess | |
n.暗淡,肮脏 | |
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31 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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32 whit | |
n.一点,丝毫 | |
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33 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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34 dreariness | |
沉寂,可怕,凄凉 | |
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35 statistically | |
ad.根据统计数据来看,从统计学的观点来看 | |
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36 cholera | |
n.霍乱 | |
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37 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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38 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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39 reiterating | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的现在分词 ) | |
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40 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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41 bawling | |
v.大叫,大喊( bawl的现在分词 );放声大哭;大声叫出;叫卖(货物) | |
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42 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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43 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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44 meditative | |
adj.沉思的,冥想的 | |
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45 winked | |
v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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46 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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47 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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48 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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49 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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50 lark | |
n.云雀,百灵鸟;n.嬉戏,玩笑;vi.嬉戏 | |
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51 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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52 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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53 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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54 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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55 belligerent | |
adj.好战的,挑起战争的;n.交战国,交战者 | |
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56 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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57 steadfast | |
adj.固定的,不变的,不动摇的;忠实的;坚贞不移的 | |
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58 furtive | |
adj.鬼鬼崇崇的,偷偷摸摸的 | |
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59 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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60 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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61 coaxingly | |
adv. 以巧言诱哄,以甘言哄骗 | |
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62 latch | |
n.门闩,窗闩;弹簧锁 | |
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63 smothering | |
(使)窒息, (使)透不过气( smother的现在分词 ); 覆盖; 忍住; 抑制 | |
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64 demurely | |
adv.装成端庄地,认真地 | |
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65 requited | |
v.报答( requite的过去式和过去分词 );酬谢;回报;报复 | |
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66 horridly | |
可怕地,讨厌地 | |
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67 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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68 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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69 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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70 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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71 automaton | |
n.自动机器,机器人 | |
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72 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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73 cramped | |
a.狭窄的 | |
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74 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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75 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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76 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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77 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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78 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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79 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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80 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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81 expend | |
vt.花费,消费,消耗 | |
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82 preservative | |
n.防腐剂;防腐料;保护料;预防药 | |
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83 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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84 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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85 awfully | |
adv.可怕地,非常地,极端地 | |
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86 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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