There is this old brown volume in the corner. How it got there I cannot imagine, for it is one of those which I bought for threepence out of the remnant box in Edinburgh, and its weather-beaten comrades are up yonder in the back gallery, while this one has elbowed its way among the quality in the stalls. But it is worth a word or two. Take it out and handle it! See how swarthy it is, how squat3, with how bullet-proof a cover of scaling leather. Now open the fly-leaf "Ex libris Guilielmi Whyte. 1672" in faded yellow ink. I wonder who William Whyte may have been, and what he did upon earth in the reign4 of the merry monarch5. A pragmatical seventeenth-century lawyer, I should judge, by that hard, angular writing. The date of issue is 1642, so it was printed just about the time when the Pilgrim Fathers were settling down into their new American home, and the first Charles's head was still firm upon his shoulders, though a little puzzled, no doubt, at what was going on around it. The book is in Latin—though Cicero might not have admitted it—and it treats of the laws of warfare6.
I picture some pedantic7 Dugald Dalgetty bearing it about under his buff coat, or down in his holster, and turning up the reference for every fresh emergency which occurred. "Hullo! here's a well!" says he. "I wonder if I may poison it?" Out comes the book, and he runs a dirty forefinger8 down the index. "Ob fas est aquam hostis venere," etc. "Tut, tut, it's not allowed. But here are some of the enemy in a barn? What about that?" "Ob fas est hostem incendio," etc. "Yes; he says we may. Quick, Ambrose, up with the straw and the tinder box." Warfare was no child's play about the time when Tilly sacked Magdeburg, and Cromwell turned his hand from the mash9 tub to the sword. It might not be much better now in a long campaign, when men were hardened and embittered10. Many of these laws are unrepealed, and it is less than a century since highly disciplined British troops claimed their dreadful rights at Badajos and Rodrigo. Recent European wars have been so short that discipline and humanity have not had time to go to pieces, but a long war would show that man is ever the same, and that civilization is the thinnest of veneers11.
Now you see that whole row of books which takes you at one sweep nearly across the shelf? I am rather proud of those, for they are my collection of Napoleonic military memoirs12. There is a story told of an illiterate13 millionaire who gave a wholesale14 dealer15 an order for a copy of all books in any language treating of any aspect of Napoleon's career. He thought it would fill a case in his library. He was somewhat taken aback, however, when in a few weeks he received a message from the dealer that he had got 40,000 volumes, and awaited instructions as to whether he should send them on as an instalment, or wait for a complete set. The figures may not be exact, but at least they bring home the impossibility of exhausting the subject, and the danger of losing one's self for years in a huge labyrinth16 of reading, which may end by leaving no very definite impression upon your mind. But one might, perhaps, take a corner of it, as I have done here in the military memoirs, and there one might hope to get some finality.
Here is Marbot at this end—the first of all soldier books in the world. This is the complete three-volume French edition, with red and gold cover, smart and debonnaire like its author. Here he is in one frontispiece with his pleasant, round, boyish face, as a Captain of his beloved Chasseurs. And here in the other is the grizzled old bull-dog as a full general, looking as full of fight as ever. It was a real blow to me when some one began to throw doubts upon the authenticity17 of Marbot's memoirs. Homer may be dissolved into a crowd of skin-clad bards18. Even Shakespeare may be jostled in his throne of honour by plausible19 Baconians; but the human, the gallant20, the inimitable Marbot! His book is that which gives us the best picture by far of the Napoleonic soldiers, and to me they are even more interesting than their great leader, though his must ever be the most singular figure in history. But those soldiers, with their huge shakoes, their hairy knapsacks, and their hearts of steel—what men they were! And what a latent power there must be in this French nation which could go on pouring out the blood of its sons for twenty-three years with hardly a pause!
It took all that time to work off the hot ferment21 which the Revolution had left in men's veins22. And they were not exhausted23, for the very last fight which the French fought was the finest of all. Proud as we are of our infantry24 at Waterloo, it was really with the French cavalry25 that the greenest laurels26 of that great epic27 rested. They got the better of our own cavalry, they took our guns again and again, they swept a large portion of our allies from the field, and finally they rode off unbroken, and as full of fight as ever. Read Gronow's "Memoirs," that chatty little yellow volume yonder which brings all that age back to us more vividly28 than any more pretentious29 work, and you will find the chivalrous30 admiration31 which our officers expressed at the fine performance of the French horsemen.
It must be admitted that, looking back upon history, we have not always been good allies, nor yet generous co-partners in the battlefield. The first is the fault of our politics, where one party rejoices to break what the other has bound. The makers32 of the Treaty are staunch enough, as the Tories were under Pitt and Castlereagh, or the Whigs at the time of Queen Anne, but sooner or later the others must come in. At the end of the Marlborough wars we suddenly vamped up a peace and, left our allies in the lurch33, on account of a change in domestic politics. We did the same with Frederick the Great, and would have done it in the Napoleonic days if Fox could have controlled the country. And as to our partners of the battlefield, how little we have ever said that is hearty34 as to the splendid staunchness of the Prussians at Waterloo. You have to read the Frenchman, Houssaye, to get a central view and to understand the part they played. Think of old Blucher, seventy years old, and ridden over by a regiment35 of charging cavalry the day before, yet swearing that he would come to Wellington if he had to be strapped36 to his horse. He nobly redeemed37 his promise.
The loss of the Prussians at Waterloo was not far short of our own. You would not know it, to read our historians. And then the abuse of our Belgian allies has been overdone38. Some of them fought splendidly, and one brigade of infantry had a share in the critical instant when the battle was turned. This also you would not learn from British sources. Look at our Portuguese39 allies also! They trained into magnificent troops, and one of Wellington's earnest desires was to have ten thousand of them for his Waterloo campaign. It was a Portuguese who first topped the rampart of Badajos. They have never had their due credit, nor have the Spaniards either, for, though often defeated, it was their unconquerable pertinacity40 which played a great part in the struggle. No; I do not think that we are very amiable41 partners, but I suppose that all national history may be open to a similar charge.
It must be confessed that Marbot's details are occasionally a little hard to believe. Never in the pages of Lever has there been such a series of hairbreadth escapes and dare-devil exploits. Surely he stretched it a little sometimes. You may remember his adventure at Eylau—I think it was Eylau—how a cannon-ball, striking the top of his helmet, paralyzed him by the concussion42 of his spine43; and how, on a Russian officer running forward to cut him down, his horse bit the man's face nearly off. This was the famous charger which savaged44 everything until Marbot, having bought it for next to nothing, cured it by thrusting a boiling leg of mutton into its mouth when it tried to bite him. It certainly does need a robust45 faith to get over these incidents. And yet, when one reflects upon the hundreds of battles and skirmishes which a Napoleonic officer must have endured—how they must have been the uninterrupted routine of his life from the first dark hair upon his lip to the first grey one upon his head, it is presumptuous46 to say what may or may not have been possible in such unparalleled careers. At any rate, be it fact or fiction—fact it is, in my opinion, with some artistic47 touching48 up of the high lights—there are few books which I could not spare from my shelves better than the memoirs of the gallant Marbot.
I dwell upon this particular book because it is the best; but take the whole line, and there is not one which is not full of interest. Marbot gives you the point of view of the officer. So does De Segur and De Fezensac and Colonel Gonville, each in some different branch of the service. But some are from the pens of the men in the ranks, and they are even more graphic49 than the others. Here, for example, are the papers of good old Cogniet, who was a grenadier of the Guard, and could neither read nor write until after the great wars were over. A tougher soldier never went into battle. Here is Sergeant50 Bourgogne, also with his dreadful account of that nightmare campaign in Russia, and the gallant Chevillet, trumpeter of Chasseurs, with his matter-of-fact account of all that he saw, where the daily "combat" is sandwiched in betwixt the real business of the day, which was foraging51 for his frugal52 breakfast and supper. There is no better writing, and no easier reading, than the records of these men of action.
A Briton cannot help asking himself, as he realizes what men these were, what would have happened if 150,000 Cogniets and Bourgognes, with Marbots to lead them, and the great captain of all time in the prime of his vigour53 at their head, had made their landing in Kent? For months it was touch-and-go. A single naval54 slip which left the Channel clear would have been followed by an embarkation55 from Boulogne, which had been brought by constant practice to so incredibly fine a point that the last horse was aboard within two hours of the start. Any evening might have seen the whole host upon the Pevensey Flats. What then? We know what Humbert did with a handful of men in Ireland, and the story is not reassuring56. Conquest, of course, is unthinkable. The world in arms could not do that. But Napoleon never thought of the conquest of Britain. He has expressly disclaimed57 it. What he did contemplate58 was a gigantic raid in which he would do so much damage that for years to come England would be occupied at home in picking up the pieces, instead of having energy to spend abroad in thwarting59 his Continental60 plans.
Portsmouth, Plymouth, and Sheerness in flames, with London either levelled to the ground or ransomed61 at his own figure—that was a more feasible programme. Then, with the united fleets of conquered Europe at his back, enormous armies and an inexhaustible treasury63, swollen64 with the ransom62 of Britain, he could turn to that conquest of America which would win back the old colonies of France and leave him master of the world. If the worst happened and he had met his Waterloo upon the South Downs, he would have done again what he did in Egypt and once more in Russia: hurried back to France in a swift vessel65, and still had force enough to hold his own upon the Continent. It would, no doubt, have been a big stake to lay upon the table—150,000 of his best—but he could play again if he lost; while, if he won, he cleared the board. A fine game—if little Nelson had not stopped it, and with one blow fixed66 the edge of salt water as the limit of Napoleon's power.
There's the cast of a medal on the top of that cabinet which will bring it all close home to you. It is taken from the die of the medal which Napoleon had arranged to issue on the day that he reached London. It serves, at any rate, to show that his great muster67 was not a bluff68, but that he really did mean serious business. On one side is his head. On the other France is engaged in strangling and throwing to earth a curious fish-tailed creature, which stands for perfidious69 Albion. "Frappe a Londres" is printed on one part of it, and "La Descente dans Angleterre" upon another. Struck to commemorate70 a conquest, it remains71 now as a souvenir of a fiasco. But it was a close call.
By the way, talking of Napoleon's flight from Egypt, did you ever see a curious little book called, if I remember right, "Intercepted72 Letters"? No; I have no copy upon this shelf, but a friend is more fortunate. It shows the almost incredible hatred73 which existed at the end of the eighteenth century between the two nations, descending74 even to the most petty personal annoyance75. On this occasion the British Government intercepted a mail-bag of letters coming from French officers in Egypt to their friends at home, and they either published them, or at least allowed them to be published, in the hope, no doubt, of causing domestic complications. Was ever a more despicable action? But who knows what other injuries had been inflicted76 to draw forth77 such a retaliation78? I have myself seen a burned and mutilated British mail lying where De Wet had left it; but suppose the refinement79 of his vengeance80 had gone so far as to publish it, what a thunder-bolt it might have been!
As to the French officers, I have read their letters, though even after a century one had a feeling of guilt81 when one did so. But, on the whole, they are a credit to the writers, and give the impression of a noble and chivalrous set of men. Whether they were all addressed to the right people is another matter, and therein lay the poisoned sting of this most un-British affair. As to the monstrous82 things which were done upon the other side, remember the arrest of all the poor British tourists and commercials who chanced to be in France when the war was renewed in 1803. They had run over in all trust and confidence for a little outing and change of air. They certainly got it, for Napoleon's steel grip fell upon them, and they rejoined their families in 1814. He must have had a heart of adamant83 and a will of iron. Look at his conduct over the naval prisoners. The natural proceeding84 would have been to exchange them. For some reason he did not think it good policy to do so. All representations from the British Government were set aside, save in the case of the higher officers. Hence the miseries85 of the hulks and the dreadful prison barracks in England. Hence also the unhappy idlers of Verdun. What splendid loyalty86 there must have been in those humble87 Frenchmen which never allowed them for one instant to turn bitterly upon the author of all their great misfortunes. It is all brought vividly home by the description of their prisons given by Borrow in "Lavengro." This is the passage—
"What a strange appearance had those mighty88 casernes, with their blank, blind walls, without windows or grating, and their slanting89 roofs, out of which, through orifices where the tiles had been removed, would be protruded90 dozens of grim heads, feasting their prison-sick eyes on the wide expanse of country unfolded from their airy height. Ah! there was much misery91 in those casernes; and from those roofs, doubtless, many a wistful look was turned in the direction of lovely France. Much had the poor inmates92 to endure, and much to complain of, to the disgrace of England be it said—of England, in general so kind and bountiful. Rations93 of carrion94 meat, and bread from which I have seen the very hounds occasionally turn away, were unworthy entertainment even for the most ruffian enemy, when helpless and captive; and such, alas96! was the fare in those casernes. And then, those visits, or rather ruthless inroads, called in the slang of the place 'straw-plait hunts,' when in pursuit of a contraband97 article, which the prisoners, in order to procure98 themselves a few of the necessaries and comforts of existence, were in the habit of making, red-coated battalions99 were marched into the prisons, who, with the bayonet's point, carried havoc100 and ruin into every poor convenience which ingenious wretchedness had been endeavouring to raise around it; and then the triumphant101 exit with the miserable102 booty, and worst of all, the accursed bonfire, on the barrack parade of the plait contraband, beneath the view of glaring eyeballs from those lofty roofs, amid the hurrahs of the troops frequently drowned in the curses poured down from above like a tempest-shower, or in the terrific war-whoop of 'Vive l'Empereur!'"
There is a little vignette of Napoleon's men in captivity103. Here is another which is worth preserving of the bearing of his veterans when wounded on the field of battle. It is from Mercer's recollections of the Battle of Waterloo. Mercer had spent the day firing case into the French cavalry at ranges from fifty to two hundred yards, losing two-thirds of his own battery in the process. In the evening he had a look at some of his own grim handiwork.
"I had satisfied my curiosity at Hougoumont, and was retracing104 my steps up the hill when my attention was called to a group of wounded Frenchmen by the calm, dignified105, and soldier-like oration106 addressed by one of them to the rest. I cannot, like Livy, compose a fine harangue107 for my hero, and, of course, I could not retain the precise words, but the import of them was to exhort108 them to bear their sufferings with fortitude109; not to repine, like women or children, at what every soldier should have made up his mind to suffer as the fortune of war, but above all, to remember that they were surrounded by Englishmen, before whom they ought to be doubly careful not to disgrace themselves by displaying such an unsoldier-like want of fortitude.
"The speaker was sitting on the ground with his lance stuck upright beside him—an old veteran with thick bushy, grizzly110 beard, countenance111 like a lion—a lancer of the old guard, and no doubt had fought in many a field. One hand was flourished in the air as he spoke112, the other, severed113 at the wrist, lay on the earth beside him; one ball (case-shot, probably) had entered his body, another had broken his leg. His suffering, after a night of exposure so mangled114, must have been great; yet he betrayed it not. His bearing was that of a Roman, or perhaps an Indian warrior115, and I could fancy him concluding appropriately his speech in the words of the Mexican king, 'And I too; am I on a bed of roses?'"
What a load of moral responsibility upon one man! But his mind was insensible to moral responsibility. Surely if it had not been it must have been crushed beneath it. Now, if you want to understand the character of Napoleon—but surely I must take a fresh start before I launch on so portentous116 a subject as that.
But before I leave the military men let me, for the credit of my own country, after that infamous117 incident of the letters, indicate these six well-thumbed volumes of "Napier's History." This is the story of the great Peninsular War, by one who fought through it himself, and in no history has a more chivalrous and manly118 account been given of one's enemy. Indeed, Napier seems to me to push it too far, for his admiration appears to extend not only to the gallant soldiers who opposed him, but to the character and to the ultimate aims of their leader. He was, in fact, a political follower119 of Charles James Fox, and his heart seems to have been with the enemy even at the moment when he led his men most desperately120 against them. In the verdict of history the action of those men who, in their honest zeal121 for freedom, inflamed122 somewhat by political strife123, turned against their own country, when it was in truth the Champion of Freedom, and approved of a military despot of the most uncompromising kind, seems wildly foolish.
But if Napier's politics may seem strange, his soldiering was splendid, and his prose among the very best that I know. There are passages in that work—the one which describes the breach124 of Badajos, that of the charge of the Fusiliers at Albuera, and that of the French advance at Fuentes d'Onoro—which once read haunt the mind for ever. The book is a worthy95 monument of a great national epic. Alas! for the pregnant sentence with which it closes, "So ended the great war, and with it all memory of the services of the veterans." Was there ever a British war of which the same might not have been written?
The quotation125 which I have given from Mercer's book turns my thoughts in the direction of the British military reminiscences of that period, less numerous, less varied126, and less central than the French, but full of character and interest all the same. I have found that if I am turned loose in a large library, after hesitating over covers for half an hour or so, it is usually a book of soldier memoirs which I take down. Man is never so interesting as when he is thoroughly127 in earnest, and no one is so earnest as he whose life is at stake upon the event. But of all types of soldier the best is the man who is keen upon his work, and yet has general culture which enables him to see that work in its due perspective, and to sympathize with the gentler aspirations128 of mankind. Such a man is Mercer, an ice-cool fighter, with a sense of discipline and decorum which prevented him from moving when a bombshell was fizzing between his feet, and yet a man of thoughtful and philosophic129 temperament130, with a weakness for solitary131 musings, for children, and for flowers. He has written for all time the classic account of a great battle, seen from the point of view of a battery commander. Many others of Wellington's soldiers wrote their personal reminiscences. You can get them, as I have them there, in the pleasant abridgement of "Wellington's Men" (admirably edited by Dr. Fitchett)—Anton the Highlander132, Harris the rifleman, and Kincaid of the same corps133. It is a most singular fate which has made an Australian nonconformist clergyman the most sympathetic and eloquent134 reconstructor of those old heroes, but it is a noble example of that unity135 of the British race, which in fifty scattered136 lands still mourns or rejoices over the same historic record.
And just one word, before I close down this over-long and too discursive137 chatter138, on the subject of yonder twin red volumes which flank the shelf. They are Maxwell's "History of Wellington," and I do not think you will find a better or more readable one. The reader must ever feel towards the great soldier what his own immediate139 followers140 felt, respect rather than affection. One's failure to attain141 a more affectionate emotion is alleviated142 by the knowledge that it was the last thing which he invited or desired. "Don't be a damned fool, sir!" was his exhortation143 to the good citizen who had paid him a compliment. It was a curious, callous144 nature, brusque and limited. The hardest huntsman learns to love his hounds, but he showed no affection and a good deal of contempt for the men who had been his instruments. "They are the scum of the earth," said he. "All English soldiers are fellows who have enlisted145 for drink. That is the plain fact—they have all enlisted for drink." His general orders were full of undeserved reproaches at a time when the most lavish146 praise could hardly have met the real deserts of his army. When the wars were done he saw little, save in his official capacity, of his old comrades-in-arms. And yet, from major-general to drummer-boy, he was the man whom they would all have elected to serve under, had the work to be done once more. As one of them said, "The sight of his long nose was worth ten thousand men on a field of battle." They were themselves a leathery breed, and cared little for the gentler amenities147 so long as the French were well drubbed.
His mind, which was comprehensive and alert in warfare, was singularly limited in civil affairs. As a statesman he was so constant an example of devotion to duty, self-sacrifice, and high disinterested148 character, that the country was the better for his presence. But he fiercely opposed Catholic Emancipation149, the Reform Bill, and everything upon which our modern life is founded. He could never be brought to see that a pyramid should stand on its base and not on its apex150, and that the larger the pyramid, the broader should be the base. Even in military affairs he was averse151 from every change, and I know of no improvements which came from his initiative during all those years when his authority was supreme152. The floggings which broke a man's spirit and self-respect, the leathern stock which hampered153 his movements, all the old traditional regime found a champion in him. On the other hand, he strongly opposed the introduction of the percussion154 cap as opposed to the flint and steel in the musket155. Neither in war nor in politics did he rightly judge the future.
And yet in reading his letters and dispatches, one is surprised sometimes at the incisive156 thought and its vigorous expression. There is a passage in which he describes the way in which his soldiers would occasionally desert into some town which he was besieging157. "They knew," he writes, "that they must be taken, for when we lay our bloody158 hands upon a place we are sure to take it, sooner or later; but they liked being dry and under cover, and then that extraordinary caprice which always pervades159 the English character! Our deserters are very badly treated by the enemy; those who deserted160 in France were treated as the lowest of mortals, slaves and scavengers. Nothing but English caprice can account for it; just what makes our noblemen associate with stage-coach drivers, and become stage-coach drivers themselves." After reading that passage, how often does the phrase "the extraordinary caprice which always pervades the English character" come back as one observes some fresh manifestation161 of it!
But let not my last note upon the great duke be a carping one. Rather let my final sentence be one which will remind you of his frugal and abstemious162 life, his carpetless floor and little camp bed, his precise courtesy which left no humblest letter unanswered, his courage which never flinched163, his tenacity164 which never faltered165, his sense of duty which made his life one long unselfish effort on behalf of what seemed to him to be the highest interest of the State. Go down and stand by the huge granite166 sarcophagus in the dim light of the crypt of St. Paul's, and in the hush167 of that austere168 spot, cast back your mind to the days when little England alone stood firm against the greatest soldier and the greatest army that the world has ever known. Then you feel what this dead man stood for, and you pray that we may still find such another amongst us when the clouds gather once again.
You see that the literature of Waterloo is well represented in my small military library. Of all books dealing169 with the personal view of the matter, I think that "Siborne's Letters," which is a collection of the narratives171 of surviving officers made by Siborne in the year 1827, is the most interesting. Gronow's account is also very vivid and interesting. Of the strategical narratives, Houssaye's book is my favourite. Taken from the French point of view, it gets the actions of the allies in truer perspective than any English or German account can do; but there is a fascination172 about that great combat which makes every narrative170 that bears upon it of enthralling173 interest.
Wellington used to say that too much was made of it, and that one would imagine that the British Army had never fought a battle before. It was a characteristic speech, but it must be admitted that the British Army never had, as a matter of fact, for many centuries fought a battle which was finally decisive of a great European war. There lies the perennial174 interest of the incident, that it was the last act of that long-drawn drama, and that to the very fall of the curtain no man could tell how the play would end—"the nearest run thing that ever you saw"—that was the victor's description. It is a singular thing that during those twenty-five years of incessant175 fighting the material and methods of warfare made so little progress. So far as I know, there was no great change in either between 1789 and 1805. The breech-loader, heavy artillery176, the ironclad, all great advances in the art of war, have been invented in time of peace. There are some improvements so obvious, and at the same time so valuable, that it is extraordinary that they were not adopted. Signalling, for example, whether by heliograph or by flag-waving, would have made an immense difference in the Napoleonic campaigns. The principle of the semaphore was well known, and Belgium, with its numerous windmills, would seem to be furnished with natural semaphores. Yet in the four days during which the campaign of Waterloo was fought, the whole scheme of military operations on both sides was again and again imperilled, and finally in the case of the French brought to utter ruin by lack of that intelligence which could so easily have been conveyed. June 18th was at intervals177 a sunshiny day—a four-inch glass mirror would have put Napoleon in communication with Gruchy, and the whole history of Europe might have been altered. Wellington himself suffered dreadfully from defective178 information which might have been easily supplied. The unexpected presence of the French army was first discovered at four in the morning of June 15. It was of enormous importance to get the news rapidly to Wellington at Brussels that he might instantly concentrate his scattered forces on the best line of resistance—yet, through the folly179 of sending only a single messenger, this vital information did not reach him until three in the afternoon, the distance being thirty miles. Again, when Blucher was defeated at Ligny on the 16th, it was of enormous importance that Wellington should know at once the line of his retreat so as to prevent the French from driving a wedge between them. The single Prussian officer who was despatched with this information was wounded, and never reached his destination, and it was only next day that Wellington learned the Prussian plans. On what tiny things does History depend!
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1 audacity | |
n.大胆,卤莽,无礼 | |
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2 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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3 squat | |
v.蹲坐,蹲下;n.蹲下;adj.矮胖的,粗矮的 | |
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4 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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5 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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6 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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7 pedantic | |
adj.卖弄学问的;迂腐的 | |
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8 forefinger | |
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n.麦芽浆,糊状物,土豆泥;v.把…捣成糊状,挑逗,调情 | |
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10 embittered | |
v.使怨恨,激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 veneers | |
n.饰面薄板( veneer的名词复数 );虚假的外表;虚饰;牙罩冠 | |
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12 memoirs | |
n.回忆录;回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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13 illiterate | |
adj.文盲的;无知的;n.文盲 | |
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14 wholesale | |
n.批发;adv.以批发方式;vt.批发,成批出售 | |
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15 dealer | |
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n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
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17 authenticity | |
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18 bards | |
n.诗人( bard的名词复数 ) | |
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19 plausible | |
adj.似真实的,似乎有理的,似乎可信的 | |
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20 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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21 ferment | |
vt.使发酵;n./vt.(使)激动,(使)动乱 | |
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22 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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23 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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24 infantry | |
n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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25 cavalry | |
n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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26 laurels | |
n.桂冠,荣誉 | |
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27 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
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28 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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29 pretentious | |
adj.自命不凡的,自负的,炫耀的 | |
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30 chivalrous | |
adj.武士精神的;对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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31 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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32 makers | |
n.制造者,制造商(maker的复数形式) | |
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33 lurch | |
n.突然向前或旁边倒;v.蹒跚而行 | |
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34 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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35 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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36 strapped | |
adj.用皮带捆住的,用皮带装饰的;身无分文的;缺钱;手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词);用皮带抽打;包扎;给…打绷带 | |
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37 redeemed | |
adj. 可赎回的,可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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38 overdone | |
v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 );太夸张;把…煮得太久;(工作等)过度 | |
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39 Portuguese | |
n.葡萄牙人;葡萄牙语 | |
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40 pertinacity | |
n.执拗,顽固 | |
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41 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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42 concussion | |
n.脑震荡;震动 | |
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43 spine | |
n.脊柱,脊椎;(动植物的)刺;书脊 | |
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44 savaged | |
(动物)凶狠地攻击(或伤害)( savage的过去式和过去分词 ); 残害; 猛烈批评; 激烈抨击 | |
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45 robust | |
adj.强壮的,强健的,粗野的,需要体力的,浓的 | |
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46 presumptuous | |
adj.胆大妄为的,放肆的,冒昧的,冒失的 | |
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47 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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48 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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49 graphic | |
adj.生动的,形象的,绘画的,文字的,图表的 | |
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50 sergeant | |
n.警官,中士 | |
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51 foraging | |
v.搜寻(食物),尤指动物觅(食)( forage的现在分词 );(尤指用手)搜寻(东西) | |
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52 frugal | |
adj.节俭的,节约的,少量的,微量的 | |
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53 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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54 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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55 embarkation | |
n. 乘船, 搭机, 开船 | |
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56 reassuring | |
a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的,使人放心的 | |
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57 disclaimed | |
v.否认( disclaim的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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59 thwarting | |
阻挠( thwart的现在分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
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60 continental | |
adj.大陆的,大陆性的,欧洲大陆的 | |
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61 ransomed | |
付赎金救人,赎金( ransom的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62 ransom | |
n.赎金,赎身;v.赎回,解救 | |
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63 treasury | |
n.宝库;国库,金库;文库 | |
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64 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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65 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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66 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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67 muster | |
v.集合,收集,鼓起,激起;n.集合,检阅,集合人员,点名册 | |
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68 bluff | |
v.虚张声势,用假象骗人;n.虚张声势,欺骗 | |
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69 perfidious | |
adj.不忠的,背信弃义的 | |
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70 commemorate | |
vt.纪念,庆祝 | |
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71 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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72 intercepted | |
拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 ); 截住; 截击; 拦阻 | |
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73 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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74 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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75 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
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76 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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78 retaliation | |
n.报复,反击 | |
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79 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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80 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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81 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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82 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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83 adamant | |
adj.坚硬的,固执的 | |
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84 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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85 miseries | |
n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 );痛苦的事;穷困;常发牢骚的人 | |
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86 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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87 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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88 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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89 slanting | |
倾斜的,歪斜的 | |
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90 protruded | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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92 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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93 rations | |
定量( ration的名词复数 ); 配给量; 正常量; 合理的量 | |
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94 carrion | |
n.腐肉 | |
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95 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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96 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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97 contraband | |
n.违禁品,走私品 | |
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98 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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99 battalions | |
n.(陆军的)一营(大约有一千兵士)( battalion的名词复数 );协同作战的部队;军队;(组织在一起工作的)队伍 | |
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100 havoc | |
n.大破坏,浩劫,大混乱,大杂乱 | |
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101 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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102 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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103 captivity | |
n.囚禁;被俘;束缚 | |
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104 retracing | |
v.折回( retrace的现在分词 );回忆;回顾;追溯 | |
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105 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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106 oration | |
n.演说,致辞,叙述法 | |
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107 harangue | |
n.慷慨冗长的训话,言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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108 exhort | |
v.规劝,告诫 | |
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109 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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110 grizzly | |
adj.略为灰色的,呈灰色的;n.灰色大熊 | |
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111 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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112 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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113 severed | |
v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
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114 mangled | |
vt.乱砍(mangle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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115 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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116 portentous | |
adj.不祥的,可怕的,装腔作势的 | |
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117 infamous | |
adj.声名狼藉的,臭名昭著的,邪恶的 | |
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118 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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119 follower | |
n.跟随者;随员;门徒;信徒 | |
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120 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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121 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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122 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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124 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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125 quotation | |
n.引文,引语,语录;报价,牌价,行情 | |
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126 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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127 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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128 aspirations | |
强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
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129 philosophic | |
adj.哲学的,贤明的 | |
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130 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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131 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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132 highlander | |
n.高地的人,苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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133 corps | |
n.(通信等兵种的)部队;(同类作的)一组 | |
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134 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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135 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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136 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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137 discursive | |
adj.离题的,无层次的 | |
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138 chatter | |
vi./n.喋喋不休;短促尖叫;(牙齿)打战 | |
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139 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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140 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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141 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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142 alleviated | |
减轻,缓解,缓和( alleviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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143 exhortation | |
n.劝告,规劝 | |
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144 callous | |
adj.无情的,冷淡的,硬结的,起老茧的 | |
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145 enlisted | |
adj.应募入伍的v.(使)入伍, (使)参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 );获得(帮助或支持) | |
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146 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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147 amenities | |
n.令人愉快的事物;礼仪;礼节;便利设施;礼仪( amenity的名词复数 );便利设施;(环境等的)舒适;(性情等的)愉快 | |
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148 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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149 emancipation | |
n.(从束缚、支配下)解放 | |
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150 apex | |
n.顶点,最高点 | |
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151 averse | |
adj.厌恶的;反对的,不乐意的 | |
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152 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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153 hampered | |
妨碍,束缚,限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154 percussion | |
n.打击乐器;冲突,撞击;震动,音响 | |
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155 musket | |
n.滑膛枪 | |
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156 incisive | |
adj.敏锐的,机敏的,锋利的,切入的 | |
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157 besieging | |
包围,围困,围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
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158 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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159 pervades | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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160 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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161 manifestation | |
n.表现形式;表明;现象 | |
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162 abstemious | |
adj.有节制的,节俭的 | |
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163 flinched | |
v.(因危险和痛苦)退缩,畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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164 tenacity | |
n.坚韧 | |
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165 faltered | |
(嗓音)颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
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166 granite | |
adj.花岗岩,花岗石 | |
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167 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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168 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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169 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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170 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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171 narratives | |
记叙文( narrative的名词复数 ); 故事; 叙述; 叙述部分 | |
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172 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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173 enthralling | |
迷人的 | |
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174 perennial | |
adj.终年的;长久的 | |
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175 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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176 artillery | |
n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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177 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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178 defective | |
adj.有毛病的,有问题的,有瑕疵的 | |
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179 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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