Between times, the reply of Uncle Ignacio has reached Etchezar. If his nephew had spoken sooner, Ignacio has written, he would have been glad to receive him at his house; but, seeing how he hesitated, Ignacio had decided4 to take a wife, although he is already an old man, and now he has a child two months old. Therefore, there is no protection to be expected from that side; the exile, when he arrives there, may not find even a home—
The family house has been sold, at the notary's money questions have been settled; all the goods of Ramuntcho have been transformed into gold pieces which are in his hand—
And now is the day of the supreme5 attempt, the great day,—and already the thick foliage6 has returned to the trees, the clothing of the tall grass covers anew the prairies; it is May.
In the little wagon7, which the famous fast horse drags, they roll on the shady mountain paths, Arrochkoa and Ramuntcho, toward that village of Amezqueta. They roll quickly; they plunge8 into the heart of an infinite region of trees. And, as the hour goes by, all becomes more peaceful around them, and more savage10; more primitive11, the hamlets; more solitary12, the Basque land.
In the shade of the branches, on the borders of the paths, there are pink foxgloves, silences, ferns, almost the same flora13 as in Brittany; these two countries, the Basque and the Breton, resemble each other by the granite14 which is everywhere and by the habitual15 rain; by the immobility also, and by the continuity of the same religious dream.
Above the two young men who have started for the adventure, thicken the big, customary clouds, the sombre and low sky. The route which they follow, in these mountains ever and ever higher, is deliciously green, dug in the shade, between walls of ferns.
Immobility of several centuries, immobility in beings and in things,—one has more and more the consciousness of it as one penetrates17 farther into this country of forests and of silence. Under this obscure veil of the sky, where are lost the summits of the grand Pyrenees, appear and run by, isolated18 houses, centenary farms, hamlets more and more rare,—and they go always under the same vault19 of oaks, of ageless chestnut20 trees, which twist even at the side of the path their roots like mossy serpents. They resemble one another, those hamlets separated from one another by so much forest, by so many branches, and inhabited by an antique race, disdainful of all that disturbs, of all that changes: the humble21 church, most often without a belfry, with a simple campanila on its gray facade22, and the square, with its wall painted for that traditional ball-game wherein, from father to son, the men exercise their hard muscles. Everywhere reigned23 the healthy peace of rustic24 life, the traditions of which in the Basque land are more immutable25 than elsewhere.
The few woolen26 caps which the two bold young men meet on their rapid passage, incline all in a bow, from general politeness first, and from acquaintance above all, for they are, Arrochkoa and Ramuntcho, the two celebrated27 pelota players of the country;—Ramuntcho, it is true, had been forgotten by many people, but Arrochkoa, everybody, from Bayonne to San Sebastian, knows his face with healthy colors and the turned up ends of his catlike mustache.
Dividing the journey into two stages, they have slept last night at Mendichoco. And at present they are rolling quickly, the two young men, so preoccupied28 doubtless that they hardly care to regulate the pace of their vigorous beast.
Itchoua, however, is not with them. At the last moment, a fear has
come to Ramuntcho of this accomplice30, whom he felt to be capable of
everything, even of murder; in a sudden terror, he has refused the aid
starting; and feverishly32, Ramuntcho has thrown gold into his hands, to
pay for his advice, to buy the liberty to act alone, the assurance,
at least, of not committing a crime: piece by piece, to break his
engagement, he has given to Itchoua a half of the agreed price. Then,
vanished behind a group of trees, Ramuntcho has felt his conscience
lighter—
“You will leave my carriage at Aranotz, at Burugoity, the inn-keeper's,
who understands,” said Arrochkoa, “for, you understand, as soon as you
have accomplished34 your end I will leave you.—We have business with the
people of Buruzabal, horses to lead into Spain to-night, not far from
Amezqueta, and I promised to be there before ten o'clock—”
What will they do? They do not know, the two allied35 friends; this will depend on the turn that things take; they have different projects, all bold and skilful36, according to the cases which might present themselves. Two places have been reserved, one for Ramuntcho and the other for her, on board a big emigrant37 vessel38 on which the baggage is embarked39 and which will start tomorrow night from Bordeaux carrying hundreds of Basques to America. At this small station of Aranotz, where the carriage will leave both of them, Ramuntcho and Gracieuse, they will take the train for Bayonne, at three o'clock in the morning, and, at Bayonne afterward40, the Irun express to Bordeaux. It will be a hasty flight, which will not give to the little fugitive41 the time to think, to regain42 her senses in her terror,—doubtless also in her intoxication43 deliciously mortal—
A gown, a mantilla of Gracieuse are all ready, at the bottom of the carriage, to replace the veil and the black uniform: things which she wore formerly44, before her vows45, and which Arrochkoa found in his mother's closets. And Ramuntcho thinks that it will be perhaps real, in a moment, that she will be perhaps there, at his side, very near, on that narrow seat, enveloped46 with him in the same travelling blanket, flying in the midst of night, to belong to him, at once and forever;—and in thinking of this too much, he feels again a shudder47 and a dizziness—
“I tell you that she will follow you,” repeats his friend, striking him rudely on the leg in protective encouragement, as soon as he sees Ramuntcho sombre and lost in a dream. “I tell you that she will follow you, I am sure! If she hesitates, well, leave the rest to me!”
If she hesitates, then they will be violent, they are resolved, oh, not very violent, only enough to unlace the hands of the old nuns49 retaining her.—And then, they will carry her into the small wagon, where infallibly the enlacing contact and the tenderness of her former friend will soon turn her young head.
How will it all happen? They do not yet know, relying a great deal on their spirit of decision which has already dragged them out of dangerous passes. But what they know is that they will not weaken. And they go ahead, exciting each other; one would say that they are united now unto death, firm and decided like two bandits at the hour when the capital game is to be played.
The land of thick branches which they traverse, under the oppression of very high mountains which they do not see, is all in ravines, profound and torn up, in precipices50, where torrents51 roar under the green night of the foliage. The oaks, the beeches52, the chestnut trees become more and more enormous, living through centuries off a sap ever fresh and magnificent. A powerful verdure is strewn over that disturbed geology; for ages it covers and classifies it under the freshness of its immovable mantle53. And this nebulous sky, almost obscure, which is familiar to the Basque country, adds to the impression which they have of a sort of universal meditation54 wherein the things are plunged55; a strange penumbra56 descends58 from everywhere, descends from the trees at first, descends from the thick, gray veils above the branches, descends from the great Pyrenees hidden behind the clouds.
And, in the midst of this immense peace and of this green night, they pass, Ramuntcho and Arrochkoa, like two young disturbers going to break charms in the depths of forests. At all cross roads old, granite crosses rise, like alarm signals to warn them; old crosses with this inscription59, sublimely60 simple, which is here something like the device of an entire race: “O crux61, ave, spes unica!”
Soon the night will come. Now they are silent, because the hour is going, because the moment approaches, because all these crosses on the road are beginning to intimidate62 them—
And the day falls, under that sad veil which covers the sky. The valleys become more savage, the country more deserted64. And, at the corners of roads, the old crosses appear, ever with their similar inscriptions65: “O crux, ave, spes unica!”
Amezqueta, at the last twilight66. They stop their carriage at an outskirt of the village, before the cider mill. Arrochkoa is impatient to go into the house of the sisters, vexed67 at arriving so late; he fears that the door may not be opened to them. Ramuntcho, silent, lets him act.
It is above, on the hill; it is that isolated house which a cross surmounts68 and which one sees in relief in white on the darker mass of the mountain. They recommend that as soon as the horse is rested the wagon be brought to them, at a turn, to wait for them. Then, both go into the avenue of trees which leads to that convent and where the thickness of the May foliage makes the obscurity almost nocturnal. Without saying anything to each other, without making a noise with their sandals, they ascend69 in a supple70 and easy manner; around them the profound fields are impregnated by the immense melancholy71 of the night.
Arrochkoa knocks with his finger on the door of the peaceful house:
“I would like to see my sister, if you please,” he says to an old nun48 who opens the door, astonished—
Before he has finished talking, a cry of joy comes from the dark corridor, and a nun, whom one divines is young in spite of the envelopment72 of her dissembling costume, comes and takes his hand. She has recognized him by his voice,—but has she divined the other who stays behind and does not talk?—
The Mother Superior has come also, and, in the darkness of the stairway, she makes them go up to the parlor73 of the little country convent; then she brings the cane-seat chairs and everyone sits down, Arrochkoa near his sister, Ramuntcho opposite,—and they face each other at last, the two lovers, and a silence, full of the beating of arteries74, full of leaps of hearts, full of fever, descends upon them—
Truly, in this place, one knows not what peace almost sweet, and a little sepulchral75 also, envelopes the terrible interview; in the depth of the chests, the hearts beat with great blows, but the words of love or of violence, the words die before passing the lips.—And this peace, more and more establishes itself; it seems as if a white shroud76 little by little is covering everything, in order to calm and to extinguish.
There is nothing very peculiar77, however, in this humble parlor: four walls absolutely bare under a coat of whitewash78; a wooden ceiling; a floor where one slips, so carefully waxed it is; on a table, a plaster Virgin79, already indistinct, among all the similar white things of the background where the twilight of May is dying. And a window without curtains, open on the grand Pyrenean horizons invaded by night.—But, from this voluntary poverty, from this white simplicity80, is exhaled81 a notion of definitive82 impersonality84, of renunciation forever; and the irremediability of accomplished things begins to manifest itself to the mind of Ramuntcho, while bringing to him a sort of peace, of sudden and involuntary resignation.
The two smugglers, immovable on their chairs, appear as silhouettes86, of wide shoulders on all this white of the walls, and of their lost features one hardly sees the black more intense of the mustache and the eyes. The two nuns, whose outlines are unified87 by the veil, seem already to be two spectres all black—
“Wait, Sister Mary Angelique,” says the Mother Superior to the transformed young girl who was formerly named Gracieuse, “wait sister till I light the lamp in order that you may at least see your brother's face!”
She goes out, leaving them together, and, again, silence falls on this rare instant, perhaps unique, impossible to regain, when they are alone—
She comes back with a little lamp which makes the eyes of the smugglers shine,—and with a gay voice, a kind air, asks, looking at Ramuntcho:
“And this one? A second brother, I suppose?—”
“Oh, no,” says Arrochkoa in a singular tone. “He is only my friend.”
In truth, he is not their brother, that Ramuntcho who stays there, ferocious88 and mute.—And how he would frighten the quiet nuns if they knew what storm brings him here—!
The same silence returns, heavy and disquieting89, on these beings who, it seems, should talk simply of simple things; and the old Mother Superior remarks it, is astonished by it.—But the quick eyes of Ramuntcho become immovable, veil themselves as if they are fascinated by some invisible tamer. Under the harsh envelope, still beating, of his chest, the calmness, the imposed calmness continues to penetrate16 and to extend. On him, doubtless, are acting the mysterious, white powers which are here in the air; religious heredities which were asleep in the depths of his being fill him now with unexpected respect and submissiveness; the antique symbols dominate him: the crosses met in the evening along the road and that plaster Virgin of the color of snow, immaculate on the spotless white of the wall—
“Well, my children, talk of the things of Etchezar,” says the Mother Superior to Gracieuse and to her brother. “We shall leave you alone, if you wish,” she adds with a sign to Ramuntcho to follow her.
“Oh, no,” protests Arrochkoa, “Let him stay.—No, he is not the one—who prevents us—”
And the little nun, veiled in the fashion of the Middle Age, lowers her head, to maintain her eyes hidden in the shade of her austere90 headdress.
The door remains91 open, the window remains open; the house, the things retain their air of absolute confidence, of absolute security, against violations92 and sacrilege. Now two other sisters, who are very old, set a small table, put two covers, bring to Arrochkoa and to his friend a little supper, a loaf of bread, cheese, cake, grapes from the arbor93. In arranging these things they have a youthful gaiety, a babble94 almost childish—and all this is strangely opposed to the ardent95 violence which is here, hushed, thrown back into the depth of minds, as under the blows of some mace96 covered with white—
And, in spite of themselves, they are seated at the table, the two smugglers, opposite each other, yielding to insistence97 and eating absent-mindedly the frugal98 things, on a cloth as white as the walls. Their broad shoulders, accustomed to loads, lean on the backs of the little chairs and make their frail99 wood crack. Around them come and go the Sisters, ever with their discreet100 talk and their puerile101 laugh, which escape, somewhat softened102, from under their veils. Alone, she remains mute and motionless, Sister Mary Angelique: standing103 near her brother who is seated, she places her hand on his powerful shoulder; so lithe104 beside him that she looks like a saint of a primitive church picture. Ramuntcho, sombre, observes them both; he had not been able to see yet the face of Gracieuse, so severely105 her headdress framed it. They resemble each other still, the brother and the sister; in their very long eyes, which have acquired expressions more than ever different remains something inexplicably106 similar, persists the same flame, that flame which impelled107 one toward adventures and the life of the muscles, the other toward mystic dreams, toward mortification108 and annihilation of flesh. But she has become as frail as he is robust109; her breast doubtless is no more, nor her hips111; the black vestment wherein her body remains hidden falls straight like a furrow112 enclosing nothing carnal.
And now, for the first time, they are face to face, Gracieuse and Ramuntcho; their eyes have met and gazed on one another. She does not lower her head before him; but it is as from an infinite distance that she looks at him, it is as from behind white mists that none may scale, as from the other side of an abyss, as from the other side of death; very soft, nevertheless, her glance indicates that she is as if she were absent, gone to tranquil113 and inaccessible114 other places.—And it is Ramuntcho at last who, still more tamed, lowers his ardent eyes before her virgin eyes.
They continue to babble, the Sisters; they would like to retain them both at Amezqueta for the night: the weather, they say, is so black, and a storm threatens.—M. the Cure, who went out to take communion to a patient in the mountain, will come back; he has known Arrochkoa at Etchezar when a vicar there; he would be glad to give him a room in the parish house—and one to his friend also, of course—
But no, Arrochkoa refuses, after a questioning glance at Ramuntcho. It is impossible to stay in the village; they will even go at once, or after a few moments of conversation, for they are expected on the Spanish frontier.—Gracieuse who, at first, in her mortal disturbance115 of mind, had not dared to talk, begins to question her brother. Now in Basque, then in French, she asks for news of those whom she has forever abandoned:
“And mother? All alone now in the house, even at night?”
“Oh, no,” says Arrochkoa, “Catherine watches over her and sleeps at the house.”
“And how is your child, Arrochkoa, has he been christened? What is his name? Lawrence, doubtless, like his grandfather.”
Etchezar, their village, is separated from Amezqueta by some sixty kilometres, in a land without more means of communication than in the past centuries:
“Oh, in spite of the distance,” says the little nun, “I get news of you sometimes. Last month, people here had met on the market place of Hasparren, women of our village; that is how I learned—many things.—At Easter I had hoped to see you; I was told that there would be a ball-game at Erricalde and that you would come to play there; then I said to myself that perhaps you would come here—and, while the festival lasted, I looked often at the road through this window, to see if you were coming—”
And she shows the window, open on the blackness of the savage country—from which ascends116 an immense silence, with, from time to time, the noise of spring, intermittent117 musical notes of crickets and tree-toads.
Hearing her talk so quietly, Ramuntcho feels confounded by this renunciation of all things; she appears to him still more irrevocably changed, far-off—poor little nun!—Her name was Gracieuse; now her name is Sister Mary Angelique, and she has no relatives; impersonal83 here, in this little house with white walls, without terrestrial hope and without desire, perhaps—one might as well say that she has departed for the regions of the grand oblivion of death. And yet, she smiles, quite serene118 now and apparently119 not even suffering.
Arrochkoa looks at Ramuntcho, questions him with a piercing eye accustomed to fathom120 the black depths—and, tamed himself by all this unexpected peace, he understands very well that his bold comrade dares no longer, that all the projects have fallen, that all is useless and inert121 in presence of the invisible wall with which his sister is surrounded. At moments, pressed to end all in one way or in another, in a haste to break this charm or to submit to it and to fly before it, he pulls his watch, says that it is time to go, because of the friends who are waiting for them.—The Sisters know well who these friends are and why they are waiting but they are not affected122 by this: Basques themselves, daughters and granddaughters of Basques, they have the blood of smugglers in their veins123 and consider such things indulgently—
At last, for the first time, Gracieuse titters the name of Ramuntcho; not daring, however, to address him directly, she asks her brother, with a calm smile:
“Then he is with you, Ramuntcho, now? You work together?”
A silence follows, and Arrochkoa looks at Ramuntcho.
“No,” says the latter, in a slow and sombre voice, “no—I, I go to-morrow to America—”
Every word of this reply, harshly scanned, is like a sound of trouble and of defiance124 in the midst of that strange serenity125. She leans more heavily on her brother's shoulder, the little nun, and Ramuntcho, conscious of the profound blow which he has struck, looks at her and envelopes her with his tempting126 eyes, having regained127 his audacity128, attractive and dangerous in the last effort of his heart full of love, of his entire being of youth and of flame made for tenderness.—Then, for an uncertain minute, it seems as if the little convent had trembled; it seems as if the white powers of the air recoiled129, went out like sad, unreal mists before this young dominator, come here to hurl130 the triumphant131 appeal of life. And the silence which follows is the heaviest of all the silent moments which have interrupted already that species of drama played almost without words—
At last, Sister Mary Angelique talks, and talks to Ramuntcho himself. Really it does not seem as if her heart had just been torn supremely132 by the announcement of that departure, nor as if she had just shuddered133 under that lover's look.—With a voice which little by little becomes firmer in softness, she says very simple things, as to any friend.
“Oh, yes—Uncle Ignacio?—I had always thought that you would go to rejoin him there.—We shall all pray the Holy Virgin to accompany you in your voyage—”
And it is the smuggler85 who lowers the head, realizing that all is ended, that she is lost forever, the little companion of his childhood; that she has been buried in an inviolable shroud.—The words of love and of temptation which he had thought of saying, the projects which he had revolved134 in his mind for months, all these seemed insensate, sacrilegious, impossible things, childish bravadoes.—Arrochkoa, who looks at him attentively135, is under the same irresistible136 and light charm; they understand each other and, to one another, without words, they confess that there is nothing to do, that they will never dare—
Nevertheless an anguish137 still human appears in the eyes of Sister Mary Angelique when Arrochkoa rises for the definite departure: she prays, in a changed voice, for them to stay a moment longer. And Ramuntcho suddenly feels like throwing himself on his knees in front of her; his head on the hem9 of her veil, sobbing138 all the tears that stifle139 him; like begging for mercy, like begging for mercy also of that Mother Superior who has so soft an air; like telling both of them that this sweetheart of his childhood was his hope, his courage, his life, and that people must have a little pity, people must give her back to him, because, without her, there is no longer anything.—All that his heart contains that is infinitely140 good is exalted141 at present into an immense necessity to implore142, into an outbreak of supplicating143 prayer and also into a confidence in the kindness, in the pity of others—
And who knows, if he had dared formulate144 that great prayer of pure tenderness, who knows what he might have awakened145 of kindness also, and of tenderness and of humanity in the poor, black-veiled girl?—Perhaps this old Mother Superior herself, this old, dried-up girl with childish smile and grave, pure eyes, would have opened her arms to him, as to a son, understanding everything, forgiving everything, despite the rules and despite the vows? And perhaps Gracieuse might have been returned to him, without kidnapping, without deception146, almost excused by her companions of the cloister147. Or at last, if that was impossible, she would have bade him a long farewell, consoling, softened by a kiss of immaterial love—
But no, he stays there mute on his chair. Even that prayer he cannot make. And it is the hour to go, decidedly. Arrochkoa is up, agitated148, calling him with an imperious sign of the head. Then he straightens up also his proud bust110 and takes his cap to follow Arrochkoa. They express their thanks for the little supper which was given to them and they say good-night, timidly. During their entire visit they were very respectful, almost timid, the two superb smugglers. And, as if hope had not just been undone149, as if one of them was not leaving behind him his life, they descend57 quietly the neat stairway, between the white walls, while the good Sisters light the way with their little lamp.
“Come, Sister Mary Angelique,” gaily150 proposes the Mother Superior, in her frail, infantile voice, “we shall escort them to the end of our avenue, you know, near the village.”
Is she an old fairy, sure of her power, or a simple and unconscious woman, playing without knowing it, with a great, devouring151 fire?—It was all finished; the parting had been accomplished; the farewell accepted; the struggle stifled152 under white wadding,—and now the two who adored each other are walking side by side, outside, in the tepid153 night of spring!—in the amorous154, enveloping155 night, under the cover of the new leaves and on the tall grass, among all the saps that ascend in the midst of the sovereign growth of universal life.
They walk with short steps, through this exquisite156 obscurity, as in silent accord, to make the shaded path last longer, both mute, in the ardent desire and the intense fear of contact of their clothes, of a touch of their hands. Arrochkoa and the Mother Superior follow them closely, on their heels; without talking, nuns with their sandals, smugglers with their rope soles, they go through these soft, dark spots without making more noise than phantoms157, and their little cortege, slow and strange, descends toward the wagon in a funereal158 silence. Silence also around them, everywhere in the grand, ambient black, in the depth of the mountains and the woods. And, in the sky without stars, sleep the big clouds, heavy with all the water that the soil awaits and which will fall to-morrow to make the woods still more leafy, the grass still higher; the big clouds above their heads cover all the splendor159 of the southern summer which so often, in their childhood, charmed them together, disturbed them together, but which Ramuntcho will doubtless never see again and which in the future Gracieuse will have to look at with eyes of one dead, without understanding nor recognizing it—
There is no one around them, in the little obscure alley63, and the village seems asleep already. The night has fallen quite; its grand mystery is scattered160 everywhere, on the mountains and the savage valleys.—And, how easy it would be to execute what these two young men have resolved, in that solitude161, with that wagon which is ready and that fast horse—!
However, without having talked, without having touched each other, they come, the lovers, to that turn of the path where they must bid each other an eternal farewell. The wagon is there, held by a boy; the lantern is lighted and the horse impatient. The Mother Superior stops: it is, apparently, the last point of the last walk which they will take together in this world,—and she feels the power, that old nun, to decide that it will be thus, without appeal. With the same little, thin voice, almost gay, she says:
“Come, Sister, say good-bye.”
And she says that with the assurance of a Fate whose decrees of death are not disputable.
In truth, nobody attempts to resist her order, impassibly given. He is vanquished162, the rebellious163 Ramuntcho, oh, quite vanquished by the tranquil, white powers; trembling still from the battle which has just come to an end in him, he lowers his head, without will now, and almost without thought, as under the influence of some sleeping potion—
“Come, Sister, say good-bye,” the old, tranquil Fate has said. Then, seeing that Gracieuse has only taken Arrochkoa's hand, she adds:
“Well, you do not kiss your brother?—”
Doubtless, the little Sister Mary Angelique asks for nothing better, to kiss him with all her heart, with all her soul; to clasp him, her brother, to lean on his shoulder and to seek his protection, at that hour of superhuman sacrifice when she must let the cherished one leave her without even a word of love.—And still, her kiss has in it something frightened, at once drawn164 back; the kiss of a nun, somewhat similar to the kiss of one dead.—When will she ever see him again, that brother, who is not to leave the Basque country, however? When will she have news of her mother, of the house, of the village, from some passer-by who will stop here, coming from Etchezar?—
“We will pray,” she says again, “to the Holy Virgin to protect you in your long voyage—” And how they go; slowly they turn back, like silent shades, toward the humble convent which the cross protects, and the two tamed smugglers, immovable on the road, look at their veils, darker than the night of the trees, disappearing in the obscure avenue.
Oh! she is wrecked165 also, the one who will disappear in the darkness of the little, shady hill.—But she is nevertheless soothed166 by white, peaceful vapors167, and all that she suffers will soon be quieted under a sort of sleep. To-morrow she will take again, until death, the course of her strangely simple existence; impersonal, devoted168 to a series of daily duties which never change, absorbed in a reunion of creatures almost neutral, who have abdicated169 everything, she will be able to walk with eyes lifted ever toward the soft, celestial170 mirage—
O crux, ave, spes unica—!
To live, without variety or truce171 to the end, between the white walls of a cell always the same, now here, then elsewhere, at the pleasure of a strange will, in one of those humble village convents to which one has not even the leisure to become attached. On this earth, to possess nothing and to desire nothing, to wait for nothing, to hope for nothing. To accept as empty and transitory the fugitive hours of this world, and to feel freed from everything, even from love, as much as by death.—The mystery of such lives remains forever unintelligible172 to those young men who are there, made for the daily battle, beautiful beings of instinct and of strength, a prey173 to all the desires; created to enjoy life and to suffer from it, to love it and to continue it—
O crux, ave, spes unica!—One sees them no longer, they have re-entered their little, solitary convent.
The two men have not exchanged even a word on their abandoned undertaking174, on the ill-defined cause which for the first time has undone their courage; they feel, toward one another, almost a sense of shame of their sudden and insurmountable timidity.
For an instant their proud heads were turned toward the nuns slowly fleeing; now they look at each other through the night.
They are going to part, and probably forever: Arrochkoa puts into his friends hands the reins175 of the little wagon which, according to his promise, he lends to him:
“Well, my poor Ramuntcho!” he says, in a tone of commiseration176 hardly affectionate.
And the unexpressed end of the phrase signifies clearly:
“Go, since you have failed; and I have to go and meet my friends—”
Ramuntcho would have kissed him with all his heart for the last farewell,—and in this embrace of the brother of the beloved one, he would have shed doubtless good, hot tears which, for a moment at least, would have cured him a little.
But no, Arrochkoa has become again the Arrochkoa of the bad days, the gambler without soul, that only bold things interest. Absentmindedly, he touches Ramuntcho's hand:
“Well, good-bye!—Good luck—”
And, with silent steps, he goes toward the smugglers, toward the frontier, toward the propitious177 darkness.
Then Ramuntcho, alone in the world now, whips the little, mountain horse who gallops178 with his light tinkling179 of bells.—That train which will pass by Aranotz, that vessel which will start from Bordeaux—an instinct impels180 Ramuntcho not to miss them. Mechanically he hastens, no longer knowing why, like a body without a mind which continues to obey an ancient impulsion, and, very quickly, he who has no aim and no hope in the world, plunges181 into the savage country, into the thickness of the woods, in all that profound blackness of the night of May, which the nuns, from their elevated window, see around them—
For him the native land is closed, closed forever; finished are the delicious dreams of his first years. He is a plant uprooted182 from the dear, Basque soil and which a breath of adventure blows elsewhere.
At the horse's neck, gaily the bells tinkle183, in the silence of the sleeping woods; the light of the lantern, which runs hastily, shows to the sad fugitive the under side of branches, fresh verdure of oaks; by the wayside, flowers of France; from distance to distance, the walls of a familiar hamlet, of an old church,—all the things which he will never see again, unless it be, perhaps, in a doubtful and very distant old age—
In front of his route, there is America, exile without probable return, an immense new world, full of surprises and approached now without courage: an entire life, very long, doubtless, during which his mind plucked from here will have to suffer and to harden over there; his vigor29 spend and exhaust itself none knows where, in unknown labors184 and struggles—
Above, in their little convent, in their sepulchre with walls so white, the tranquil nuns recite their evening prayers—
O crux, ave, spes unica—!
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
uncertainties
|
|
| 无把握( uncertainty的名词复数 )； 不确定； 变化不定； 无把握、不确定的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
abrupt
|
|
| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
foliage
|
|
| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
wagon
|
|
| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
plunge
|
|
| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
hem
|
|
| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
primitive
|
|
| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
flora
|
|
| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
granite
|
|
| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
habitual
|
|
| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
penetrate
|
|
| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
penetrates
|
|
| v.穿过( penetrate的第三人称单数 )；刺入；了解；渗透 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
isolated
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
vault
|
|
| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
chestnut
|
|
| n.栗树，栗子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
facade
|
|
| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
reigned
|
|
| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
rustic
|
|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
immutable
|
|
| adj.不可改变的，永恒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
woolen
|
|
| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
celebrated
|
|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
preoccupied
|
|
| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
vigor
|
|
| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
accomplice
|
|
| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
bridle
|
|
| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
feverishly
|
|
| adv. 兴奋地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
gallop
|
|
| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
allied
|
|
| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
skilful
|
|
| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
emigrant
|
|
| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
vessel
|
|
| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
embarked
|
|
| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
fugitive
|
|
| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
regain
|
|
| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
intoxication
|
|
| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
vows
|
|
| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
enveloped
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
nun
|
|
| n.修女，尼姑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
nuns
|
|
| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
precipices
|
|
| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
torrents
|
|
| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
beeches
|
|
| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
mantle
|
|
| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
penumbra
|
|
| n.（日蚀）半影部 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
descend
|
|
| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
descends
|
|
| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
inscription
|
|
| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
sublimely
|
|
| 高尚地，卓越地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
crux
|
|
| adj.十字形；难事，关键，最重要点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
intimidate
|
|
| vt.恐吓，威胁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
alley
|
|
| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
inscriptions
|
|
| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
surmounts
|
|
| 战胜( surmount的第三人称单数 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
ascend
|
|
| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
supple
|
|
| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
envelopment
|
|
| n.包封，封套 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
parlor
|
|
| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
arteries
|
|
| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
sepulchral
|
|
| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
shroud
|
|
| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
whitewash
|
|
| v.粉刷，掩饰；n.石灰水，粉刷，掩饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
exhaled
|
|
| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
definitive
|
|
| adj.确切的，权威性的；最后的，决定性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
impersonal
|
|
| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
impersonality
|
|
| n.无人情味 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
smuggler
|
|
| n.走私者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
silhouettes
|
|
| 轮廓( silhouette的名词复数 )； （人的）体形； （事物的）形状； 剪影 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
unified
|
|
| (unify 的过去式和过去分词)； 统一的； 统一标准的； 一元化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
ferocious
|
|
| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
disquieting
|
|
| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
austere
|
|
| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
violations
|
|
| 违反( violation的名词复数 )； 冒犯； 违反（行为、事例）； 强奸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
arbor
|
|
| n.凉亭；树木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
babble
|
|
| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
mace
|
|
| n.狼牙棒，豆蔻干皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
insistence
|
|
| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
frugal
|
|
| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
frail
|
|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
discreet
|
|
| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
puerile
|
|
| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
lithe
|
|
| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
severely
|
|
| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
inexplicably
|
|
| adv.无法说明地，难以理解地，令人难以理解的是 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
impelled
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
mortification
|
|
| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
robust
|
|
| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
bust
|
|
| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
hips
|
|
| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
furrow
|
|
| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
tranquil
|
|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
inaccessible
|
|
| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
disturbance
|
|
| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
ascends
|
|
| v.上升，攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
intermittent
|
|
| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
fathom
|
|
| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
inert
|
|
| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
defiance
|
|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
serenity
|
|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
tempting
|
|
| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
regained
|
|
| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
audacity
|
|
| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
recoiled
|
|
| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
hurl
|
|
| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
triumphant
|
|
| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
supremely
|
|
| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
revolved
|
|
| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
attentively
|
|
| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
irresistible
|
|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
sobbing
|
|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
stifle
|
|
| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
exalted
|
|
| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
implore
|
|
| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
supplicating
|
|
| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
formulate
|
|
| v.用公式表示；规划；设计；系统地阐述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
deception
|
|
| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
cloister
|
|
| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
undone
|
|
| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
devouring
|
|
| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
stifled
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
tepid
|
|
| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
amorous
|
|
| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
enveloping
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
phantoms
|
|
| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
funereal
|
|
| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
splendor
|
|
| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
vanquished
|
|
| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
rebellious
|
|
| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
wrecked
|
|
| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
soothed
|
|
| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
vapors
|
|
| n.水汽，水蒸气，无实质之物( vapor的名词复数 )；自夸者；幻想 [药]吸入剂 [古]忧郁（症）v.自夸，（使）蒸发( vapor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
abdicated
|
|
| 放弃（职责、权力等）( abdicate的过去式和过去分词 )； 退位，逊位 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
celestial
|
|
| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
truce
|
|
| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
unintelligible
|
|
| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
undertaking
|
|
| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
reins
|
|
| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
commiseration
|
|
| n.怜悯，同情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
propitious
|
|
| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
gallops
|
|
| （马等）奔驰，骑马奔驰( gallop的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
tinkling
|
|
| n.丁当作响声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
impels
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
plunges
|
|
| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
uprooted
|
|
| v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的过去式和过去分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
tinkle
|
|
| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
labors
|
|
| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |