He was dressed in a lama wool bedroom suit and his resting leg was covered by a very splendid and beautiful fur rug. All Euphemia's best and gayest cushions sustained his back. The furniture had been completely rearranged for his comfort and convenience. Close to his hand was a little table with carefully selected remedies and aids and helps and stimulants14, and the latest and best of the light fiction of the day was tossed about between the table, the couch and the floor. At the foot of the couch Euphemia's bedroom writing-table had been placed, and over this there were scattered15 traces of the stenographer16 who had assisted him to wipe off the day's correspondence. Three black cylinders17 and other appliances in the corner witnessed that his slight difficulty in breathing could be relieved by oxygen, and his eyes were regaled by a great abundance of London flowers at every available point in the room. Of course there were grapes, fabulous18 looking grapes.
Everything conspired19 to give Sir Isaac and his ownership the centre of the picture. Mr. Brumley had been brought upstairs to him, and the tea table, with scarcely a reference to anyone else, was arranged by Snagsby conveniently to his hand. And Sir Isaac himself had a confidence—the assurance of a man who has been shaken and has recovered. Whatever tears he had ever shed had served their purpose and were forgotten. "Elly" was his and the house was his and everything about him was his—he laid his hand upon her once when she came near him, his possessiveness was so gross—and the strained suspicion of his last meeting with Mr. Brumley was replaced now by a sage20 and wizened21 triumph over anticipated and arrested dangers.
Their party was joined by Sir Isaac's mother, and the sight of her sturdy, swarthy, and rather dignified22 presence flashed the thought into Mr. Brumley's mind that Sir Isaac's father must have been a very blond and very nosey person indeed. She was homely23 and practical and contributed very usefully to a conversation that remained a trifle fragmentary and faintly uncomfortable to the end.
Mr. Brumley avoided as much as he could looking at Lady Harman, because he knew Sir Isaac was alert for that, but he was acutely aware of her presence dispensing24 the tea and moving about the room, being a good wife. It was his first impression of Lady Harman as a good wife and he disliked the spectacle extremely. The conversation hovered25 chiefly about Marienbad, drifted away and came back again. Mrs. Harman made several confidences that provoked the betrayal of a strain of irritability26 in Sir Isaac's condition. "We're all looking forward to this Marienbad expedition," she said. "I do hope it will turn out well. Neither of them have ever been abroad before—and there's the difficulty of the languages."
"Ow," snarled27 Sir Isaac, with a glance at his mother that was almost vicious and a lapse28 into Cockney intonations29 and phrases that witnessed how her presence recalled his youth, "It'll go all right, mother. You needn't fret30."
"Of course they'll have a courier to see to their things, and go train de luxe and all that," Mrs. Harman explained with a certain gusto. "But still it's an adventure, with him not well, and both as I say more like children than grown-up people."
Sir Isaac intervened with a crushing clumsiness to divert this strain of explanation, with questions about the quality of the soil in the wood where the ground was to be cleared and levelled for his tennis lawns.
Mr. Brumley did his best to behave as a man of the world should. He made intelligent replies about the sand, he threw out obvious but serviceable advice upon travel upon the continent of Europe, and he tried not to think that this was the way of living into which the sweetest, tenderest, most beautiful woman in the world had been trapped. He avoided looking at her until he felt it was becoming conspicuous31, a negative stare. Why had she come back again? Fragmentary phrases she had used downstairs came drifting through his mind. "I never think of it. I never read of it." And she so made for beautiful love and a beautiful life! He recalled Lady Beach-Mandarin's absurdly apt, absurdly inept32, "like Godiva," and was suddenly impelled33 to raise the question of those strikers.
"Your trouble with your waitresses is over, Sir Isaac?"
Sir Isaac finished a cup of tea audibly and glanced at his wife. "I never meant to be hard on them," he said, putting down his cup. "Never. The trouble blew up suddenly. One can't be all over a big business everywhere all at once, more particularly if one is worried about other things. As soon as I had time to look into it I put things right. There was misunderstandings on both sides."
He glanced up again at Lady Harman. (She was standing34 behind Mr. Brumley so that he could not see her but—did their eyes meet?)
"As soon as we are back from Marienbad," Sir Isaac volunteered, "Lady Harman and I are going into all that business thoroughly35."
Mr. Brumley concealed36 his intense aversion for this association under a tone of intelligent interest. "Into—I don't quite understand—what business?"
"Women employees in London—Hostels—all that kind of thing. Bit more sensible than suffragetting, eh, Elly?"
"Very interesting," said Mr. Brumley with a hollow cordiality, "very."
"Done on business lines, mind you," said Sir Isaac, looking suddenly very sharp and keen, "done on proper business lines, there's no end of a change possible. And it's a perfectly37 legitimate38 outgrowth from such popular catering39 as ours. It interests me."
He made a little whistling noise with his teeth at the end of this speech.
"I didn't know Lady Harman was disposed to take up such things," he said. "Or I'd have gone into them before."
"He's going into them now," said Mrs. Harman, "heart and soul. Why! we have to take his temperature over it, to see he doesn't work himself up into a fever." Her manner became reasonable and confidential40. She spoke41 to Mr. Brumley as if her son was slightly deaf. "It's better than his fretting," she said....
8
Mr. Brumley returned to London in a state of extreme mental and emotional unrest. The sight of Lady Harman had restored all his passion for her, the all too manifest fact that she was receding42 beyond his reach stirred him with unavailing impulses towards some impossible extremity43 of effort. She had filled his mind so much that he could not endure the thought of living without hope of her. But what hope was there of her? And he was jealous, detestably jealous, so jealous that in that direction he did not dare to let his mind go. He sawed at the bit and brought it back, or he would have had to writhe44 about the carriage. His thoughts ran furiously all over the place to avoid that pit. And now he found himself flashing at moments into wild and hopeless rebellion against the institution of marriage, of which he had hitherto sought always to be the dignified and smiling champion against the innovator45, the over-critical and the young. He had never rebelled before. He was so astonished at the violence of his own objection that he lapsed46 from defiance47 to an incredulous examination of his own novel attitude. "It's not true marriage I object to," he told himself. "It's this marriage like a rat trap, alluring48 and scarcely unavoidable, so that in we all go, and then with no escape—unless you tear yourself to rags. No escape...."
It came to him that there was at least one way out for Lady Harman: Sir Isaac might die! ...
He pulled himself up presently, astonished and dismayed at the activities of his own imagination. Among other things he had wondered if by any chance Lady Harman had ever allowed her mind to travel in this same post-mortem direction. At times surely the thing must have shone upon her as a possibility, a hope. From that he had branched off to a more general speculation49. How many people were there in the world, nice people, kind people, moral and delicate-minded people, to whom the death of another person means release from that inflexible50 barrier—possibilities of secretly desired happiness, the realization51 of crushed and forbidden dreams? He had a vision of human society, like the vision of a night landscape seen suddenly in a lightning flash, as of people caught by couples in traps and quietly hoping for one another's deaths. "Good Heavens!" said Mr. Brumley, "what are we coming to," and got up in his railway compartment—he had it to himself—and walked up and down its narrow limits until a jolt52 over a point made him suddenly sit down again. "Most marriages are happy," said Mr. Brumley, like a man who has fallen into a river and scrambles53 back to safety. "One mustn't judge by the exceptional cases....
"Though of course there are—a good many—exceptional cases." ...
He folded his arms, crossed his legs, frowned and reasoned with himself,—resolved to dismiss post-mortem speculations54—absolutely.
He was not going to quarrel with the institution of marriage. That was going too far. He had never been able to see the beginnings of reason in sexual anarchy55, never. It is against the very order of things. Man is a marrying animal just as much as he was a fire-making animal; he goes in pairs like mantel ornaments56; it is as natural for him to marry and to exact and keep good faith—if need be with a savage57 jealousy58, as it is for him to have lobes59 to his ears and hair under his armpits. These things jar with the dream perhaps; the gods on painted ceilings have no such ties, acting60 beautifully by their very nature; and here on the floor of the world one had them and one had to make the best of them.... Are we making the best of them? Mr. Brumley was off again. That last thought opened the way to speculative61 wildernesses62, and into these Mr. Brumley went wandering with a novel desperate enterprise to find a kind of marriage that would suit him.
He began to reform the marriage laws. He did his utmost not to think especially of Lady Harman and himself while he was doing so. He would just take up the whole question and deal with it in a temperate63 reasonable way. It was so necessary to be reasonable and temperate in these questions—and not to think of death as a solution. Marriages to begin with were too easy to make and too difficult to break; countless64 girls—Lady Harman was only a type—were married long before they could know the beginnings of their own minds. We wanted to delay marriage—until the middle twenties, say. Why not? Or if by the infirmities of humanity one must have marriage before then, there ought to be some especial opportunity of rescinding66 it later. (Lady Harman ought to have been able to rescind65 her marriage.) What ought to be the marriageable age in a civilized67 community? When the mind was settled into its general system of opinions Mr. Brumley thought, and then lapsed into a speculation whether the mind didn't keep changing and developing all through life; Lady Harman's was certainly still doing so.... This pointed68 to logical consequences of an undesirable69 sort....
(Some little mind-slide occurred just at this point and he found himself thinking that perhaps Sir Isaac might last for years and years, might even outlive a wife exhausted70 by nursing. And anyhow to wait for death! To leave the thing one loved in the embrace of the moribund71!)
He wrenched72 his thoughts back as quickly as possible to a disinterested73 reform of the marriage laws. What had he decided74 so far? Only for more deliberation and a riper age in marrying. Surely that should appeal even to the most orthodox. But that alone would not eliminate mistakes and deceptions75 altogether. (Sir Isaac's skin had a peculiar76, unhealthy look.) There ought in addition to be the widest facilities for divorce possible. Mr. Brumley tried to draw up a schedule in his head of the grounds for divorce that a really civilized community would entertain. But there are practical difficulties. Marriage is not simply a sexual union, it is an economic one of a peculiarly inseparable sort,—and there are the children. And jealousy! Of course so far as economics went, a kind of marriage settlement might meet most of the difficulties, and as for the children, Mr. Brumley was no longer in that mood of enthusiastic devotion to children that had made the birth of George Edmund so tremendous an event. Children, alone, afforded no reason for indissoluble lifelong union. Face the thing frankly77. How long was it absolutely necessary for people to keep a home together for their children? The prosperous classes, the best classes in the community, packed the little creatures off to school at the age of nine or ten. One might overdo—we were overdoing78 in our writing nowadays this—philoprogenitive enthusiasm....
He found himself thinking of George Meredith's idea of Ten Year Marriages....
His mind recoiled79 to Sir Isaac's pillowed-up possession. What flimsy stuff all this talk of altered marriage was! These things did not even touch the essentials of the matter. He thought of Sir Isaac's thin lips and wary knowing eyes. What possible divorce law could the wit of man devise that would release a desired woman from that—grip? Marriage was covetousness80 made law. As well ask such a man to sell all his goods and give to the poor as expect the Sir Isaacs of this world to relax the matrimonial subjugation81 of the wife. Our social order is built on jealousy, sustained by jealousy, and those brave schemes we evolve in our studies for the release of women from ownership,—and for that matter for the release of men too,—they will not stand the dusty heat of the market-place for a moment, they wilt82 under the first fierce breath of reality. Marriage and property are the twin children of man's individualistic nature; only on these terms can he be drawn83 into societies....
Mr. Brumley found his little scheme for novelties in marriage and divorce lying dead and for the most part still-born in his mind; himself in despair. To set to work to alter marriage in any essential point was, he realized, as if an ant should start to climb a thousand feet of cliff. This great institution rose upon his imagination like some insurmountable sierra, blue and sombre, between himself and the life of Lady Harman and all that he desired. There might be a certain amount of tinkering with matrimonial law in the next few years, of petty tinkering that would abolish a few pretences84 and give ease to a few amiable85 people, but if he were to come back to life a thousand years hence he felt he would still find the ancient gigantic barrier, crossed perhaps by a dangerous road, pierced perhaps by a narrow tunnel or so, but in all its great essentials the same, between himself and Lady Harman. It wasn't that it was rational, it wasn't that it was justifiable86, but it was one with the blood in one's veins87 and the rain-cloud in the sky, a necessity in the nature of present things. Before mankind emerged from the valley of these restraints—if ever they did emerge—thousands of generations must follow one another, there must be tens of thousands of years of struggle and thought and trial, in the teeth of prevalent habit and opinion—and primordial88 instincts. A new humanity....
His heart sank to hopelessness.
Meanwhile? Meanwhile we had to live our lives.
He began to see a certain justification89 for the hidden cults90 that run beneath the fair appearances of life, those social secrecies91 by which people—how could one put it?—people who do not agree with established institutions, people, at any rate not merely egoistic and jealous as the crowd is egoistic and jealous, hide and help one another to mitigate92 the inflexible austerities of the great unreason.
Yes, Mr. Brumley had got to a phrase of that quality for the undiscriminating imperatives93 of the fundamental social institution. You see how a particular situation may undermine the assumptions of a mind originally devoted94 to uncritical acceptances. He still insisted it was a necessary great unreason, absolutely necessary—for the mass of people, a part of them, a natural expression of them, but he could imagine the possibility—of 'understandings.' ... Mr. Brumley was very vague about those understandings, those mysteries of the exalted95 that were to filch96 happiness from the destroying grasp of the crude and jealous. He had to be vague. For secret and noble are ideas like oil and water; you may fling them together with all the force of your will but in a little while they will separate again.
For a time this dream of an impossible secrecy97 was uppermost in Mr. Brumley's meditations98. It came into his head with the effect of a discovery that always among the unclimbable barriers of this supreme99 institution there had been,—caves. He had been reading Anatole France recently and the lady of Le Lys Rouge100 came into his thoughts. There was something in common between Lady Harman and the Countess Martin, they were tall and dark and dignified, and Lady Harman was one of those rare women who could have carried the magnificent name of Thérèse. And there in the setting of Paris and Florence was a whole microcosm of love, real but illicit101, carried out as it were secretly and tactfully, beneath the great shadow of the cliff. But he found it difficult to imagine Lady Harman in that. Or Sir Isaac playing Count Martin's part....
How different were those Frenchwomen, with their afternoons vacant except for love, their detachment, their lovers, those secret, convenient, romantically furnished flats, that compact explicit102 business of l'amour! He had indeed some moments of regret that Lady Harman wouldn't go into that picture. She was different—if only in her simplicity103. There was something about these others that put them whole worlds apart from her, who was held so tethered from all furtive104 adventure by her filmy tentacles105 of responsibility, her ties and strands106 of relationship, her essential delicacy107. That momentary108 vision of Ellen as the Countess Martin broke up into absurdities109 directly he looked at it fully13 and steadfastly110. From thinking of the two women as similar types he passed into thinking of them as opposites; Thérèse, hard, clear, sensuous111, secretive, trained by a brilliant tradition in the technique of connubial112 betrayal, was the very antithesis113 of Ellen's vague but invincible114 veracity115 and openness. Not for nothing had Anatole France made his heroine the daughter of a grasping financial adventurer....
Of course the cave is a part of the mountain....
His mind drifted away to still more general speculations, and always he was trying not to see the figure of Sir Isaac, grimly and yet meanly resolute—in possession. Always too like some open-mouthed yokel116 at a fair who knows nothing of the insult chalked upon his back, he disregarded how he himself coveted117 and desired and would if he could have gripped. He forgot his own watchful118 attention to Euphemia in the past, nor did he think what he might have been if Lady Harman had been his wife. It needed the chill veracities119 of the small hours to bring him to that. He thought now of crude egotism as having Sir Isaac's hands and Sir Isaac's eyes and Sir Isaac's position. He forgot any egotism he himself was betraying.
All the paths of enlightenment he thought of, led to Lady Harman.
点击收听单词发音
1 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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2 propped | |
支撑,支持,维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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4 wary | |
adj.谨慎的,机警的,小心的 | |
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5 proprietorship | |
n.所有(权);所有权 | |
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6 deferentially | |
adv.表示敬意地,谦恭地 | |
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7 asthma | |
n.气喘病,哮喘病 | |
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8 fiddles | |
n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 );欺诈;(需要运用手指功夫的)细巧活动;当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 );篡改;骗取;修理或稍作改动 | |
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9 facetious | |
adj.轻浮的,好开玩笑的 | |
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10 apropos | |
adv.恰好地;adj.恰当的;关于 | |
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11 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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12 incarceration | |
n.监禁,禁闭;钳闭 | |
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13 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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14 stimulants | |
n.兴奋剂( stimulant的名词复数 );含兴奋剂的饮料;刺激物;激励物 | |
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15 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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16 stenographer | |
n.速记员 | |
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17 cylinders | |
n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 );圆柱;汽缸;(尤指用作容器的)圆筒状物 | |
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18 fabulous | |
adj.极好的;极为巨大的;寓言中的,传说中的 | |
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19 conspired | |
密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 ); 搞阴谋; (事件等)巧合; 共同导致 | |
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20 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
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21 wizened | |
adj.凋谢的;枯槁的 | |
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22 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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23 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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24 dispensing | |
v.分配( dispense的现在分词 );施与;配(药) | |
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25 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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26 irritability | |
n.易怒 | |
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27 snarled | |
v.(指狗)吠,嗥叫, (人)咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 );咆哮着说,厉声地说 | |
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28 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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29 intonations | |
n.语调,说话的抑扬顿挫( intonation的名词复数 );(演奏或唱歌中的)音准 | |
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30 fret | |
v.(使)烦恼;(使)焦急;(使)腐蚀,(使)磨损 | |
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31 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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32 inept | |
adj.不恰当的,荒谬的,拙劣的 | |
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33 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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35 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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36 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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37 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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38 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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39 catering | |
n. 给养 | |
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40 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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41 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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42 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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43 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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44 writhe | |
vt.挣扎,痛苦地扭曲;vi.扭曲,翻腾,受苦;n.翻腾,苦恼 | |
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45 innovator | |
n.改革者;创新者 | |
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46 lapsed | |
adj.流失的,堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
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47 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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48 alluring | |
adj.吸引人的,迷人的 | |
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49 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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50 inflexible | |
adj.不可改变的,不受影响的,不屈服的 | |
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51 realization | |
n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
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52 jolt | |
v.(使)摇动,(使)震动,(使)颠簸 | |
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53 scrambles | |
n.抢夺( scramble的名词复数 )v.快速爬行( scramble的第三人称单数 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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54 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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55 anarchy | |
n.无政府状态;社会秩序混乱,无秩序 | |
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56 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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57 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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58 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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59 lobes | |
n.耳垂( lobe的名词复数 );(器官的)叶;肺叶;脑叶 | |
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60 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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61 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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62 wildernesses | |
荒野( wilderness的名词复数 ); 沙漠; (政治家)在野; 不再当政(或掌权) | |
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63 temperate | |
adj.温和的,温带的,自我克制的,不过分的 | |
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64 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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65 rescind | |
v.废除,取消 | |
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66 rescinding | |
v.废除,取消( rescind的现在分词 ) | |
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67 civilized | |
a.有教养的,文雅的 | |
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68 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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69 undesirable | |
adj.不受欢迎的,不良的,不合意的,讨厌的;n.不受欢迎的人,不良分子 | |
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70 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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71 moribund | |
adj.即将结束的,垂死的 | |
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72 wrenched | |
v.(猛力地)扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 );扭伤;使感到痛苦;使悲痛 | |
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73 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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74 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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75 deceptions | |
欺骗( deception的名词复数 ); 骗术,诡计 | |
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76 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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77 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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78 overdoing | |
v.做得过分( overdo的现在分词 );太夸张;把…煮得太久;(工作等)过度 | |
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79 recoiled | |
v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 );退缩;报应;返回 | |
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80 covetousness | |
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81 subjugation | |
n.镇压,平息,征服 | |
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82 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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83 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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84 pretences | |
n.假装( pretence的名词复数 );作假;自命;自称 | |
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85 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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86 justifiable | |
adj.有理由的,无可非议的 | |
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87 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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88 primordial | |
adj.原始的;最初的 | |
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89 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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90 cults | |
n.迷信( cult的名词复数 );狂热的崇拜;(有极端宗教信仰的)异教团体 | |
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91 secrecies | |
保密(secrecy的复数形式) | |
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92 mitigate | |
vt.(使)减轻,(使)缓和 | |
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93 imperatives | |
n.必要的事( imperative的名词复数 );祈使语气;必须履行的责任 | |
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94 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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95 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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96 filch | |
v.偷窃 | |
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97 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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98 meditations | |
默想( meditation的名词复数 ); 默念; 沉思; 冥想 | |
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99 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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100 rouge | |
n.胭脂,口红唇膏;v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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101 illicit | |
adj.非法的,禁止的,不正当的 | |
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102 explicit | |
adj.详述的,明确的;坦率的;显然的 | |
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103 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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104 furtive | |
adj.鬼鬼崇崇的,偷偷摸摸的 | |
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105 tentacles | |
n.触手( tentacle的名词复数 );触角;触须;触毛 | |
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106 strands | |
n.(线、绳、金属线、毛发等的)股( strand的名词复数 );缕;海洋、湖或河的)岸;(观点、计划、故事等的)部份v.使滞留,使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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107 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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108 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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109 absurdities | |
n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 );荒谬;谬论;荒谬的行为 | |
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110 steadfastly | |
adv.踏实地,不变地;岿然;坚定不渝 | |
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111 sensuous | |
adj.激发美感的;感官的,感觉上的 | |
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112 connubial | |
adj.婚姻的,夫妇的 | |
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113 antithesis | |
n.对立;相对 | |
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114 invincible | |
adj.不可征服的,难以制服的 | |
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115 veracity | |
n.诚实 | |
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116 yokel | |
n.乡下人;农夫 | |
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117 coveted | |
adj.令人垂涎的;垂涎的,梦寐以求的v.贪求,觊觎(covet的过去分词);垂涎;贪图 | |
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118 watchful | |
adj.注意的,警惕的 | |
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119 veracities | |
n.诚实,真实( veracity的名词复数 ) | |
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