But for this, she might have conceived some vague suspicions when she saw him, soon after he had left her, enter into a long conversation with the countess, then speak with Sir Thorn, and finally chat most confidentially5 with austere6 Mrs. Brian. But now, if she noticed it all, she was not surprised. Her mind was, in fact, thousands of miles away. She thought only of that letter which she had in her pocket, and which was burning her fingers, so to say. She could think of nothing else.
What would she not have given for the right to run away and read it at once? But adversity was teaching her gradually circumspection7; and she felt it would be unwise to leave the room before the last guests had departed. Thus it was past two o’clock in the morning before she could open the precious letter, after having dismissed her faithful Clarissa.
Alas8! she did not find what she had hoped for,—advice, or, better than that, directions how she should conduct herself. The fact is, that in his terrible distress9, Daniel no longer was sufficiently10 master of himself to look calmly at the future, and to weigh the probabilities. In his despair he had filled three pages with assurances of his love, with promises that his last thoughts would be for her, and with prayers that she would not forget him. There were hardly twenty lines left for recommendations, which ought to have contained the most precise and minute details.
All his suggestions, moreover, amounted to this,—arm yourself with patience and resignation till my return. Do not leave your father’s house unless in the last extremity11, in case of pressing danger, and under no circumstances without first consulting Maxime.
And to fill up the measure, from excessive delicacy12, and fearing to wound his friend’s oversensitive feelings, Daniel had omitted to inform Henrietta of certain most important circumstances. Thus he only told her, that, if flight became her only means of escape from actual danger, she need not hesitate from pecuniary13 considerations; that he had foreseen every thing, and made the needful preparations.
How could she guess from this, that the unlucky man, carried away and blinded by passion, had intrusted fifty or sixty thousand dollars, his entire fortune, to his friend Maxime? Still the two friends agreed too fully14 on the same opinion to allow her to hesitate. Thus, when she fell asleep, she had formed a decision. She had vowed15 to herself that she would meet all the torments16 they might inflict17 upon her, with the stoicism of the Indian who is bound to the stake, and to be, among her enemies, like a dead person, whom no insult can galvanize into the semblance18 of life.
During the following weeks it was not so difficult for her to keep her promises. Whether it were weariness or calculation, they seemed to forget her. Except at meals, they took no more notice of her than if she had not been in existence.
That sudden access of affection which had moved Count Ville-Handry on that evening when he thought his daughter in danger had long since passed away. He only honored her with ironical19 glances, and never addressed a word to her. The countess observed a kind of affectionate reserve, like a well-disposed person who has seen all her advances repelled20, and who is hurt, but quite ready to be friends at the first sign. Mrs. Brian never opened her thin lips but to growl21 out some unpleasant remark, of which a single word was intelligible22: shocking! There remained the Hon. M. Elgin, whose sympathetic pity showed itself daily more clearly. But, since Maxime’s warning, Henrietta avoided him anxiously.
She was thus leading a truly wretched life in this magnificent palace, in which she was kept a prisoner by her father’s orders; for such she was; she could no longer disguise it from herself. She felt at every moment that she was watched, and overlooked most jealously, even when they seemed to forget her most completely. The great gates, formerly almost always open, were now kept carefully closed; and, when they were opened to admit a carriage, the concierge23 mounted guard before them, as if he were the keeper of a jail. The little garden-gate had been secured by two additional enormous locks; and whenever Henrietta, during her walks in the garden, came near it, she saw one of the gardeners watch her with anxious eyes. They were apparently24 afraid, not only that she might escape, but that she might keep up secret communications with the outer world. She wanted to be clear about that; and one morning she asked her father’s permission to send to the Duchess of Champdoce, and beg her to come and spend the day with her. But Count Ville-Handry brutally25 replied that he did not want to see the Duchess of Champdoce; and that, besides, she was not in Paris, as her husband had taken her south to hasten her recovery.
On another occasion, toward the end of February, and when several days of fine spring weather had succeeded each other, the poor child could not help expressing a desire to go out and breathe a little fresh air. Her father said, in reply to her request,—“Every day, your mother and I go out and drive for an hour or two in the Bois de Boulogne. Why don’t you go with us?”
She said nothing. She would sooner have allowed herself to be cut to pieces than to appear in public seated by the side of the young countess and in the same carriage with her.
Months passed thus without her having put a foot outside of the palace, except her daily attendance at mass at eight o’clock on Sunday mornings. Count Ville-Handry had not dared to refuse her that; but he had added the most painful and most humiliating conditions. On these occasions M. Ernest, his valet, accompanied her, with express orders not to let her speak to any one whatsoever26, and to “apprehend” her (this was the count’s own expression), and to bring her back forcibly, if needs be, if she should try to escape.
But in vain they multiplied the insults; they did not extort27 a single complaint. Her unalterable patience would have touched ordinary executioners. And yet she had no other encouragement, no other support, but what she received from M. de Brevan.
Faithful to the plan which he had mentioned to her, he had managed so well as gradually to secure the right to come frequently to the house. He was on the best terms with Mrs. Brian; and the count invited him to dinner. At this time Henrietta had entirely28 overcome her prejudice against him. She had discovered in M. de Brevan such a respectful interest in her welfare, such almost womanly delicacy, and so much prudence29 and discretion30, that she blessed Daniel for having left her this friend, and counted upon his devotion as upon that of a brother.
Was it not he, who, on certain evenings, when she was well-nigh overcome by despair, whispered to her,—
“Courage; here is another day gone! Daniel will soon be back!”
But the more Henrietta was left to the inspirations of solitude31, and compelled to live within herself only, the more she observed all that was going on around her. And she thought she noticed some very strange changes. Never would Count Ville-Handry’s first wife have been able to recognize her reception-rooms. Where was that select society which had been attracted by her, and which she had fashioned into something like a court, in which her husband was king? The palace had become, so to say, the headquarters of that motley society which forms the “Foreign Legion” of pleasure and of scandal.
Sarah Brandon, now Countess Ville-Handry, was surrounded by that strange aristocracy which has risen upon the ruins of old Paris,—a contraband32 aristocracy, a dangerous kind of high life, which, by its unheard-of extravagance and mysterious splendor33, dazzles the multitude, and puzzles the police.
The young countess did not exactly receive people notoriously tainted34. She was too clever to commit such a blunder; but she bestowed35 her sweetest smiles upon all those equivocal Bohemians who represent all races, and whose revenues come much less from good acres in the broad sunlight than from the credulity and stupidity of mankind.
At first Count Ville-Handry had been rather shocked by this new world, whose manners and customs were unknown to him, and whose language even he hardly understood. But it had not taken long to acclimatize him.
He was the firm, the receiver of the fortune, the flag that covers the merchandise, the master, in fine, although he exercised no authority. All these titles secured to him the appearance of profound respect; and all vied with each other in flattering him to the utmost, and paying him court in the most abject36 manner. This led him to imagine that he had recovered the prestige he had enjoyed in former days, thanks to the skilful37 management of his first wife; and he assumed a new kind of grotesque38 importance commensurate with his revived vanity.
He had, besides, gone to work once more most industriously39. All the business men who had called upon him before his marriage already reappeared now, accompanied by that legion of famished40 speculators, whom the mere41 report of a great enterprise attracts, like the flies settling upon a lump of sugar. The count shut himself up with these men in his study, and often spent the whole afternoon with them there.
“Most probably something is going on there,” thought Henrietta.
She was quite sure of it when she saw her father unhesitatingly give up the splendid suite42 of apartments in the lower story of the palace, which were cut up into an infinite number of small rooms. On the doors there appeared, one by one, signs not usually found in such houses; as, “Office,” “Board Room,” “Secretary,” “Cashier’s Room.”
Then office-furniture appeared in loads,—tables, desks, chairs; then mountains of huge volumes; and at last two immense safes, as large as a bachelor’s-lodging.
Henrietta was seriously alarmed, and knowing beforehand that no one in the house would answer her questions, she turned to M. de Brevan. In the most off-hand manner he assured her that he knew nothing about it, but promised to inquire, and to let her know soon.
There was no necessity; for one morning, when Henrietta was wandering about listlessly around the offices, which began to be filled with clerks, she noticed an immense advertisement on one of the doors.
She went up to it, and read:—
FRANCO-AMERICAN SOCIETY,
Capital, Ten Million of Francs. Twenty Thousand Shares of 500 Francs each.
The Charter may be seen at the Office of M. Lilois, N. P.
President, Count Ville-Handry.
The books for subscription44 will be opened on the 25th of March.
principal office, Palace of Count Ville-Handry, Rue45 de Varennes. branch office, Rue Lepelletier, No. 1p.
At the foot, in small print, was a full explanation of the enormous profits which might be expected, the imperative46 necessity which had led to the establishment of the Pennsylvania Petroleum Society, the nature of its proposed operations, the immense services which it would render to the world at large, and, above all, the immense profits which would promptly47 accrue48 to the stockholders.
Then there came an account of petroleum or oil wells, in which it was clearly demonstrated that this admirable product represented, in comparison with other oils, a saving of more than sixty per cent; that it gave a light of matchless purity and brilliancy; that it burnt without odor; and, above all, that, in spite of what might have been said by interested persons, there was no possible danger of explosion connected with its use.
“In less than twenty years,” concluded the report in a strain of lyric49 prophecy, “petroleum will have taken the place of all the primitive50 and useless illuminating51 mediums now employed. It will replace, in like manner, all the coarse and troublesome varieties of fuel of our day. In less than twenty years the whole world will be lighted and heated by petroleum; and the oil-wells of Pennsylvania are inexhaustible.”
A eulogy52 on the president, Count Ville-Handry, crowned the whole work,—a very clever eulogy, which called him a man sent by Providence53; and, alluding54 to his colossal55 fortune, suggested that, with such a manager at the head of the enterprise, the shareholders56 could not possibly run any risk.
Henrietta was overwhelmed with surprise. “Ah!” she said to herself, “this is what Sarah Brandon and her accomplices57 were aiming at. My father is ruined!”
That Count Ville-Handry should risk all he possessed58 in this terrible game of speculation59 was not so surprising to Henrietta. But what she could not comprehend was this, that he should assume the whole responsibility of such a hazardous60 enterprise, and run the terrible risk of a failure. How could he, with his deeply-rooted aristocratic prejudices, ever consent to lend his name to an industrial enterprise?
“It must have cost prodigies61 of patience and cunning,” she thought, “to induce him to make such a sacrifice, such a surrender of old and cherished convictions. They must have worried him terribly, and brought to bear upon him a fearful pressure.”
She was, therefore, truly amazed, when, two days afterwards, she became accidentally a witness to a lively discussion between her father and the countess on this very subject of the famous placards, which were now scattered62 all over Paris and France. The countess seemed to be distressed63 by the whole affair, and presented to her husband all the objections which Henrietta herself would have liked to have urged; only she did it with all the authority she derived64 from the count’s passionate65 love for her. She did not understand, she said, how her husband, a nobleman of ancient lineage, could stoop to “making money.” Had he not enough of it already? Would he be any happier if he had twice or thrice as many thousands a year?
He met all these objections with a sweetish smile, like a great artist who hears an ignoramus criticise66 his work. And, when the countess paused, he deigned67 to explain to her in that emphatic68 manner which betrayed his intense conceit69, that if he, the representative of the very oldest nobility, threw himself into the great movement, it was for the purpose of setting a lofty example. He had no desire for “filthy lucre,” he assured her; he only desired to render his country a great service.
“Too dangerous a service!” replied the countess. “If you succeed, as you hope, who will thank you for it? No one. More than that, if you speak to them of disinterestedness70, they will laugh in your face. If the thing fails, on the other hand, who is to pay? You. And they will call you a dunce into the bargain.”
Count Ville-Handry shrugged71 his shoulders almost imperceptibly; and then he said, taking his wife by the hand,—
“Would you love me less if I were ruined?”
She looked at him with her beautiful eyes as if overflowing72 with affection, and replied in a voice full of emotion,—
“God is my witness, my friend, that I should be delighted to be able to prove to you that I did not think of money when I married you.”
“Sarah!” cried the count in ecstasy73, “Sarah, my darling, that was a word worth the whole of that fortune which you blame me for risking.”
Even if Henrietta had been more disposed to mistrust appearances, she would never have supposed that the whole scene was most cunningly devised for the purpose of impressing upon the count’s feeble intellect this idea more forcibly than ever. She was rather inclined to believe, and she did believe, that this Petroleum Society, conceived by Sir Thorn, was unpleasant to the countess; and that thus discord74 reigned75 in the enemy’s camp.
The result of her meditations76 was a long letter to a gentleman for whom her mother had always entertained a great esteem77, the Duke of Champdoce. After having explained to him her situation, she told him all that she knew of the new enterprise, and besought78 him to interfere79 whilst it was yet time.
When she had written her letter, she gave it to Clarissa, urging her to carry it immediately to its address. Alas! the poor girl was rapidly approaching an incident which was to bring about a crisis.
Having by chance followed the maid down stairs, she saw her go into the Countess Sarah’s room, and hand her the letter.
Was Henrietta thus betrayed even by the girl whom she thought so fully devoted80 to her interests, and since when? Perhaps from the first day. Ah, how many things this explained to her which she had hitherto wondered at as perfectly81 incomprehensible!
This last infamy82, however, tempted83 her to lay aside for once her carefully-nursed reserve. She rushed into the room, crimson84 with shame and wrath85, and said in a fierce tone,—
“Give me that letter, madam!”
Clarissa had fled when she saw her treachery discovered.
“This letter,” replied the countess coldly, “I shall hand to your father, madam, as it is my duty to do.”
“Ah, take care, madam!” broke in the poor girl with a threatening gesture; “take care! My patience has its limits.”
Her attitude and her accent were so terrible, that the countess thought it prudent86 to put a table between herself and her victim. But suddenly a great revolution had taken place in Henrietta’s heart. She said roughly,—
“Look here, madam, let us have an explanation while we are alone. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing, I assure you.”
“Nothing? Who is it, then, that has meanly slandered87 me, has robbed me of my father’s affection, surrounds me with spies, and overwhelms me with insults? Who forces me to lead this wretched life to which I am condemned88?”
The countess showed in her features how deeply she was reflecting. She was evidently calculating the effect of a new plan.
“You will have it so,” she replied resolutely89. “Very well, then, I will be frank with you. Yes, I am bent90 on ruining you. Why? You know it as well as I do. I will ask you, in my turn, who is it that has done every thing that could possibly be done to prevent my marriage? Who has endeavored to crush me? Who would like to drive me from this house like an infamous91 person? Is it not you, always you? Yes, you are right. I hate you; I hate you unto death, and I avenge92 myself!”
“Madam!”
“Wait! What had I done to you before my marriage? Nothing. You did not even know me by name. They came and told you atrocious stories invented by my enemies, and you believed them. Your father told you, ‘They are wicked libels.’ What did you answer? That ‘those only are libelled who deserve it.’ I wanted to prove to you that it is not so. You are the purest and chastest of girls whom I know; are you not? Very well. I defy you to find a single person around you who does not believe that you have had lovers.”
Extreme situations have this peculiarity93, that the principal actors may be agitated94 by the most furious passions, and still outwardly preserve the greatest calmness. Thus these two women, who were burning with mortal hatred95, spoke96 with an almost calm voice.
“And you think, madam,” resumed Henrietta, “that sufferings like mine can be long continued?”
“They will be continued till it pleases me to make an end to them.”
“Or till I come of age.”
“Oh!” she said to herself. “Oh, oh!”
“Or,” continued the young girl, “till he returns whom you have taken from me, my betrothed97, M. Daniel Champcey.”
“Stop, madam. You are mistaken. It was not I who sent Daniel away.”
Daniel! the countess said so; said familiarly, Daniel! Had she any right to do so? How? Whence this extraordinary impudence98?
Still Henrietta saw in it only a new insult; no suspicion entered her soul, and she replied in the most ironical tone,—
“Then it was not you who sent that petition to the secretary of the navy? It was not you who ordered and paid for that forged document which caused M. Champcey to be ordered abroad?”
“No; and I told him so myself, the day before he left, in his own room.”
Henrietta was stunned99. What? This woman had gone to see Daniel? Was this true? It was not even plausible100.
“In his room?” she repeated,—“in his room?”
“Why, yes, in University Street. I foresaw that trick which I could not prevent, and I wished to prevent it. I had a thousand reasons for wishing ardently101 that he should remain in Paris.”
“A thousand reasons? You? Tell me only one!”
The countess courtesied, as if excusing herself for being forced to tell the truth against her inclination102, and added simply,—
“I love him!”
As if she had suddenly seen an abyss opening beneath her feet, Henrietta threw herself back, pale, trembling, her eyes starting from their sockets103.
“You—-love—Daniel!” she stammered,—“you love him!”
“But he—he? Can you hope that he will ever love you?”
“Yes, any day I may wish for it. And I shall wish it the day when he returns.”
Was she speaking seriously? or was the whole scene only a bit of cruel sport? That is what Henrietta was asking herself, as far as she was able to control her thoughts; for she felt her head growing dizzy, and her thoughts rushed wildly through her mind.
“You love Daniel!” she repeated once more, “and yet you were married the very week after his departure!”
“Alas, yes!”
“And what was my father to you? A magnificent prey105, which you did not like to let escape,—an easy dupe. After all, you acknowledge it yourself, it was his fortune you wanted. It was for his money’s sake that you married him,—you, the young, marvellously-beautiful woman,—the old man.”
A smile rose upon the lips of the countess, in which she appeared herself in all the deep treachery of her secret calculations. She broke in, laughing ironically—
“I? I had coveted106 the fortune of this dear count, my husband? You do not think of it, madam? Have you so completely forgotten the zeal107 with which you heard me, only the other day, try to turn him from this enterprise in which he is about to embark108 all he possesses?”
Henrietta hardly knew whether she was awake or asleep. Was she not, perhaps, under the influence of one of those hallucinations which fevers produce?
“And you dare tell me all these things, me, Count Ville-Handry’s own daughter, the daughter of your husband?”
“Why not?” asked the countess.
And, shrugging her shoulders, she added in a careless tone,—
“Do you think I am afraid of your reporting me to him? You are at liberty to try it. Listen. I think I hear your father’s footstep in the vestibule; call him in, and tell him what we have been talking about.”
And, as Henrietta said nothing, she laughed, and said,—
“Ah! you hesitate. You do not dare do it? Well, you are wrong. I mean to hand him your letter, and I shall call him.”
There was no need for it; for at the same moment the count entered, followed by austere, grim Mrs. Brian. As he perceived his wife and his daughter, his face lighted up immediately; and he exclaimed,—
“What? You are here, both of you, and chatting amicably109 like two charming sisters? My Henrietta has come back to her senses, I trust.”
They were both silent; and, seeing how they looked at each other with fierce glances, he went on in a tone of great bitterness—
“But no, it is not so! I am not so fortunate. What is the matter? What has happened?”
The countess shook her head sadly, and replied,—
“The matter is, that your daughter, during your absence, has written a letter to one of my most cruel enemies, to that man who, you know, on our wedding-day, slandered me meanly; in fine, to the Duke of Champdoce!”
“And has any one of my servants dared to carry that letter?”
“No, my friend! It was brought to me in obedience110 to your orders; and the young lady summoned me haughtily111 to hand her that letter.”
“That letter?” cried the count. “Where is that letter?”
The countess gave it to him with these words,—
“Perhaps it would be better to throw it into the fire without reading it.”
But already he had torn the envelope; and, as he was reading the first lines, a crimson blush overspread his temples, and his eyes became bloodshot. For Henrietta, sure of the Duke of Champdoce, had not hesitated to open her heart to him, describing her situation as it really was; painting her step-mother as he had anticipated she would be; and at every turn certain phrases were repeated, which were so many blows with a dagger112 to the count.
“This is unheard of!” he growled113 with a curse. “This is incomprehensible! Such perversity114 has never been known before.”
He went and stood before his daughter, his arms crossed, and cried with a voice of thunder,—
“Wretch! Will you disgrace us all?”
She made no reply. Immovable like a statue, she did not tremble under the storm. Besides, what could she do? Defend herself? She would not stoop to do that. Repeat the impudent115 avowals of the countess? What would be the use? Did she not know beforehand that the count would not believe her? In the meantime, grim Mrs. Brian had taken a seat by the side of her beloved Sarah.
“I,” she said, “if I were, for my sins, afflicted116 with such a daughter, I would get her a husband as soon as possible.”
“I have thought of that,” replied the count; “and I believe I have even hit upon an arrangement which”—
But, when he saw his daughter’s watchful117 eye fixed118 upon him, he paused, and, pointing towards the door, said to her brutally,—
“You are in the way here!”
Without saying a word, she went out, much less troubled by her father’s fury than by the strange confessions119 which the countess had made. She only now began to measure the full extent of her step-mother’s hatred, and knew that she was too practical a woman to waste her time by making idle speeches. Therefore, if she had stated that she loved Daniel,—a statement which Henrietta believed to be untrue,—if she had impudently120 confessed that she coveted her husband’s fortune, she had a purpose in view. What was that purpose? How could any one unearth121 the truth from among such a mass of falsehood and deception122?
At all events, the scene was strange enough to confound any one’s judgment123. And when Henrietta, that evening, found an opportunity to tell M. de Brevan what had happened, he trembled in his chair, and was so overwhelmed with surprise, that he forgot his precautions, and exclaimed almost aloud,—
“That is not possible!”
There was no doubt that he, usually so impassive, was terribly excited. In less than five minutes he had changed color more than ten times. You would have thought he was a man who at a single blow sees the edifice124 of all his hopes crumble125 to pieces. At last, after a moment’s reflection, he said,—
“Perhaps it would be wise, madam, to leave the house.”
But she replied sadly,—
“What? How can I do that? After so many odious126 calumnies127, my honor and Daniel’s honor oblige me to remain here. He recommends me only to flee at the last extremity, and when there is no other resource left. Now, I ask you, shall I be more unhappy or more seriously threatened to-morrow than I am to-day? Evidently not.”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
diplomacy
|
|
| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
confidentially
|
|
| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
austere
|
|
| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
circumspection
|
|
| n.细心，慎重 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
extremity
|
|
| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
pecuniary
|
|
| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
vowed
|
|
| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
torments
|
|
| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
inflict
|
|
| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
semblance
|
|
| n.外貌，外表 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
ironical
|
|
| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
repelled
|
|
| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
growl
|
|
| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
intelligible
|
|
| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
concierge
|
|
| n.管理员；门房 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
brutally
|
|
| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
whatsoever
|
|
| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
extort
|
|
| v.勒索，敲诈，强要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
prudence
|
|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
discretion
|
|
| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
contraband
|
|
| n.违禁品，走私品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
splendor
|
|
| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
tainted
|
|
| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
bestowed
|
|
| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
abject
|
|
| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
skilful
|
|
| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
industriously
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
famished
|
|
| adj.饥饿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
suite
|
|
| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
petroleum
|
|
| n.原油，石油 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
subscription
|
|
| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
rue
|
|
| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
imperative
|
|
| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
promptly
|
|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
accrue
|
|
| v.(利息等)增大，增多 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
lyric
|
|
| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
primitive
|
|
| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
illuminating
|
|
| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
eulogy
|
|
| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
alluding
|
|
| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
colossal
|
|
| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
shareholders
|
|
| n.股东( shareholder的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
accomplices
|
|
| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
speculation
|
|
| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
hazardous
|
|
| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
prodigies
|
|
| n.奇才，天才（尤指神童）( prodigy的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
distressed
|
|
| 痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
derived
|
|
| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
criticise
|
|
| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
deigned
|
|
| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
emphatic
|
|
| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
conceit
|
|
| n.自负，自高自大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
disinterestedness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
overflowing
|
|
| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
discord
|
|
| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
reigned
|
|
| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
meditations
|
|
| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
besought
|
|
| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
infamy
|
|
| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
crimson
|
|
| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
prudent
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
slandered
|
|
| 造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
resolutely
|
|
| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
infamous
|
|
| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
avenge
|
|
| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
peculiarity
|
|
| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
impudence
|
|
| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
stunned
|
|
| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
plausible
|
|
| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
ardently
|
|
| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
inclination
|
|
| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
sockets
|
|
| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
tremor
|
|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
embark
|
|
| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
amicably
|
|
| adv.友善地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
obedience
|
|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
haughtily
|
|
| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
dagger
|
|
| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
growled
|
|
| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
perversity
|
|
| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
impudent
|
|
| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
afflicted
|
|
| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
confessions
|
|
| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
impudently
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
unearth
|
|
| v.发掘，掘出，从洞中赶出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
deception
|
|
| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
edifice
|
|
| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
crumble
|
|
| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
odious
|
|
| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
calumnies
|
|
| n.诬蔑，诽谤，中伤（的话）( calumny的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |