The church left you in no doubt about things. You attended morning and evening service; as soon as you were old enough for it, which was before you were fit, you taught in Sunday school; you waited on table at oyster3 suppers designed for the raising of the minister's salary, and if you had any talent for it you sang in the choir4 or recited things at the church sociables. And when you were married and consequently middle-aged5, you joined the W. F. M. S. and the Sewing Society.
It was after the incident of the coal-hole that I began to experience this easy irreproachability6, and to build out of its ready-to-hand materials a sort of extra self, from which afterward7 to burst was the bitter wound of life. For my particular church went farther and provided a chart for all the by-lanes of behaviour. "You were never," said the evangelist, whose relish8 of the situation on the day that a score or so of us had renounced9 the devil and all his works, gave me a vague sensation of having made a meal and licked his lips over us, "you should never go anywhere that you could not take your Saviour10 with you," and when I saw Cousin Judd wag at my mother and she smile and pat her hymn11 book, I was apprised12 that we had come to the root of the whole matter.
I have wondered since to how many young converts in Ohianna that phrase has been handed out and with what blighting13 consequences.
For a Saviour as I knew Him at thirteen and a half, was a solemn presence that ran in your mind with the bleakness14 of plain, whitewashed15 walls and hard benches and a general hush16, a vague sensation of your chest being too tight for you, and a little of the feeling you had when you had gone to call at the Allinghams and had forgotten to wipe your feet; and it was manifest if you took that incubus17 everywhere you went you wouldn't have any fun.
It was fortunate at that time that it was not the desire for entertainment that moved me so much as the need of my youth to serve; the unparented hunger for authority. But with the pressure of that environment, if there had been anybody with the wit to see where my Gift lay, what anybody could have done about it it is difficult to say. When all that Taylorville afforded of the proper food of Gift, brightness, music, and the dance, was of so forlorn a quality, it has been a question if I do not owe the church some thanks for cutting out the possible cheapening of taste and the satisfaction of ill-regulated applause—that is, if Gift can be hurt at all by what happens to the possessor. It can be cramped18 and enfeebled in expression, rendered tormenting19 in its passage and futile20 to the recipient21, but to whom it comes its supernal22 quality rises forever beyond all attainder.
What happened to the actress during all the time I was undertaken by the church to be made into the sort of woman serviceable to Taylorville, was inconsiderable; what grew out of it for Olivia was no small matter, and much of it I lay without bitterness to Cousin Judd, who, from having got himself named adviser23 in my father's will, was in a position to affect my life to the worse.
And yet, in so far as I am not an unprecedented24 sport on the family tree, I had more in common with this shrewd-dealing, loud-praying, twice-removed soldier cousin than with any of my kin25, though I should hardly say as much to him, for he has never been in a theatre, and if he still considers me a hopeful subject for prayer it is because his Christian26 duty rises superior to his conviction.
He is pricked27 out in my earlier recollections by the difficulty he seems to have had in effecting a compromise between the traditional distrustfulness of the Ohianna farmer toward the Powers in general, and particularly of the weather, and his obligation of Christian Joy, and for a curious effect of not belonging to his wife, a large, uninteresting woman with a sense of her own merit which she never succeeded in imposing28 on anybody but Cousin Judd. She had a keen appreciation29 of worldly values which led her always to select the best material for her clothes, and another feeling of their expensiveness which resulted in her being always a little belated in the styles. She approved of religion, though not active in it, and in twenty years she and Cousin Judd had arrived at a series of compromises and excuses which enabled her to appear at church one Sunday in five and still keep up the interest of the clergyman and congregation as to why she didn't come the other four.
Whenever the days were short or the roads too heavy, Cousin Judd would put up over night at our house, and I remember how my mother would always be able to say, looking about the empty democrat30 wagon31 as though she expected her in ambush32 somewhere:
"And you didn't bring Lydia?" and Cousin Judd being able to reply to it as if it were something he had expected up till the last moment, and been keenly disappointed:
"Well, no, Liddy ain't feeling quite up to it," which my mother received without skepticism. After this they were free to talk of other things.
What there was between Cousin Judd and me, with due allowance for the years, was the spark, the touch-and-go of vitality33 that rose in me to a hundred beckonings of running flood and waving boughs—music and movement; and only the moral enthusiasms of war and religion raised through his heavy farmer stuff. We should have loved one another had we known how; as it was, all our intercourse34 was marked on his part by the gracelessness of rusticity35, and by the impertinence of adolescence36 on mine. I used regularly to receive his pious37 admonitions with what, for a Taylorville child, was flippancy38; nevertheless there were occasions when we had set off of summer Sunday mornings together to early class, when the church was cool and dim and the smell of the honey locusts39 came in through the window, that I caught the thrill that ran from the pounding of his fist where he prayed at the other end of the long bench; and there was a kind of blessedness shed from him as with closed eyes and lifted chin he swung from peak to peak of the splendid measure of "How Firm a Foundation," that I garnered40 up and hugged to myself in place of Art and the Joy of Living. All of which was very good for me and might have answered if it had not come into Cousin Judd's head that he ought to overlook my reading.
By this time I had worked through all my father's books and was ready to satisfy the itch41 of imagination even with the vicious inaccuracies of what was called Christian literature. The trouble all came of course of my not understanding the nature of a lie. Not that I couldn't tell a downright fib if I had to, or haven't on occasion, but a lie is to me just as silly a performance when it is about marriage or work as about the law of gravitation, and when it is presented to me in the form of human behaviour it makes me sick, like the smell of tuberoses in a close room; and I failed utterly42 to realize then that there are a great many people capable of living sincerely and at the same time blandly43 misrepresenting the facts of life in the interests of what is called morality. I do not think it probable that Cousin Judd accepted for himself the rule of behaviour prescribed by the books he recommended—I shall not tell you what they were, but if there are any Sunday-school libraries in Ohianna you will find them on the shelves—but I know that he and my mother esteemed44 them excellent for the young.
So far as they thought of it at all, they believed that in surrounding me with intimations of a life in which there was nothing more important than settling with Deity45 the minor46 details of living, and especially how much you would pay to His establishment, they had done their utmost to provide me with a life in which nothing more important could happen. If you were careful about reading the Bible and doing good to people—that is, persuading them to go to church and to leave off swearing—all the more serious details such as making a living, marrying and having children would take care of themselves; and the trouble was, as I have said, that I believed it. And that was how I found myself farthest from Art and Life at the time when I found myself a young lady.
I had to make this discovery for myself, for there were no social occasions in Taylorville to give a term to your advent47 into the grown-up world, though there was a definite privilege which marked your achievement of it. There was a period prior to this in which you bumped against things you were too old for, and carromed to the things for which you were quite too young, and about the end of your high-school term you had done with hair ribbons and begun to have company on your own account, and the sort of things began to happen which marked the point beyond which if you fell upon disaster it was your own fault. They happened to me.
By dint48 of my doing her compositions and of her doing my arithmetic, Pauline Allingham and I had managed to keep together all through the high school, and it was in our last year, when we used to put in the long end of the afternoons at Pauline's, playing croquet, that I first took notice of Tommy Bettersworth. The Bettersworth yard abutted49 on the Allingham's for the space of one woodshed and a horse-chestnut50 tree, and it was along in October that I began to be aware that it was not altogether the view of the garden that kept Tommy on the woodshed or in the chestnut tree the greater part of the afternoon. It may be that the adventure with Charlie Gower had sharpened my perception, at any rate it had aroused my discretion51; I was carefully oblivious52 to the proximity53 of Tommy Bettersworth. But there came a day when Pauline was not, when she wanted to tell me something about Flora54 Haines which she was afraid he might overhear.
"Come around to the summer-house," she said, "Tommy's always hanging about; I can't think what makes him."
"Always?" I suggested.
"Why, you know yourself he was there last Saturday, and Thursday when we ..."
"Is he there when you and Flora are there, or only ..."
"Well, what?"
"It's you, Olive," solemnly. "It must be that ... he really is...." Pauline's reading included more romance than mine.
"Well, he can't say I gave him any encouragement."
"Oh, of course not, darling," Pauline was sympathetic. "You couldn't ... it is so interesting. What would the girls say?"
"Pauline, if you ever ..."
"Truly, I never will.... But just think!"
But we reckoned without Alfred Allingham. Alfred was not a nice boy at that age; he had come the way of curled darlings to be a sly, tale-bearing, offensive little cad, and the next Saturday, when Pauline turned him off the croquet ground for ribaldry, he went as far as the rose border and jeered56 back at us.
"I know why you don't want me," he mocked; "so's I can't see Olive and Tommy Bettersworth makin' eyes." He executed a jig57 to the tune58 of
"Olive's mad and I am glad.
And I know what'll please her——"
At this juncture59 the wrist and hand of Tommy Bettersworth appeared over the partition fence armed with horse-chestnuts which thudded with precision on the offensive person of Alfred Allingham. Pauline and I escaped to the summer-house. I thought I was going to cry until I found I was giggling60, at which I was so mortified61 that I did cry.
"He'll tell everybody in school," I protested.
"What do you care?" soothed62 Pauline, "besides, you have to be teased about somebody, you know, and have somebody to choose you when they play clap in and clap out. You just have to. Look at me." Pauline had been carrying on the discreetest of flirtations with Henry Glave for some months. "Tommy Bettersworth is a nice boy, and besides, dear, we'll have so much more in common."
Pauline was right. Unless you had somebody to be teased about you were really not in things. I was furiously embarrassed by it, but I was resigned. Tommy sent me two notes that winter and a silk handkerchief for Christmas which I pretended was from Pauline. I am not going to be blamed for this. It was at least a month earlier that I had observed Tommy Bettersworth's inability to get away from Nile's corner on his way home from school until I had passed there on mine. It struck me as a very interesting trait of masculine character; I would have liked to talk it over with my mother on the plane of human interest; it seemed possible she might have noted64 similar eccentricities65. I remember I worked around to it Saturday morning when I was helping66 her to darn the tablecloths67. My mother was not unprepared; she did her duty by me as it was conceived in Taylorville, and did it promptly68.
"You are too young to be thinking about the boys," she said. "I don't want to hear you talking about such things until the time comes."
This was so much in line with what was expected of parents, that I blinked the obvious retort that the time for talking about such things was when they began to happen, and went on with the tablecloths. But I couldn't tell her about the handkerchief after that. It would have been positively69 unmaidenly. And after he had sent me a magnificent paper lace valentine, I distinctly encouraged Tommy Bettersworth.
This being the case, I do not know just how it began to be conveyed to me, as in the lengthening70 evenings of spring, Tommy took to church-going, that his hands were coarse and his ears too prominent, and as I confided71 solemnly to Pauline, though I had the greatest respect for his character, I simply couldn't bear to have him about. This was the more singular since the church-going was the visible sign of the good influence that, according to the books, I was exercising; and though Tommy was as nearly inarticulate as was natural, I was in no doubt on whose account this new start proceeded. If I had not disliked Tommy very much at this period, why should I have taken to tucking myself between Forester and Effie on the way home, embarrassedly aware of Tommy, whose way did not lie in our direction, scuffling along with the Lawrences on the other side of the street? I seem to remember some rather heroic attempts on Tommy's part to account for his presence there on the ground of wanting to speak privately72 to Forester, certain shouts and sallies toward which my brother displayed a derisive73 consciousness of their not being pertinent74 to the occasion.
I have often wondered how much of these tentative ventures toward an altered relation were observed by our elders; not much, I should think. At any rate no mollifying word drifted down from their heights of experience to our shallows of self-consciousness.
My mother adhered to her notion of my not being at an age for "such things," borne out, I believe, by the consensus75 of paternal76 opinion that she might too easily "put notions" in my head; not inquiring what notions might by the natural process of living be already there. Perhaps they were not altogether wrong in this, so delicate is the process of sex development that nature herself obscures the processes. To this day I do not know how much my taking suddenly to going home with Belle77 Endsleigh by a short cut was embarrassment78, and how much a discreet63 feminine awareness79 that in my absence Tommy would better manage to make the family take his walking with them as a matter of course, but I remember that I cried when my mother, who did not approve of Belle Endsleigh, scolded me. And then quite suddenly came the click and the loosened tension of the readjustment.
Along about Easter Alfred Allingham told Pauline that Tommy had thrashed Charlie Gower, and though it was supposed to be the strictest secret, it was because Charlie had teased him about me. Pauline was rather scandalized by my insistence80 that Charlie wouldn't have done it if Tommy hadn't rather conspicuously81 brought it on himself.
"I call it truly noble of him ... like a knight82." Pauline could always throw the glamour83 of her reading around the immediate84 circumstance. "At any rate, after this you can't do anything less than treat him politely," she urged.
Whether it would have made any difference in my attitude or not, it did in Tommy's. I saw that when he came out of the church with us next Sunday. There was a certain aggressive maleness in the way he strode beside me, that there was no mistaking. I looked about rather feebly for Belle.
"I don't see her anywhere," Tommy assured me, "besides, we don't want her." As I could see Tommy in the light that streamed from the church windows, it occurred to me that if he was not good-looking he certainly looked good, and he had a moustache coming.
Forester, who was going through a phase himself, had gone home with Amy Lawrence; Effie lagged behind with mother, talking to Mrs. Endsleigh about the prospects85 of the Sewing Society raising the money for repainting the parsonage. Looking back to see what had become of them I tripped on the boardwalk.
"If you would take my arm" ... suggested Tommy. I was aware of the sleeve of his coat under my fingers.
The next turn took us out of sound of the voices; the street lamps flared86 far apart in the long, quiet avenue. The shed pods of the maples87 slipped and popped under us with the sweet smell of the sap.
"How did you like the sermon?" Tommy wished to know. What I had to say of it was probably not very much to the point. No one overtook us as we walked. There was a sense of tremendous occasions in the air, of things accomplished88. I had established the privilege. I was walking home from church with a young man. I was a young lady.
点击收听单词发音
1 retarding | |
使减速( retard的现在分词 ); 妨碍; 阻止; 推迟 | |
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2 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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3 oyster | |
n.牡蛎;沉默寡言的人 | |
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4 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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5 middle-aged | |
adj.中年的 | |
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6 irreproachability | |
n.无可责备,无懈可击 | |
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7 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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8 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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9 renounced | |
v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 );宣布放弃;宣布与…决裂;宣布摒弃 | |
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10 saviour | |
n.拯救者,救星 | |
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11 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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12 apprised | |
v.告知,通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 );评价 | |
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13 blighting | |
使凋萎( blight的现在分词 ); 使颓丧; 损害; 妨害 | |
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14 bleakness | |
adj. 萧瑟的, 严寒的, 阴郁的 | |
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15 whitewashed | |
粉饰,美化,掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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17 incubus | |
n.负担;恶梦 | |
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18 cramped | |
a.狭窄的 | |
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19 tormenting | |
使痛苦的,使苦恼的 | |
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20 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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21 recipient | |
a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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22 supernal | |
adj.天堂的,天上的;崇高的 | |
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23 adviser | |
n.劝告者,顾问 | |
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24 unprecedented | |
adj.无前例的,新奇的 | |
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25 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
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26 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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27 pricked | |
刺,扎,戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 ); 刺伤; 刺痛; 使剧痛 | |
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28 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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29 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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30 democrat | |
n.民主主义者,民主人士;民主党党员 | |
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31 wagon | |
n.四轮马车,手推车,面包车;无盖运货列车 | |
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32 ambush | |
n.埋伏(地点);伏兵;v.埋伏;伏击 | |
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33 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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34 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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35 rusticity | |
n.乡村的特点、风格或气息 | |
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36 adolescence | |
n.青春期,青少年 | |
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37 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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38 flippancy | |
n.轻率;浮躁;无礼的行动 | |
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39 locusts | |
n.蝗虫( locust的名词复数 );贪吃的人;破坏者;槐树 | |
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40 garnered | |
v.收集并(通常)贮藏(某物),取得,获得( garner的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41 itch | |
n.痒,渴望,疥癣;vi.发痒,渴望 | |
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42 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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43 blandly | |
adv.温和地,殷勤地 | |
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44 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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45 deity | |
n.神,神性;被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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46 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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47 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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48 dint | |
n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
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49 abutted | |
v.(与…)邻接( abut的过去式和过去分词 );(与…)毗连;接触;倚靠 | |
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50 chestnut | |
n.栗树,栗子 | |
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51 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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52 oblivious | |
adj.易忘的,遗忘的,忘却的,健忘的 | |
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53 proximity | |
n.接近,邻近 | |
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54 flora | |
n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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55 gasp | |
n.喘息,气喘;v.喘息;气吁吁他说 | |
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56 jeered | |
v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57 jig | |
n.快步舞(曲);v.上下晃动;用夹具辅助加工;蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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58 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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59 juncture | |
n.时刻,关键时刻,紧要关头 | |
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60 giggling | |
v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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61 mortified | |
v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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62 soothed | |
v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
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63 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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64 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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65 eccentricities | |
n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 );反常;怪癖 | |
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66 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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67 tablecloths | |
n.桌布,台布( tablecloth的名词复数 ) | |
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68 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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69 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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70 lengthening | |
(时间或空间)延长,伸长( lengthen的现在分词 ); 加长 | |
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71 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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72 privately | |
adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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73 derisive | |
adj.嘲弄的 | |
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74 pertinent | |
adj.恰当的;贴切的;中肯的;有关的;相干的 | |
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75 consensus | |
n.(意见等的)一致,一致同意,共识 | |
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76 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
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77 belle | |
n.靓女 | |
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78 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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79 awareness | |
n.意识,觉悟,懂事,明智 | |
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80 insistence | |
n.坚持;强调;坚决主张 | |
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81 conspicuously | |
ad.明显地,惹人注目地 | |
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82 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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83 glamour | |
n.魔力,魅力;vt.迷住 | |
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84 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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85 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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86 Flared | |
adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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87 maples | |
槭树,枫树( maple的名词复数 ); 槭木 | |
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88 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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