Occasionally there were amateur performances in which, when I had won a grudging1 consent to take part, I failed to distinguish myself. Effie had a very amusing trick of mimicry2, and if you had heard her recite "Curfew Shall Not Ring To-night," you would have thought that the Gift on its way from whatever high and unknowable source, in passing her had lighted haphazard3 on the most unlikely instrument. I was not even clever at my books except by starts and flashes.
I graduated at the high school with Pauline, and afterward4 we had two years together at Montecito. This was the next town to Taylorville, and its bitter rival. Montecito had a Young Ladies' Seminary, a Business College, and the State Institution for the Blind, for which Taylorville so little forgave it that the new railroad was persuaded to leave Montecito four miles to the right and make its junction5 with the L. and C. at Taylorville. This carried the farmer shipping6 away from Montecito, but the victory was not altogether scathless; young ladies were still obliged to go to the seminary, and it enabled Montecito to put on the air of having retired7 from the vulgar competition of trade and become the Athens of the West.
Pauline and I went over to school on Mondays and home on Fridays. The course of study was for three years, but because there was Effie to think of and my mother's means were limited, I had only two, and was never able to catch up with Pauline by the length of that extra year. She was always holding it out against me in extenuation8 and excuse; when she tried to account for my marriage having turned out so badly on the ground of my not having had Advantages, I knew she was thinking of Montecito. She thinks of it still, I imagine, to condone9 as she does, I am sure, with an adorable womanliness, what in my conduct she no longer feels able to countenance10. And yet I hardly know what I might have drawn11 from that third year more than I took away from the other two, which was, besides the regular course of study, an acquaintance with a style of furnishings not all gilt12 wall paper and plush brocade, and a renewed taste for good reading. They made such a point of good reading at the seminary that I have always thought it a pity they could not go a little farther and make a practice of it.
The difficulty with most of our reading was that it had no relativity to the processes of life in Ohianna; we had things as far removed from it as Dante and Euripides, things no nearer than "The Scarlet13 Letter" and "David Copperfield," from which to draw for the exigencies14 of Taylorville was to cause my mother to wonder, with tears in her eyes, why in the world I couldn't be like other people. I read; I gorged15, in fact, on the best books, but I found it more convenient to go on living by the shallow priggishness of Cousin Judd's selection. All that splendid stream poured in upon me and sank and lost itself in the shifty undercurrent that made still, by times, distracting eddies16 on the surface of adolescence17.
But whatever was missed or misunderstood of its evidences, the Gift worked at the bottom, throve like a sea anemone18 under the shallows of girlishness, and, nourished by unsuspected means, was the source no doubt of the live resistance I opposed to all that grew out of Forester's making a vocation19 of being a good son. I do not know yet how to deal with sufficient tenderness and without exasperation20 with the disposition21 of widowed women, bred to dependence22, to build out of their sons the shape of a man proper to be leaned upon. It is so justified23 in sentiment, so pretty to see in its immediate24 phases, that though my mother was young and attractive enough to have married again, it was difficult not to concur25 in her making a virtue26, a glorification27 of living entirely28 in her boy. I seem to remember a time before Forrie was intrigued29 by the general appreciation30, when it required some coercion31 to present him always in the character of the most dutiful son. He hadn't, for instance, invariably fancied himself setting out for prayer meeting with my mother's hymn32 book and umbrella, but the second summer after my father died, when he had worked on Cousin Judd's farm and brought home his wages, found him completely implicated33. We were really not so poor there was any occasion for this, but mother was so delighted with the idea of a provider, and Forester was so pleased with the picture of himself in that capacity, that it was all, no doubt, very good for him.
He always did bring home his wages after that, which led to his being consulted about meals, and the new curtains for the dining-room, and to being met in the evening as though all the house had been primed for his return, and merely gone on in that expectation while he was away. Effie, I know, had no difficulty in accepting him as the excuse for any amount of household ritual, making a fuss about his birthdays and trying on her new clothes for his approval, but Effie was five years younger than Forester and I was only twenty-two months. It was more, I think, than our community in the gaucheries and hesitancies of youth that disinclined me to take seriously my brother's opinions on window curtains and to sniff34 at my mother's affectionate pretence35 of his being the head of the family. At times when I felt this going on in our house, there rose up like a wisp of fog between me and the glittering promise of the future, a kind of horror of the destiny of women; to defer36 and adjust, to maintain the attitude of acquiescence37 toward opinions and capabilities38 that had nothing more to recommend them than merely that they were a man's! I could be abased39, I should be delighted to be imposed upon, but if I paid out self-immolation I wanted something for my money, and I didn't consider I was getting it with my brother for whom I smuggled40 notes and copied compositions.
It never occurred to my mother, until it came to the concrete question of spending-money, that there was anything more than a kind of natural perverseness41 in my attitude, which only served to throw into relief the satisfactoriness of her relations to her son. Forester, it appeared, was to have an allowance, and I wanted one too.
"But what," said my mother, tolerantly, for she had not yet thought of granting it, "would you do with an allowance?"
"Whatever Forester does."
"But Forester," my mother explained, waving the stocking she had stretched upon her hand, "is a boy." I expostulated.
"What has that got to do with it?"
"Olivia!" The ridiculousness of having such a question addressed to her brought a smile to my mother's lips, which hung fixed42 there as I saw her mind back away suddenly in fear that I was really going to insist on knowing what that had to do with it.
"I give you twenty-five cents a week for church money," she parried weakly.
"That's what you think I ought to give. I want an allowance, and then I can deny myself and give what I like."
"Forester earns his," said my mother; she hadn't of course meant the discussion to get on to a basis of reasonableness.
"Well," I threatened, "I'll earn mine."
That was really what did the business in the end. All the boys in Taylorville worked as soon as they were old enough, but it was the last resort of poverty that girls should be put to wages. Before that possibility my mother retreated into amused indulgence. She paid me my allowance, appreciably43 less than my brother's, on the first of the month, with the air of concurring44 in a joke, which I think now must have covered some vague hurt at my want of sympathy with the beautiful fiction of Forester's growing up to take my father's place with her. They had achieved by the time Forester was twenty, what passed for perfect confidence between them, though it was at the cost of Forester's living shallowly or not at all in the courts of boyhood which my mother was unable to reënter, and her voluntary withdrawal45 from varieties of experience from which his youth prevented him. My mother always thought it was made up to her in affection; what came out of it for Forester is still on the knees of the gods.
I began to say how it was that the Gift took care of itself while Forester was engrossing46 the family attention. He had had a year at the business college in Montecito, which was considered quite sufficient, and rather more, in fact, than his accepted vocation as the support of his mother seemed to call for. Any question that might naturally come up of a profession for him, seemed to have been quashed beforehand by the general notion of an immediate salary as the means to that end. I do not recall a voice lifted on behalf of a life of his own. He had worked up from driving the delivery wagon47 in vacations to being dry goods clerk at the Coöperative, where his affability and easy familiarity with the requirements of women, made him immensely popular. Everybody liked to trade with Forester because he took such pains in matching things, and he was such a good boy to his mother. He paid the largest portion of his salary for his board, and took Effie, who adored him, about with him. I don't mean to say that he was not also good friends with Olivia, or that there was anything which prevented my doing my best with the three chocolate layer cakes and the angel's food I made for his party on his twenty-first birthday.
The real unpleasantness on that occasion came of my mother's notion of distinguishing it among all other birthdays by paying over to Forester a third of the not very considerable sum left by my father, derived48 chiefly from his back pay as an officer, which she had always held as particularly set aside for us children. It was owing perhaps to a form of secretiveness that in unprotected woman does duty for caution, that Effie and I had scarcely heard of this sum until it was flourished before us on the day before the birthday, much as if it had been my father's sword, supposing the occasion to have required it being girded on his son.
Forester was to have a third of that money in the form of a check under his plate on the morning of his birthday. Effie and I did full justice to the magnificence of the proposal. I was beating the whites of thirteen eggs by Pauline's recipe for angel food—mine called for only eleven—and Effie was rubbing up Mrs. Endsleigh's spoons, which had been borrowed for the party.
I was always happier in the kitchen than in any room of the house, with its plain tinted49 walls, the plain painted woodwork (the parlour was hideously50 "grained"), and the red of Effie's geraniums at the window ledge51. The stir of domesticity, all this talk of my father, intrigued me for the moment into the sense of being a valued and intrinsic part of the family.
"His father would have wanted Forester to have that money," said my mother, "now that he's of age."
"And when," I questioned, raised by the mention of thirds to the joyous52 inclusion, "are Effie and I to have ours?"
It had grown in my mind as I spoke54, that I had been of age now more than a year and nothing had come of it. The suggestion that my father could have taken a less active interest in the event on my behalf, pressed upon a dying sensibility; I resented his being so committed to this posthumous55 slight and meant to defend him from it.
"He'd have wanted me to have mine on my birthday, the same as Forester," I insisted.
"Oh, Olivia!" My mother's tone intimated annoyance56 at my claim to being supported by my father in my absurdities57, but her good humour was proof against it. "Girls have theirs when they are married," she soothed58.
I held up the platter and whisked the stiff froth with the air of doing these things very dexterously59; I wasn't going to admit by taking it seriously, that my brother's coming of age was any more important than mine, but I spare you the flippancies by which I covered the hurt of realizing that to everybody except myself, it was.
"It is so like you, Olivia," said my mother, with tears in her eyes, "to want to spoil everything." What I had really spoiled was the free exercise of partiality by which she was enabled to distinguish Forester over her other children, according to her sense of his deserts; and, besides, what in the world would the child do with all that money?
"The same thing that Forester does," I maintained, and then quickly to forestall60 another objection which I saw rising in her face. "If you were old enough to be married at nineteen, I guess I am old enough to be trusted with a few hundred dollars."
But there I had struck again on the structure of tradition that kept Taylorville from direct contact with the issues of life; anybody was old enough to be married at eighteen, but money was a serious matter. Whenever I said things like that I could see my mother waver between a shocked wonder at having produced such unnaturalness61, and the fear that somebody might overhear us. And I didn't know myself what I wanted with that money, except that I craved62 the sense of being important that went with the possession of it. And of course now that I had been refused it on the ground of sex, it was part of the general resistance that I opposed to things as they were, to have it on principle. Just when I had mother almost convinced that she ought to give it to me, she made it nearly impossible for me to accept, by asking Forester what she ought to do about it. When I had demanded it as the evidence of my taking rank with my brother as a personage, it was insufferable that it should come to me as a concession63 of his amiability64.
What I really wanted of course was to have it put under my plate with an affectionate speech about its being the legacy65 of a soldier and the witness of his integrity, coupled with the hope that I would spend it in a manner to give pleasure to my dear father, who was no doubt looking on at this happy incident.
There was nothing in me then—there is nothing now—which advised me of being inappropriately the object of such an address, or my replying to it as gallantly66 as the junior clerk of the Coöperative. To do Forester justice, he came out squarely on the question of my being entitled to the money if he was, but he contrived67 backhandedly to convey his sense of my obtuseness68 in not deferring69 sentimentally70 to a male ascendancy71 that I did not intrinsically feel; and I can go back now to these disquieting72 episodes as the beginning of that maladjustment of my earlier years, in not having a man about toward whom I could actually experience the deference73 I was expected to exhibit.
Well, I had my check for the same amount and on the same occasion as my brother's, but the feeling in the air of its being merely a concession to my forwardness, prevented me from making any return for it that interfered74 with Forester's carrying off the situation of coming into his father's legacy on coming of age, quite to my mother's satisfaction. What it might have made for graciousness for once in my life to have been the centre of that dramatic affectionateness, I can only guess. Firm in the determination that since no sentiment went to its bestowal75 none should go to its acknowledgment, I carried my check upstairs and shook all of the rugs out of the window to account for my eyes being red at ten o'clock in the morning. And that was the way the Powers took to provide against the complete submergence of the actress in the young lady, for though it turned out that I did spend the greater part of the money on my wedding clothes, a portion of it went for the only technical training I ever had.
The real business of a young lady in Taylorville was getting married, but to avoid an obviousness in the interim76, she played the piano or painted on satin or became interested in missions. If my money had fallen in eight months earlier I should undoubtedly77 have spent it on the third year at Montecito; as it was I decided78 to study elocution. It appeared a wholly fortuitous choice. I was not supposed to have any talent for it, but I burned to spend some of my money sensibly, and it was admittedly sensible for a young lady to take lessons in something. Effie was having music, Flora79 Haines painted plaques80; when Olivia joined Professor Winter's elocution classes at Temperance Hall mother said it looked like throwing money away, but of course I could teach in case anything happened, which meant in case of my not being married or being left a widow with young children.
Professor Winter was the kind of man who would have collected patch boxes and painted miniatures on ladies' fans; not that he could have done anything of the sort on his income, but it would have suited the kind of man he was. He had small neat ways and nice little tricks of discrimination, and microscopic81 enthusiasms that hovered82 and fluttered, enough of them when it came to the rendering83 of a favourite passage, to produce a kind of haze84 of appreciation like a swarm85 of midges. Not being able to afford patch boxes or Louis XV enamels86, he collected accents instead. The man's memory for phonic variations was extraordinary; all our accustomed speech was a wild garden over which he took little flights and drops and humming poises87, extracting, as it were by sips88, your private history, things you would have probably told for the asking, but objected to having wrested89 from your betraying tongue. He would come teetering forward on his neat little boots, upon the toes of which he appeared to elevate himself by pressing the tips of his fingers very firmly together, and when you committed yourself no farther than to remark on the state of the weather or the election outlook, he would want to know if you hadn't spent some time of your youth in the South, or if it was your maternal90 or paternal91 grandfather who was Norwegian. Either of which would be true and annoying, particularly as you weren't aware of speaking other than the rest of the world, for if there was anything quite and completely abhorrent92 to the Taylorville mind it was the implication of being different from other Taylorvillians.
Somewhere the Professor had picked up an adequate theory and practice of voice production, though I never knew anything of his training except that he had been an instructor93 in a normal school and was aggrieved94 at his dismissal. After he had advertised himself as open for private instruction and tri-weekly classes at Temperance Hall, there was something almost like a concerted effort at keeping him in the town, because of the credit he afforded us against Montecito. With the exception of a much-whiskered personage who came over from the business college in the winter to conduct evening classes in penmanship, he was the only man addressed habitually95 as Professor, and the only one who wore evening dress at public functions.
His dress coat imparted a particular touch of elegance96 to occasions when he gave readings from "Evangeline" and "The Lady of the Lake" (Taylorville choice), and thoroughly97 discredited98 a disgruntled Montecitan who, on the basis of having been to Chicago on his wedding trip, insisted that such were only worn by waiters in hotels.
It would be interesting to record that Professor Winter lent himself with alacrity99 to the unfolding of my Gift, but, in fact, his imagination hardly strayed so far. He taught phonics and voice production and taught them very well; probably he had no more practical acquaintance with the stage than I had. Certainly he never suggested it for me, and for my part I could hardly have explained why with so little encouragement I was so devoted100 to the rather tedious drill. Pauline was still at the seminary, and the regular hours of practice made a bulwark101 against an insidious102 proprietary103 air which Tommy Bettersworth began to wear. Besides the voice training, I had a system of physical culture, artificial and unsound as I have since learned, but serving to restrain my too exuberant104 gesture, and much memorizing of poems and plays for practice work. I hardly know if the Professor had any dramatic talent or not; probably not, as he made nothing, I remember, of stopping me in the middle of a great passion for the sake of a dropped consonant105, and deprecated original readings on my part.
It was his relish106 for musical cadence107 as much as its intellectual appreciation that led him to select the Elizabethan drama, in the great scenes of which I was letter perfect by the time I had come to the end of the Professor's instruction, and at the end too, it seemed, of my devices for dodging108 the destiny of women.
点击收听单词发音
1 grudging | |
adj.勉强的,吝啬的 | |
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2 mimicry | |
n.(生物)拟态,模仿 | |
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3 haphazard | |
adj.无计划的,随意的,杂乱无章的 | |
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4 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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5 junction | |
n.连接,接合;交叉点,接合处,枢纽站 | |
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6 shipping | |
n.船运(发货,运输,乘船) | |
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7 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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8 extenuation | |
n.减轻罪孽的借口;酌情减轻;细 | |
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9 condone | |
v.宽恕;原谅 | |
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10 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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11 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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12 gilt | |
adj.镀金的;n.金边证券 | |
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13 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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14 exigencies | |
n.急切需要 | |
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15 gorged | |
v.(用食物把自己)塞饱,填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 );作呕 | |
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16 eddies | |
(水、烟等的)漩涡,涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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17 adolescence | |
n.青春期,青少年 | |
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18 anemone | |
n.海葵 | |
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19 vocation | |
n.职业,行业 | |
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20 exasperation | |
n.愤慨 | |
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21 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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22 dependence | |
n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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23 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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24 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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25 concur | |
v.同意,意见一致,互助,同时发生 | |
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26 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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27 glorification | |
n.赞颂 | |
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28 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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29 intrigued | |
adj.好奇的,被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式);激起…的兴趣或好奇心;“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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30 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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31 coercion | |
n.强制,高压统治 | |
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32 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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33 implicated | |
adj.密切关联的;牵涉其中的 | |
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34 sniff | |
vi.嗅…味道;抽鼻涕;对嗤之以鼻,蔑视 | |
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35 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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36 defer | |
vt.推迟,拖延;vi.(to)遵从,听从,服从 | |
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37 acquiescence | |
n.默许;顺从 | |
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38 capabilities | |
n.能力( capability的名词复数 );可能;容量;[复数]潜在能力 | |
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39 abased | |
使谦卑( abase的过去式和过去分词 ); 使感到羞耻; 使降低(地位、身份等); 降下 | |
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40 smuggled | |
水货 | |
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41 perverseness | |
n. 乖张, 倔强, 顽固 | |
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42 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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43 appreciably | |
adv.相当大地 | |
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44 concurring | |
同时发生的,并发的 | |
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45 withdrawal | |
n.取回,提款;撤退,撤军;收回,撤销 | |
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46 engrossing | |
adj.使人全神贯注的,引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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47 wagon | |
n.四轮马车,手推车,面包车;无盖运货列车 | |
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48 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 | |
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49 tinted | |
adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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50 hideously | |
adv.可怕地,非常讨厌地 | |
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51 ledge | |
n.壁架,架状突出物;岩架,岩礁 | |
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52 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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53 waned | |
v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 );(月)亏;变小;变暗淡 | |
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54 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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55 posthumous | |
adj.遗腹的;父亡后出生的;死后的,身后的 | |
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56 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
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57 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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58 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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59 dexterously | |
adv.巧妙地,敏捷地 | |
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60 forestall | |
vt.抢在…之前采取行动;预先阻止 | |
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61 unnaturalness | |
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62 craved | |
渴望,热望( crave的过去式 ); 恳求,请求 | |
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63 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
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64 amiability | |
n.和蔼可亲的,亲切的,友善的 | |
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65 legacy | |
n.遗产,遗赠;先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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66 gallantly | |
adv. 漂亮地,勇敢地,献殷勤地 | |
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67 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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68 obtuseness | |
感觉迟钝 | |
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69 deferring | |
v.拖延,延缓,推迟( defer的现在分词 );服从某人的意愿,遵从 | |
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70 sentimentally | |
adv.富情感地 | |
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71 ascendancy | |
n.统治权,支配力量 | |
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72 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 ) | |
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73 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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74 interfered | |
v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 );调停;妨碍;干涉 | |
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75 bestowal | |
赠与,给与; 贮存 | |
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76 interim | |
adj.暂时的,临时的;n.间歇,过渡期间 | |
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77 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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78 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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79 flora | |
n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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80 plaques | |
(纪念性的)匾牌( plaque的名词复数 ); 纪念匾; 牙斑; 空斑 | |
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81 microscopic | |
adj.微小的,细微的,极小的,显微的 | |
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82 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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83 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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84 haze | |
n.霾,烟雾;懵懂,迷糊;vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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85 swarm | |
n.(昆虫)等一大群;vi.成群飞舞;蜂拥而入 | |
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86 enamels | |
搪瓷( enamel的名词复数 ); 珐琅; 釉药; 瓷漆 | |
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87 poises | |
使平衡( poise的第三人称单数 ); 保持(某种姿势); 抓紧; 使稳定 | |
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88 sips | |
n.小口喝,一小口的量( sip的名词复数 )v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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89 wrested | |
(用力)拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 ); 费力取得; (从…)攫取; ( 从… ) 强行取去… | |
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90 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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91 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
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92 abhorrent | |
adj.可恶的,可恨的,讨厌的 | |
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93 instructor | |
n.指导者,教员,教练 | |
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94 aggrieved | |
adj.愤愤不平的,受委屈的;悲痛的;(在合法权利方面)受侵害的v.令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式);令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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95 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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96 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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97 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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98 discredited | |
不足信的,不名誉的 | |
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99 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
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100 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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101 bulwark | |
n.堡垒,保障,防御 | |
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102 insidious | |
adj.阴险的,隐匿的,暗中为害的,(疾病)不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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103 proprietary | |
n.所有权,所有的;独占的;业主 | |
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104 exuberant | |
adj.充满活力的;(植物)繁茂的 | |
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105 consonant | |
n.辅音;adj.[音]符合的 | |
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106 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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107 cadence | |
n.(说话声调的)抑扬顿挫 | |
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108 dodging | |
n.避开,闪过,音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 );回避 | |
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