"It seems to me, sir," he said doubtfully, "that this one would 'ave done better. Beggin' your pardon, sir."
St. George shook his head distastefully.
"It doesn't matter," he said, and broke into a slow smile as he looked at Amory. The robes which the prince had provided for the evening were rather harder to become accustomed to than the notion of intuitive knowledge.
"There's an air about this one though, sir," opined Rollo firmly, "there's a cut—a sort of way with the seams, so to speak, sir, that the other can't touch. And cut is what counts, sir, cut counts every time."
"Ah, yes, I dare say, Rollo," said St. George, "and as a judge of 'cut' I don't say you can be equaled. But I do say that in the styles of Deuteronomy you aren't necessarily what you might call up."
"Yes, sir," said Rollo, dropping his eyes, "but a well-dressed man was a well-dressed man, sir, then as now."
As a matter of fact the well-knit, athletic2 young figures looked uncommonly3 well in the garments à la mode in Yaque. One would have said that if the garments followed Deuteronomy fashions they had at all events been cut by the scissors of a court tailor to Louis XV. The result was beautiful and bizarre, but it did not suggest stageland because the colours were so good.
"I dare say," said St. George, examining the exquisitely5 fine cloth whose shades were of curious depth and richness, "that this may be regular Tyrian purple."
Amory waved his long sleeves.
"Stop," he languidly begged, "you make me feel like a golden text."
St. George went back to the row of open casements6 and resumed his walk up and down before the windows that looked away to the huge threatening bulk of Mount Khalak. Since the prince's announcement that afternoon St. George had done little besides continuing that walk. Now it wanted hardly half an hour to the momentous7 ceremony of the evening, big with at least one of the dozen portents8 of which he accused it.
"Amory," he burst out as he walked, "if you didn't know anything about it, would you say that the prince could possibly have made her consent to marry him?"
Amory, left in the middle of the great room, stood polishing his pince-nez exactly as if he had been waiting at the end of Chillingworth's desk of a bright, American morning.
"If I didn't know anything about it," he said cheerfully, "I should say that he had. As it is, having this afternoon watched a certain motor wear its way past me, I should say that nothing in Yaque is more unlikely. And that's about as strong as you could put it."
"We don't know what the man may have threatened," said St. George morosely9, "he may have played upon her devotion to her father to some ridiculous extent. He may have refused to land the submarine at Yaque at all otherwise—"
St. George broke off suddenly.
"Toby!" he said.
Amory looked over and nodded. He had seen that look before on St. George's face.
"She's not going to marry the prince," said St. George, "and if her father is alive and in a hole, he's going to be pulled out. And she's not going to marry the prince."
He had guessed a good deal of the truth since he had been watching St. George flee over seas upon a yacht, shod, so to speak, with fire, and he had arrived at the suspicion that The Aloha was winged by little Loves and guided under water by plenty of blue and green dragons. But he had not, until now, been thoroughly12 certain that St. George's spirit of adventure had another name; and though theoretically his sympathies leaped to the look in his friend's eyes, yet he found himself wondering practically what effect romance would be having upon their enterprise. After all, from a newspaper point of view, to relinquish13 any part of the adventure was a kind of tragedy, and it cost Amory something to emphasize his assent10.
When the tread of the feet of a detachment of the Royal Golden Guard was heard without, Rollo advanced to the door with a dignity which amounted to melancholy15. The setting of a palace and the proximity16 of a prince had raised his office to the majesty17 of skilled labour. He always threw open the door now as who should say, "Enter. But mind you have a reason."
At sight of the long liberty of the corridor where the light lay mysteriously touching18 tiles and tapestries19 to festal colours, Amory's spirits rose contagiously20, and his eyes shone behind his pince-nez.
"Me," he said, looking ahead with enjoyment21 at the glittering escort, "me—done in a fabric22 of about the eleventh shade of the Yaque spectrum—made loose and floppy23, after a modish24 Canaanitish model. I'll wager25 that when the first-born of Canaan was in the flood-tide of glory, this very gown was worn by one of the most beautiful women in the pentapolis of Philistia. I'm going to photograph the model for the Sunday supplement, and name it The Nebuchadnezzar."
Amory murmured on, and St. George hardly heard him. He could almost count by minutes now the time until he should see her. Would she see him, and might he just possibly speak with her, and what would the evening hold for her? As he went forth26 where she would be, the spell of the place was once more laid upon him, as it had been laid in the hour of his coming. Once more, as in the hour when he had first looked down upon the valley brimming with a light "better than any light that ever shone" he was at one with the imponderable things which, always before, had just eluded27 him. Now, as then, the thought of Olivia was the symbol for them all. So the two went on through the winding28 galleries—silent, haunted—to the great staircase, and below into the crowded court. And when they reached the threshold of the audience-chamber29 they involuntarily stood still.
The hall was like a temple in its sense of space and height and clear air, but its proportions did not impress one, and indeed one could not remember its boundaries as one does not consider the boundaries of a grove30. It was amphitheatre-shaped, and about it ran a splendid colonnade31, in the niches32 of whose cornices were beautiful grotesques33—but Yaque seemed to be a land whose very grotesques had all the dignity of the ultimate instead of crying for the indulgence due a phase. The roof was inlaid with prisms of clear stone, and on high were pilasters carved with the Tyrian sphinxes crucified upon upright crosses, surmounted34 by parhelions of burnished35 metal. All the seats faced a great dais at the chamber's far end where three thrones were set.
But it was the men and women in the great chamber who filled St. George with wonder. The women—they were beautiful women, slow-moving, slow-eyed, of soft laughter and sudden melancholy, and clear, serene36 profiles and abundant hair. And they were all alive, fully1 and mysteriously alive, alive to their finger-tips. It was as if in comparison all other women acted and moved in a kind of half-consciousness. It was as if, St. George thought vaguely37, one were to step through the frame of a pre-Raphaelite tapestry38 and suddenly find its strange women rejoicing in fulfillment instead of yearning39, in noon instead of dusk. As he stood looking down the vast chamber, all springing columns and light lines lifting through the honey-coloured air, it smote40 St. George that these people, instead of being far away, were all near, surprisingly, unbelievably near to him,—in a way, nearer to his own elusive41 personality than he was himself. They were all obviously of his own class; he could perfectly42 imagine his mother, with her old lace and Roman mosaics43, moving at home among them, and the bishop44, with his wise, kindly45 smile. Yet he was irresistibly46 reminded of a certain haunting dream of his childhood in which he had seemed to himself to walk the world alone, with every one else allied47 against him because they all knew something that he did not know. That was it, he thought suddenly, and felt his pulse quickening at the intimation: They all knew something that he did not know, that he could not know. But, as they swept him with their clear-eyed, impersonal48 look, a look that seemed in some exquisite4 fashion to take no account of individuality, he was gratefully aware of a curious impression that they would like to have had him know, too.
"They wish I knew—they'd rather I did know," St. George found himself thinking in a strange excitement, "if only I could know—if only I could know."
He looked about him, smiling a little at his folly49. He saw the light flash on Amory's glasses as they turned inquisitively50 on this and that, and somehow the sight steadied him.
"Ah well," he assured himself, "I'll look them up in a thousand years or so, and we'll dine together, and then we'll say: 'Don't you remember how I didn't know?'"
Immediately there presented himself to them a little man who proved to be Balator, lord-chief-commander of the Royal Golden Guard, and now especially directed by the prince, he pleasantly told them, to be responsible for their entertainment and comfort during the ceremony to follow. They were, in fact, his guests for the evening, but St. George and Amory were uncertain whether, considering his office, this was a high honour or a kind of exalted51 durance. However, as the man was charming the doubt was not important. He had an attenuated52 face, so conveniently brown by race as to suggest the most soldierly exposure, and he had great, peaceable, slow-lidded eyes. He was, they subsequently learned, an authority upon insect life in Yaque, for he had never had the smallest opportunity to go to war.
As Balator led his guests to their seats near the throne every one looked on them, as they passed, with the serenest53 fellowship, and no regard persisted longer than a glance, friendly and fugitive54. Balator himself not only refrained from stoning the barbarians55 with commonplaces, but he did not so much as mention America to them or treat them otherwise than as companions, as if his was not only the cosmopolitanism56 that knows no municipal or continental57 aliens of its own class, but a kind of inter-dimensional cosmopolitanism as well.
"Which," said Amory afterward58, "was enviable. The next man from Trebizond or Saturn59 or Fez whom I meet I'm going to greet and treat as if he lived the proverbial 'twenty minutes out.'"
A great clock boomed and throbbed60 through the palace, striking an hour that was no more intelligible61 than the jargon62 of a ship's clock to a landsman. Somewhere an orchestra thrilled into haunting sound, poignant63 with disclosures barely missed. Overhead, through the mighty64 rafters of the conical roof, the moon looked down.
"That'll be the same old moon," said Amory. "By Jove! Won't it?"
"It will, please Heaven," said St. George restlessly; "I don't know. Will it?"
Near the throne was seated a company of dignitaries who wore upon their breasts great stars and were soberly dressed in a kind of scholar's gown. Some whispered together and nodded and looked as solemn as tithing men; and others were feverishly65 restless and continually took papers from their graceful66 sleeves. By developments these were revealed to be the High Council of Yaque, conservative and radical67, even in dimensional isolation68. Farther back rose tier upon tier of seats sacred to the wives and daughters of the ministry69, and St. George even looked hopelessly and mechanically among these for the face that he sought.
To some seats slightly elevated, not far from the dais, his attention was at length challenged by an upheaving and billowing of purple and black. He looked, and in the same instant what seemed to have been a kind of storm centre resolved itself cloudily into Mrs. Medora Hastings, breathlessly resuming her seat, while Mr. Augustus Frothingham, in indescribably gorgeous apparel elaborately bent70 to receive—and a member of the High Council bent to hand—two glittering articles which St. George was certain were side-combs. There the lady sat, tilting71 her head to keep her tortoise-shell glasses on her nose, perpetually curving their chain over her ear, a gesture by which the side-combs were perpetually displaced. If the island people had been painted purple, St. George felt sure that she would have acted quite the same. Personality meant nothing to her—not, as with them, because it had been merged72 in something greater, but because, with her, it was overborne by self. And there sat Mr. Frothingham (who did not attend the play during court because he believed that a man of affairs should not unduly73 stimulate74 the imagination), his head thrown back so that his long hair rested on his amazing collar, his hands laid trimly along his knees. In that crystal air, instinct with its delicate, dominant75 implication of things imponderable, the personality of each persisted undisturbed, in a kind of adamantine unconsciousness. Again, as when he had considered the soul of Rollo, St. George smiled a shade bitterly. Is it then so easy to persist, he wondered? Is love's uttermost gift so little? But as the music swelled76 with premonitory meaning, he understood something that its very transitoriness disclosed: the persistence77 of love, love's mere78 immortality79, is the dead letter of the law without that which is elusive, imponderable, even evanescent as the spirit of the land to which he had come, into which he felt himself new-born.
Immediately, bestowing80 its gift of altered mood, other music, cut by the lift and fall of trumpets81, sounded from hidden places all about the walls and from the alcoves82 of the lofty roof. Then a veil hanging between two pillars was drawn83 aside, and the prince's train appeared. There were a detachment of the guard, splendid in their unrelieved gold, and the officers of the court, at their head Cassyrus, the premier84, who had manifestly been compounded of Heaven to be a drum-major, and had so undeviating a look that he seemed always to have been caught, red-handed, at his post. Last came Prince Tabnit, dressed in pure white save for a collar of precious stones from which hung the strange green gem85 that St. George remembered. His clear face and the whiteness of his hair lent to him an air of almost unearthly distinction. His delicate hands wearing no jewels were at his sides, and his head was magnificently erect86. He mounted the dais as the music sank to silence, and without preface began to speak.
"My people," he said, and St. George felt himself thrilling with the strength and tenderness of that voice, "in the continuance of this our time of trial we come among you that we may win strength and courage from your presence. Since one mind dwells in us all, we have no need of words of cheer. That no message from his Majesty, the King, has come to us is known to you all, with mourning. But the gods—to whom 'here' is the same as 'there'—will permit the possible, and they have permitted to us the presence of the daughter of our sovereign, by the grace of the infinite, heir to the throne of Yaque. In two days, should his Majesty not then have returned to his sorrowing people, she will, in accordance with our custom, be crowned Hereditary87 Princess of Yaque and, after one year, Queen of Yaque and your rightful sovereign."
As the prince paused, a little breath of assent was in the room, more potent88 than any crudity89 of applause.
"Next," pursued the prince, "we would invite your attention to our own affairs, which are of importance solely90 as they are affected91 by the immemorial tradition of the House of the Litany. Therefore, in accordance with the custom of our predecessors92 for two thousand years," lightly pursued the prince, "we have named this day as the day of our betrothal93. Moreover, this is determined94 upon in justice to the daughters of the twenty peers of Yaque, whose marriage the law forbids until the choice of the head of the House of the Litany has been made..."
St. George listened, and his hope soared heavenward as the hope of young love will soar, in spite of itself, at the mere sight of open sky. The daughters of the twenty peers of Yaque! Of course they were to be considered. Why should he fear that, because Olivia was in Yaque, the mere mention of a betrothal referred to Olivia? He was bold enough to smile at his fears, to smile even when, as the prince ceased speaking, the music sounded again, as it were from the air, in a chorus of pure young voices with a ripple95 of unknown strings96 in accompaniment.
Suddenly, at the opening of great doors, a flood of saffron light was poured upon a stair, and at the summit appeared the leisurely97 head of a procession which the two men were destined98 never to forget. Across the gallery and down the stair—it might have been the Golden Stair linking Near with Far—came a score of exquisite women in all the glory of their youth, of perfect physical beauty and splendid strength and fullness of life; and the wonder was not their beauty more than a kind of dryad delicacy99 of that beauty, which was yet not frailty100 but a look of angelic strength. But they were not remote—they were gloriously human, almost, one would say, divinely human, all gentle movement and warmth and tender breath. They were not remote, save as one's own soul would be remote by its very excess of intimacy101 with life, Little maids, so shy that their actuality was certain, came before them carrying flowers, and these were followed by youths scattering102 fragrant103 burning powder whose fallen flames were instantly pounced104 upon and extinguished by small furry105 lemurs trained to lay silver discs upon the flames. And as they all ranged themselves about the throne a little figure appeared at the top of the stairway alone, beneath the lifted curtain.
She was veiled; but the elastic106 step, the girlish grace, the poise107 and youthful dignity were not to be mistaken. The room whirled round St. George, and then closed in about him and grew dark. For this was the woman advancing to her betrothal; from the manner of her entrance there could be no doubt of that. And it was none of the daughters of the twenty peers. It was Olivia.
She wore a trailing gown of rainbow hues108, more like the hues of water than of texture109, and the warm light fell upon these as she descended110 and variously multiplied them to beauty. Her little feet were sandaled and a veil of indescribable thinness was wound about her abundant hair and fell across her face, but the gold of her hair escaped the veil and rippled111 along her gown. Carven chains and necklaces were upon her throat, and bracelets112 of beaten gold and jewels upon her arms. About her forehead glittered a jeweled band with pendent gems113 which, at her moving, were like noon sun upon water.
As he realized that this was indeed she whom he had come to seek, only to find her hedged about with difficulties—and it might be by divinities—which he had not dreamed of coping, a kind of madness seized St. George. The lights danced before his eyes, and his impulse had to do with rushing up to the dais and crying everybody defiance114 but Olivia. On the moon-lit deck of The Aloha he had dreamed out the island and the rescue of the island princess, and a possible home-going on his yacht to a home about which he had even dared to dream, too. But it had not once occurred to him to forecast such a contingency115 as this, or, later, so to explain to himself Prince Tabnit's change of purpose in permitting her recognition as Princess of Yaque—indeed, if what Jarvo and Akko had told him in New York were accurate, in bringing her to the island at all. And yet what, he thought crazily, if his guess at her part in this betrothal were far wrong? What if her father's safety were not the only consideration? What if, not unnaturally116 dazzled by the fairy-land which had opened to her ... even while he feared, St. George knew far better. But the number of terrors possible to a man in love is equal to those of battle-fields.
Amory bent toward him, murmuring excitedly.
"Jupiter," he said, "is she the American girl?"
"No—no, not the princess," said Amory, "the other."
St. George looked. On the stair was a little figure in rose and silver—very tiny, very fair, and no doubt the lawyer's daughter.
"I dare say it is," he told him, as one would say, "Now what the deuce of it?"
Prince Tabnit had risen to receive Olivia, and St. George had to see him extend his hand and assist her beside him upon the dais. In the absence of her father she was obliged to stand alone. Then the little figure in rose and silver and one of the daughters of the peers advanced and lifted her veil, and St. George wanted to shout with sudden exultation118. This then was she—so near, so near. Surely no great harm could come to them so long as the sea and the mystery of the island no longer lay between them. Did she know of his presence? Although he and Amory were seated so near the throne, they were at one side, and her clear, pure profile was turned toward them. And Olivia did not lift her eyes throughout the prime minister's long address, of which St. George and Amory, so lapped were they in wild projects and importunities, heard nothing until, uttered with indescribable pompousness119, as if Cassyrus were a dowager and had made the match himself, the concluding words beat upon St. George's heart like stones. They were the formal announcement of the betrothal of Olivia, daughter of his Majesty, Otho I of Yaque, to Tabnit, Prince of Yaque and Head of the House of the Litany.
St. George saw Prince Tabnit kneel before Olivia and place a ring upon her hand—no doubt the ring which had betrothed120 the island princesses for three thousand years. He saw the High Council standing121 with bowed heads, like the necessary archangels in an old painting; he caught the flash of the turquoise-blue ephod of the head of the religious order, as the benediction122 was pronounced by its wearer. And through it all he said to himself that all would be well if only she understood, if only she had the supreme123 self-consciousness to play the game. After all he knew her so little. He was certain of her exquisite, playful fancy, but had she imagination? Would she see the value of the moment and watch herself moving through it? Or would she live it with that feminine, unhumourous seriousness which is woman's weakness? She had an exquisite independence, he was certain that she had humour, and he remembered how alive she had seemed to him, receptive, like a woman with ten senses. But after all, would not her graceful sanity124 of view, that sense of tradition and unerring taste which he so reverenced125, yet handicap her now and prevent her from daring whatever she must dare?
Amory was beside himself. It was all very well to feel a great sympathy for St. George, but the sight was more than journalistic flesh and blood could look upon with sympathetic calm.
"An American girl!" he breathed in spite of himself. "Why, St. George, if we can leave this island alive—"
Before silence had again fallen, the prime minister, all his fever of importance still upon him, once more faced the audience. This time his words came to St. George like a thunderbolt:
"In three days' time, at noon, in this the Hall of Kings," he cried, letting each phrase fall as if he were its proud inventor, "immediately following the official recognition of Olivia, daughter of Otho I, as Hereditary Princess of Yaque, there will be solemnized, according to the immemorial tradition of the island last observed six hundred and eighty-four years ago by Queen Pentellaria, the marriage of Olivia of Yaque, to his Highness, Prince Tabnit, head of the House of the Litany, and chief administrator127 of justice. For the law prescribes that no unmarried woman shall sit upon the throne of Yaque. At noon of the third day will be observed the double ceremony of the recognition and the marriage. May the gods permit the possible."
There was a soft insistence128 of music from above, a stir and breath about the room, the premier backed away to his seat, and St. George, even with the horrified129 tightening130 at his heart, was conscious of a vague commotion131 from the vicinity of Mrs. Medora Hastings. Then he saw the prince rise and turn to Olivia, and extend his hand to conduct her from the hall. The great banquet room beyond the colonnade was at once thrown open, and there the court circle and the ministry were to gather to do honour to the new princess, whom Prince Tabnit was to lead to the seat at his right hand at the table's head.
To the amazement132 of his Highness, Olivia made no movement to accept the hand that he offered. Instead, she sat slightly at one side of the great glittering throne, looking up at him with something like the faintest conceivable smile which, while one saw, became once more her exquisite, girlish gravity. When the music sank a little her voice sounded above it with a sweet distinctness:
"One moment, if you please, your Highness," she said clearly.
It was the first time that St. George had heard her voice since its good-by to him in New York. And before her words his vague fears for her were triumphantly133 driven. The spirit that he had hoped for was in her face, and something else; St. George could have sworn that he saw, but no one else could have seen the look, a glimpse of that delicate roguery that had held him captive when he had breakfasted with her—several hundred years before, was it?—at the Boris. Ah, he need not have feared for her, he told himself exultantly134. For this was Olivia—of America—standing in a company of the women who seemed like the women of whom men dream, and whose presence, save in glimpses at first meetings, they perhaps never wholly realize. These were the women of the land which "no one can define or remember." And yet, as he watched her now, St. George was gloriously conscious that Olivia not only held her own among them, but that in some charm of vividness and of knowledge of laughter, she transcended135 them all.
A ripple of surprise had gone round the room. For all the air of the ultimate about the island-women, St. George doubted whether ever in the three thousand years of Yaque's history a woman had raised her voice from that throne upon a like occasion. And such a tender, beguiling136, cajoling little voice it was. A voice that held little remarques upon whatever it had just said, and that made one breathless to know what would come next.
Prince Tabnit hesitated.
"If the princess wishes to speak with us—" he began, and Olivia made a charming gesture of dissent138, and all the jewels in her hair and upon her white throat caught the light and were set glittering.
"No," she said gently, "no, your Highness. I wish to speak in the presence of my people."
"Indeed," she said, "I think, your Highness, that I will speak to my people myself."
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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athletic
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uncommonly
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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exquisitely
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casements
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momentous
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portents
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morosely
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assent
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assented
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thoroughly
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relinquish
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toddle
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melancholy
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proximity
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majesty
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touching
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tapestries
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contagiously
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enjoyment
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fabric
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floppy
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modish
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wager
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forth
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eluded
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winding
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chamber
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grove
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31
colonnade
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| n.柱廊 | |
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32
niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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33
grotesques
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| n.衣着、打扮、五官等古怪，不协调的样子( grotesque的名词复数 ) | |
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34
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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35
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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36
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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37
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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38
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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39
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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40
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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41
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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42
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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43
mosaics
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| n.马赛克( mosaic的名词复数 )；镶嵌；镶嵌工艺；镶嵌图案 | |
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44
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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45
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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46
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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47
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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48
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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49
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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50
inquisitively
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| 过分好奇地； 好问地 | |
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51
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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52
attenuated
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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53
serenest
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| serene（沉静的，宁静的，安宁的）的最高级形式 | |
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54
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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55
barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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56
cosmopolitanism
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| n. 世界性,世界主义 | |
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57
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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58
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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59
Saturn
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| n.农神，土星 | |
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60
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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61
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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62
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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63
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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64
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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65
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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66
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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67
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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68
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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69
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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70
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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71
tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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72
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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73
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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74
stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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75
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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76
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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77
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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78
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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79
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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80
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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81
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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82
alcoves
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| n.凹室( alcove的名词复数 )；（花园）凉亭；僻静处；壁龛 | |
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83
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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84
premier
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| adj.首要的；n.总理，首相 | |
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85
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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86
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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87
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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88
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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89
crudity
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| n.粗糙，生硬；adj.粗略的 | |
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90
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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91
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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92
predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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93
betrothal
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| n. 婚约, 订婚 | |
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94
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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95
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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96
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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97
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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98
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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99
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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100
frailty
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| n.脆弱；意志薄弱 | |
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101
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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102
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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103
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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104
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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105
furry
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| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
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106
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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107
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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108
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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109
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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110
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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111
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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112
bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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113
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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114
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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115
contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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116
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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117
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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118
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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119
pompousness
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| 豪华；傲慢 | |
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120
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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121
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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122
benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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123
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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124
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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125
reverenced
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| v.尊敬，崇敬( reverence的过去式和过去分词 )；敬礼 | |
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126
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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127
administrator
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| n.经营管理者，行政官员 | |
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128
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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129
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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130
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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131
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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132
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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133
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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134
exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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135
transcended
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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136
beguiling
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| adj.欺骗的，诱人的v.欺骗( beguile的现在分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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137
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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138
dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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139
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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140
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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