At length came that day, that dreadful day, whose evening Sir Henry Ashwoode was never to see. Noon was the time fixed2 for the fatal ceremonial; and long before that hour, the mob, in one dense3 mass of thousands, had thronged4 and choked the streets leading to the old gaol5. Upon this awful day the wretched man acquired, by a strange revulsion, a kind of stoical composure, which sustained him throughout the dreadful preparations. With hands cold as clay, and a face white as ashes, and from which every vestige6 of animation7 had vanished, he proceeded, nevertheless, with a calm and collected demeanour to make all his predetermined arrangements for the fearful scene. With a minute elaborateness he finished his toilet, and dressed himself in a grave, but particularly handsome suit. Could this shrunken, torpid9, ghastly spectre, in reality be the same creature who, a few months since, was the admiration10 and envy of half the beaux of Dublin?
There was little or none of the fitful excitability about him which had heretofore marked his demeanour during his confinement11; on the contrary, a kind of stupor12 and apathy13 had supervened, partly occasioned by the laudanum which he had taken in unusually large quantities, and partly by the overwhelming horror of his situation. He seemed to observe and hear nothing. When the gaoler entered to remove his irons, shortly before the time of his removal had arrived, he seemed a little startled, and observing the physician who had attended him among those who stood at the door of his cell, he beckoned14 him toward him.
"Doctor, doctor," said he in a dusky voice, "how much laudanum may I safely take? I want my head clear to say a few words, to speak to the people. Don't give me too much; but let me, with that condition, have whatever I can safely swallow. You know—you understand me; don't oblige me to speak any more just now."
The physician felt his pulse, and looked in his face, and then mingled16 a little laudanum and water, which he applied17 to the young man's pale, dry lips. This dose was hardly swallowed, when one of the gaol officials entered, and stated that the ordinary was anxious to know whether the prisoner wished to pray or confer with him in private before his departure. The question had to be twice repeated ere it reached Sir Henry. He replied, however, quickly, and in a low tone,—
"No, no, not for the world. I can't bear it; don't disturb me—don't, don't."
It was now intimated to the prisoner that he must proceed. His arms were pinioned18, and he was conducted along the passages leading to the entrance of the gaol, where he was received by the sheriff. For a moment, as he passed out into the broad light and the keen fresh air, he beheld19 the vast and eager mob pressing and heaving like a great dark sea around him, and the mounted escort of dragoons with drawn20 swords and gay uniforms; and without attaching any clear or definite meaning to the spectacle, he beheld the plumes21 of a hearse, and two or three fellows engaged in sliding the long black coffin22 into its place. These sights, and the strange, gaping23 faces of the crowd, and the sheriff's carriage, and the gay liveries, and the crowded fronts and roofs of the crazy old houses opposite, for one moment danced like the fragment of a dream across his vision, and in the next he sat in the old-fashioned coach which was to convey him to the place of execution.
"Only twenty-seven years, only twenty-seven years, only twenty-seven years," he muttered, vacantly and mechanically repeating the words which had reached his ear from those who were curiously24 reading the plate upon the coffin as he entered the coach—"only twenty-seven, twenty-seven."
The awful procession moved on to the place of its final destination; the enormous mob rushing along with it—crowding, jostling, swearing, laughing, whistling, quarrelling, and hustling25, as they forced their way onward26, and staring with coarse and eager curiosity whenever they could into the vehicle in which Ashwoode sat. All the sights—the haggard, smirched, and eager faces, the prancing27 horses of the troopers, the well-known shops and streets, and the crowded windows—all sailed by his eyes like some unintelligible28 and heart-sickening dream. The place of public execution for criminals was then, and continued to be for long after, a spot significantly denominated "Gallows Hill," situated29 in the neighbourhood of St. Stephen's Green, and not far from the line at present traversed by Baggot Street. There a permanent gallows was erected31, and thither32, at length, amid thousands of crowding spectators, the melancholy33 procession came, and proceeded to the centre of area, where the gallows stood, with the long new rope swinging in the wind, and the cart and the hangman, with the guard of soldiers, prepared for their reception. The vehicles drew up, and those who had to play a part in the dreadful scene descended34. The guard took their place, preserving a narrow circle around the fatal spot, free from the pressure of the crowd. The carriages were driven a little away, and the coffin was placed close under the gallows, while Ashwoode, leaning upon the chaplain and upon one of the sheriffs, proceeded toward the cart, which made the rude platform on which he was to stand.
"Sir Henry Ashwoode," observes a contemporary authority, the Dublin Journal, "showed a great deal of calmness and dignity, insomuch that a great many of the mob, especially among the women, were weeping. His figure and features were handsome, and he was finely dressed. He prayed a short time with the ordinary, and then, with little assistance, mounted the hurdle35, whence he spoke36 to the people, declaring his innocence37 with great solemnity. Then the hangman loosened his cravat38, and opened his shirt at the neck, and Sir Henry turning to him, bid him, as it was understood, to take a ring from his finger, for a token of forgiveness, which he did, and then the man drew the cap over his eyes; but he made a sign, and the hangman lifted it up again, and Sir Henry, looking round at all the multitude, said again, three times, 'In the presence of God Almighty39, I stand here innocent;' and then, a minute after, 'I forgive all my enemies, and I die innocent;' then he spoke a word to the hangman, and the cap being pulled down, and the rope quickly adjusted, the hurdle was moved away, and he swung off, the people with one consent crying out the while. He struggled for a long time, and very hard; and not for more than an hour was the body cut down, and laid in the coffin. He was buried in the night-time. His last dying words have begot40 among most people a great opinion of his innocence, though the lawyers still hold to it that he was guilty. It was said that Mr. Blarden, the prosecutor41, was in a house in Stephen's Green, to see the hanging, and as soon as the mob heard it, they went and broke the windows, and, but for the soldiers, would have forced their way in, and done more violence."
Thus speaks the Dublin Journal, and the extract needs no addition from us.
Gladly do we leave this hateful scene, and turn from the dreadful fate of him whose follies42 and vices43 had wrought45 so much misery46 to others, and ended in such fearful ignominy and destruction to himself. We leave the smoky town, with all its fashion, vice44, and villainy; its princely equipages; its prodigals47; its paupers48; its great men and its sycophants49; its mountebanks and mendicants; its riches and its wretchedness. We leave that old city of strange compounds, where the sublime50 and the ridiculous, deep tragedies and most whimsical farces51 are ever mingling—where magnificence and squalor rub shoulders day by day, and beggars sit upon the steps of palaces. How much of what is wonderful, wild, and awful, has not thy secret history known! How much of the romance of human act and passion, vicissitude52, joy and sorrow, grandeur53 and despair, has there not lived, and moved, and perished, age after age, under thy perennial54 curtain of solemn smoke!
Far, far behind, we leave the sickly smoky town—and over the far blue hills and wooded country—through rocky glens, and by sonorous55 streams, and over broad undulating plains, and through the quiet villages, with their humble56 thatched roofs from which curls up the light blue smoke among the sheltering bushes and tall hedge-rows—through ever-changing scenes of softest rural beauty, in day time and at even-tide, and by the wan15, misty57 moonlight, we follow the two travellers who ride toward the old domain58 of Ardgillagh.
The fourth day's journey brought them to the little village which formed one of the boundaries of that old place. But, long ere they reached it, the sun had gone down behind the distant hills, under his dusky canopy59 of crimson60 clouds, and the pale moon had thrown its broad light and shadows over the misty landscape. Under the soft splendour of the moon, chequered by the moving shadows of the tall and ancient trees, they rode into the humble village—no sound arose to greet them but the desultory61 baying of the village dogs, and the soft sighing of the light breeze through the spreading boughs62—and no signal of waking life was seen, except, few and far between, the red level beam of some still glowing turf fire, shining through the rude and narrow aperture63 that served the simple rustic64 instead of casement65.
At one of these humble dwellings66 Larry Toole applied for information, and with ready courtesy the "man of the house," in person, walked with them to the entrance of the place, and shoved open one of the valves of the crazy old gate, and O'Connor rode slowly in, following, with his best caution, the directions of his guide. His honest squire67, Larry, meanwhile, loitered a little behind, in conference with the courteous68 peasant, and with the laudable intention of procuring69 some trifling70 refection, which, however, he determined8 to swallow without dismounting, and with all convenient dispatch, bearing in mind a wholesome71 remembrance of the disasters which followed his convivial72 indulgence in the little town of Chapelizod. While Larry thus loitered, O'Connor followed the wild winding73 avenue which formed the only approach to the old mansion74. This rude track led him a devious75 way over slopes, and through hollows, and by the broad grey rocks, white as sheeted phantoms76 in the moonlight, and the thick weeds and brushwood glittering with the heavy dew of night, and through the beautiful misty vistas78 of the ancient wild wood, now still and solemn as old cathedral aisles79. Thus, under the serene80 and cloudless light of the sailing moon, he had reached the bank of the broad and shallow brook81 whose shadowy nooks and gleaming eddies82 were canopied83 under the gnarled and arching boughs of the hoary84 thorn and oak—and here tradition tells a marvellous tale.
It is narrated85 that when O'Connor reached this point, his jaded86 horse stopped short, refusing to cross the stream, and when urged by voice and spur, reared, snorted, and by every indication exhibited the extremest terror and an obstinate87 reluctance88 to pass the brook. The rider dismounted—took his steed by the head, patted and caressed89 him, and by every art endeavoured to induce him to traverse the little stream, but in vain; while thus fruitlessly employed, his attention was arrested by the sounds of a female voice, in low and singularly sweet and plaintive90 lamentation91, and looking across the water, for the first time he beheld the object which so affrighted his steed. It was a female figure arrayed in a mantle92 of dusky red, the hood30 of which hung forward so as to hide the face and head: she was seated upon a broad grey rock by the brook's side, and her head leaned forward so as to rest upon her knees; her bare arm hung by her side, and the white fingers played listlessly in the clear waters of the brook, while with a wild and piteous chaunt, which grew louder and clearer as he gazed, she still sang on her strange mournful song. Spellbound and entranced, he knew not why, O'Connor gazed on in speechless and breathless awe93, until at length the tall form arose and disappeared among the old trees, and the sounds melted away and were lost among the soft chiming of the brook, and heard no more. He dared not say whether it was reality or illusion, he felt like one suddenly recalled from a dream, and a certain awe, and horror, and dismay still hung upon him, for which he scarcely could account.
Without further resistance, the horse now crossed the brook; O'Connor remounted, and followed the shadowy track; but again he was destined94 to meet with interruption; the pathway which he followed, embowered among the branching trees and bushes, at one point wound beneath a low, ivy-mantled rock; he was turning this point, when his horse, snorting loudly, checked his pace with a recoil95 so sudden that he threw himself back upon his haunches, and remained, except for his violent trembling, fixed and motionless. O'Connor raised his eyes, and standing96 upon the rock which overhung the avenue, he beheld, for a moment, a tall female form clothed in an ample cloak of dusky red. The arms with the hands clasped, as if in the extremity97 of woe98, firmly together, were extended above her head, the face white as the foam99 of the river, and the eyes preternaturally large and wild, were raised fixedly100 toward the broad bright moon; this phantom77, for such it was, for a moment occupied his gaze, and in the next, with a scream so piercing and appalling101 that his very marrow102 seemed to freeze at the sound, she threw herself forward as though she would cast herself upon the horse and rider—and, was gone.
The horse started wildly off and galloped103 at headlong speed up the broken ascent104, and for some time O'Connor had not collectedness to check his frantic105 course, or even to think; at length, however, he succeeded in calming the terrified animal—and, uttering a fervent106 prayer, he proceeded, without further adventure, till the tall gable of the old mansion in the spectral107 light of the moon among its thick embowering trees and rich ivy-mantles, with all its tall white chimney stacks and narrow windows with their thousand glittering panes108, arose before his anxious gaze.
点击收听单词发音
1 gallows | |
n.绞刑架,绞台 | |
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2 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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3 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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4 thronged | |
v.成群,挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5 gaol | |
n.(jail)监狱;(不加冠词)监禁;vt.使…坐牢 | |
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6 vestige | |
n.痕迹,遗迹,残余 | |
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7 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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8 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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9 torpid | |
adj.麻痹的,麻木的,迟钝的 | |
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10 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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11 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
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12 stupor | |
v.昏迷;不省人事 | |
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13 apathy | |
n.漠不关心,无动于衷;冷淡 | |
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14 beckoned | |
v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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16 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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17 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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18 pinioned | |
v.抓住[捆住](双臂)( pinion的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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20 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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21 plumes | |
羽毛( plume的名词复数 ); 羽毛饰; 羽毛状物; 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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22 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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23 gaping | |
adj.口的;张口的;敞口的;多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 );张开,张大 | |
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24 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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25 hustling | |
催促(hustle的现在分词形式) | |
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26 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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27 prancing | |
v.(马)腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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28 unintelligible | |
adj.无法了解的,难解的,莫明其妙的 | |
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29 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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30 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
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31 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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32 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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33 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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34 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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35 hurdle | |
n.跳栏,栏架;障碍,困难;vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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36 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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37 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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38 cravat | |
n.领巾,领结;v.使穿有领结的服装,使结领结 | |
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39 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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40 begot | |
v.为…之生父( beget的过去式 );产生,引起 | |
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41 prosecutor | |
n.起诉人;检察官,公诉人 | |
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42 follies | |
罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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43 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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44 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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45 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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46 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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47 prodigals | |
n.浪费的( prodigal的名词复数 );铺张的;挥霍的;慷慨的 | |
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48 paupers | |
n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 );贫民;贫穷 | |
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49 sycophants | |
n.谄媚者,拍马屁者( sycophant的名词复数 ) | |
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50 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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51 farces | |
n.笑剧( farce的名词复数 );闹剧;笑剧剧目;作假的可笑场面 | |
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52 vicissitude | |
n.变化,变迁,荣枯,盛衰 | |
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53 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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54 perennial | |
adj.终年的;长久的 | |
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55 sonorous | |
adj.响亮的,回响的;adv.圆润低沉地;感人地;n.感人,堂皇 | |
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56 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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57 misty | |
adj.雾蒙蒙的,有雾的 | |
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58 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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59 canopy | |
n.天篷,遮篷 | |
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60 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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61 desultory | |
adj.散漫的,无方法的 | |
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62 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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63 aperture | |
n.孔,隙,窄的缺口 | |
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64 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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65 casement | |
n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
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66 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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67 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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68 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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69 procuring | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的现在分词 );拉皮条 | |
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70 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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71 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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72 convivial | |
adj.狂欢的,欢乐的 | |
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73 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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74 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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75 devious | |
adj.不坦率的,狡猾的;迂回的,曲折的 | |
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76 phantoms | |
n.鬼怪,幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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77 phantom | |
n.幻影,虚位,幽灵;adj.错觉的,幻影的,幽灵的 | |
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78 vistas | |
长条形景色( vista的名词复数 ); 回顾; 展望; (未来可能发生的)一系列情景 | |
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79 aisles | |
n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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80 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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81 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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82 eddies | |
(水、烟等的)漩涡,涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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83 canopied | |
adj. 遮有天篷的 | |
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84 hoary | |
adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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85 narrated | |
v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86 jaded | |
adj.精疲力竭的;厌倦的;(因过饱或过多而)腻烦的;迟钝的 | |
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87 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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88 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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89 caressed | |
爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90 plaintive | |
adj.可怜的,伤心的 | |
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91 lamentation | |
n.悲叹,哀悼 | |
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92 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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93 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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94 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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95 recoil | |
vi.退却,退缩,畏缩 | |
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96 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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97 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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98 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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99 foam | |
v./n.泡沫,起泡沫 | |
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100 fixedly | |
adv.固定地;不屈地,坚定不移地 | |
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101 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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102 marrow | |
n.骨髓;精华;活力 | |
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103 galloped | |
(使马)飞奔,奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 ); 快速做[说]某事 | |
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104 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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105 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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106 fervent | |
adj.热的,热烈的,热情的 | |
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107 spectral | |
adj.幽灵的,鬼魂的 | |
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108 panes | |
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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