So it happened in his conversing13 with Mistress Halsell he broached14 the subject of the Gloucestershire baronet, and the good woman, seeing that his speech did not arise from idle curiosity, told him what she knew of this most unhappy family.
'Twas an old family and a good one in the matter of lineage, but through the debaucheries of the last baronets its estates had become impoverished16 and its reputation of an ill savour. It had ever been known as a family noted17 for the great physical strength and beauty of its men and women. For centuries the men of the house of Wildairs had been the biggest and the handsomest in England. They had massive frames, black eyes, thick hair and beards, and feared neither man nor devil, but openly defied both. They were men who lived wildly, ate and drank hugely, pursued women, were great at all deeds of prowess, and bursting with rough health and lawless high spirits. 'Twas a saying of their house that "a Wildairs who could not kill an ox with a blow and eat half of him when he was roasted, was a poor wight indeed." The present baronet, Sir Jeoffry, was of somewhat worse reputation than any Sir Jeoffry before him. He lived a wild life in the country, rarely going up to town, as he was not fond of town manners and town customs, but liked better hunting, coursing, cock-fighting, bull-baiting, and engaging in intrigues18 with dairy maids and the poppy-cheeked daughters of his cottagers. He had married a sweet creature of fifteen, whom after their brief honeymoon19 he had neglected as such men neglect a woman, leaving her to break her heart and lose her bloom and beauty in her helpless mourning for his past passion for her. He was at drawn20 swords with his next of kin2, who despised him and his evil, rough living, and he had set his mind upon leaving sons enough to make sure his title should be borne only by his own offspring. He being of this mind, 'twas not to be wondered at that he had no welcome for the daughters who should have pleased him by being sons. When the first was born he flouted21 its mother bitterly, the poor young lady, who was but sixteen and a delicate creature, falling into a fit of illness through her grief and disappointment. The coming of the second threw him into a rage, the third into a fury; and the birth of a fourth being announced, he stormed like a madman, would not look at it, and went upon a debauch15 so protracted22 and disgraceful as to be the scandal of the county and the subject of gossip for many a day.
From that hour the innocent Lady Wildairs did not raise her head. Her family had rejected her on account of her marriage with a rake so unfashionable and of reputation so coarse. Wildairs Hall, ill kept, and going to ruin through the wasteful23 living of its spendthrift master, was no place for such guests as were ladies and gentlemen. The only visitors who frequented it were a dozen or so chosen spirits who shared Sir Jeoffry's tastes—hunted, drank, gambled with him, and were as loose livers as himself. My Lady Wildairs, grown thin, yellow, and haggard, shrank into her own poor corner of the big house, a bare west wing where she bore her children in lonely suffering and saw them die, one after the other, two only having the strength to survive. She was her lord's hopeless slave, and at the same time the mere24 knowledge of her existence was an irritation25 to him, she being indeed regarded by him as a Sultan might regard the least fortunate of his harem.
"Damn her," he cried once to one of his cronies, a certain Lord Eldershaw, "in these days I hate the sight of her, with her skinny throat and face. What's a woman for, after she looks like that? If she were not hanging about my neck I could marry some fine strapping27 girl who would give me an heir before a year was out."
If young Roxholm did not hear this special anecdote28, he heard others from various sources which were productive in him of many puzzled and somewhat anxious thoughts. "Why was it," he pondered, "that women who had not the happy fortune of his mother seemed at so cruel a disadvantage—that men who were big and handsome having won them, grew tired of them and cast them aside, with no care for their loneliness and pain? Why had God so made them that they seemed as helpless as poor driven sheep? 'Twas not fair it should be so—he could not feel it honest, though he was beset29 by grave fears at his own contumacy since he had been taught that God ordained30 all things. Had he ordained this, that men should be tyrants31, and base, and cruel, and that women should be feeble victims who had but the power to moan and die and be forgotten? There was my Lord Peterborough, who had fought against Algerine pirates, and at nineteen crowned his young brow with glory in action at Tripoli. To the boyish mind he was a figure so brilliant and gallant32 and to be adored that it seemed impossible to allow that his shining could be tarnished33 by a fault, yet 'twas but a year after his marriage with the fair daughter of Fraser of Mearns that he had wearied of his love and gaily34 sailed for the Algerine coast again. Whether the young Countess had bewailed her lot or not, Roxholm had not chanced to hear, but having had for husband a young gentleman so dazzling and full of fascination35, how could she have found herself deserted and feel no heartache and shed no tears? My lord could sail away and fight corsairs, but her poor ladyship must remain behind and do battle only with her heart, gaining no laurels36 thereby37.
The sentiment of the times was not one which rated women high or was fraught38 with consideration for female weakness. Charles Stuart taught men how women should be regarded, and the beauties of his Court had aided him in such manner as deepened the impression he had produced. A beauty had her few years of triumph in which she was pursued, intrigued39 with, worshipped, flattered, had madrigals sung in her honour; those years over, no one cared to hear of the remainder of her life. If there were dregs left in her cup, she drank them alone. A woman who had no beauty was often a mere drudging or child-bearing wife, scapegoat40 for ill-humour and morning headaches; victim, slave, or unnoticed appendage41. This the whilom toast Lady Wildairs had become, and there were many like her.
The Earl of Dunstanwolde, who was the nobleman who had spoken to the Duke and Duchess of the Gloucestershire Baronet, was a distant kinsman43, and a somewhat frequent visitor both at their Graces' country estates and at their town establishment, Osmonde House. His own estate was near Gloucestershire, and he knew the stories of Wildairs Hall, as did so many others.
This gentleman was somewhat past middle age, and was the owner of such qualities of mind and heart as had won for him the friendship of all thinking persons who knew him. A man of kindly44 refinement45 and dignity, familiar with arts and letters, and generous in his actions both to his equals and his inferiors, he was of ancient blood, and had large estates in the country and a great house in town.
But, notwithstanding the honourableness46 of his position, and the ease of his circumstances, he was not a happy gentleman, having made a love-match in his youth, and lost his passionately47 worshipped consort49 at the birth of her first child, who had lived but two hours. He had been so happy in his union that, being of a constant nature, he could not console himself for his bereavement50, and had remained a widower51, content that his estates and titles should pass to a distant cousin who was the next heir. He was a sad-faced gentleman with delicately cut features, and eyes which looked as if they had beheld52 sorrow, there being deep lines about them, and also about his mouth.
This nobleman had for Roxholm a great attraction—his voice, his bearing, and his gentle gravity all seemed to convey a thing which reached the boy's heart. On his own part the childless man had from the first felt for his little kinsman a pathetic affection. Had fate been kind, instead of cruel, the son of his own Alice might have so bloomed and grown stalwart and fair. He liked to talk with the child even when he was but a few years old, and as time passed, and he shot up into a handsome, tall lad, their friendship became a singularly close one. When my lord was at Camylott the country people became accustomed to seeing the two ride through the lanes together, the gamekeepers in the park were familiar with the sight of the elder gentleman and the young Marquess walking side by side down unfrequented woodland paths engaged in earnest conversation, his lordship's hand oftenest resting on the young shoulder as they went.
There was a subject of which these two talked often, and with great interest, it being one for which Roxholm had always felt a love, since the days when he had walked through the picture gallery with his nurse, looking up with childish delight at the ladies and gentlemen in the family portraits, asking to be told stories of their doings, and requiring that it be explained to him why they wore costumes which seemed strange to him. Mistress Halsell had been able to tell him many stories of them, as also had his father and mother and Mr. Fox, his governour, and these stories had so pleased him that he had pondered upon them until their heroes and heroines seemed his familiar friends, and made of as firm flesh and real blood as the ladies and gentlemen who were his kinswomen and kinsmen53 to-day. It had always been his pleasure to remember that the stories to be told of them were such fine ones. There were Crusaders among them who had done splendid deeds; there were men who had fought by the side of their King in battle, and there were those who had done high service for him with brain and spoken word when his power stood in danger of being overthrown54. To the boy there seemed indeed to have been no battle either of Church or State, or with enemies in open field in which Mertouns had not fought. Long before the Conquest, Normandy had known their high-strung spirit and fiery55 valour. At Senlac, Guilbert de Mertoun had stood near William of Normandy when he gave his command to his archers56 that they should shoot into the air, whereby an arrow sought English Harold for its mark and pierced him through eye and brain, leaving him slain57, and William conqueror58. This same Guilbert, William had loved for his fierce bravery and his splendid aim in their hunting the high deer, of whom 'twas said the monarch59 "loved them as if he had been their father;" and when the Domesday Book was made, rich lands were given to him that, as the King said—there should be somewhat worthy60 of his holding to be recorded therein. It had been a Guilbert de Mertoun who rode with Rufus when he would cross to Normandy to put down insurrection there. These two were alike in their spirit (therefore little Roxholm had ever worshipped both), and when they reached the seashore in a raging storm, and the sailors, from fear, refused to put forth61, and Rufus cried, "Heard ye ever of a King who was drowned," 'twas Guilbert who sprang forward swearing he would set sail himself if others would not, and so stirred the cowards with his fierce passionate48 courage that they obeyed the orders given them and crossed the raging sea's arm in the tempest, Guilbert standing7 in their midst spurring them with shouts, while the wind so raged that only a man of giant strength could have stood upright, and his voice could scarce be heard above its fury. And 'twas he who was at the front when the insurgents62 were overpowered. Of this one, of whom 'twas handed down that he was of huge build, and had beard and hair as flaming as Rufus's own, there were legends which made him the idol63 of Roxholm's heart in his childhood. Again and again it had been his custom to demand that they should be repeated to him—the stories of the stags he had pierced to the heart in one day's hunting in the New Forest—the story of how he was held in worship by his villeins, and of his mercifulness to them in days when nobles had the power of life and death, and to do any cruelty to those in servitude to them.
In Edward the Third's time, when the Black Death swept England, there had lived another Guilbert who, having for consort a lovely, noble lady, they two had hand in hand devoted64 themselves to battling the pestilence65 among their serfs and retainers, and with the aid of a brother of great learning (the first Gerald of the house) had sought out and discovered such remedies as saved scores of lives and modified the sufferings of all. At the end of their labours, when the violence of the plague was assuaged66, the lovely lady Aloys had died of the fatigues67 she had borne and her husband had devoted himself to a life of merciful deeds, the history of which was a wondrous68 thing for an impassioned and romance-loving boy to pore over.
Upon the romances of these lives the imagination of the infant Roxholm had nourished itself, and the boy Roxholm being so fed had builded his young life and its ideals upon them.
It was of these ancestors of his house and of their high deeds he found pleasure and profit in talking to his kinsman and friend, and 'twas an incident which took place during one of my Lord Dunstanwolde's visits to Camylott which led them to this manner of converse69.
Roxholm was but eleven years old when in taking a barred gate on a new horse the animal leapt imperfectly and, falling upon his rider, broke a leg and two ribs70 for him. The injuries were such as all knew must give the boy sharp anguish71 of body, when he was placed upon a hurdle72 and carried home. His father galloped73 to the Tower to break the news to her Grace and prepare her for his coming. My Lord Dunstanwolde walked by the hurdle side, and as he did so, watching the boy closely, he was touched to see that though his beautiful young face was white as death and he lay with closed eyes, he uttered no sound and his lips wore a brave smile.
"Is your pain great, Roxholm?" my Lord asked with tender sympathy.
Roxholm opened his eyes and, still smiling, blushed faintly.
"I think of John Cuthbert de Mertoun," he said in a low voice. "It aids me to hold the torment74 at bay."
He spoke42 the words with some shyness, as if feeling that one older than himself might smile at the romantic wildness of his fancy. But this my Lord Dunstanwolde did not, understanding him full well, and lying a hand on his pressed it with warm affection. The story of John Cuthbert was, that a hound suddenly going mad one day while he hunted deep in the forest, it had attacked a poor follower75 and would have torn his throat had his lord not come to his rescue, pulling the beast from him and drawing its fury upon himself, whereby in his battle with it he was horribly bitten; and when the animal lay dead upon the sward he drew his hunting-knife and cut out the mangled76 flesh with his own hand, "and winced77 not nor swouned," as the chronicle recorded with open joy in him.
'Twas while Roxholm lay in bed recovering of his injuries that his kinsman referred to this again, asking him what thoughts he had had of this hero and wherein he had felt them an aid, and the boy's answers and the talk which followed them had been the beginning of many such conversations, his Lordship finding the young mind full of vigour78 and fine imagination. Often, as they conversed79 in after times, the older man was moved by the courageous80 fancies and strong, high ideals he found himself confronting. 'Twas all so brave and beautiful, and there was such tragedy in the thought that life might hold clouds to dull the gold of it. 'Tis but human that those of maturer years who have known sorrow should be reminded of it by the very faith and joyfulness81 of youth. One of the fine features of the Tower of Camylott was its Long Gallery, which was of such length and breadth and so finely panelled as to be renowned82 through all the land. At each end the broad windows looked out upon noble stretches of varying hill and tall and venerable forest, and in wet weather, when the house was full the ladies and gentlemen would promenade83 there, chatting or sometimes playing games to amuse themselves.
In such weather my Lord Dunstanwolde and his young kinsman sometimes paced whole mornings away together, and 'twas on such an occasion that there first entered into Roxholm's life that which later filled and ruled it and was its very self. But at this time he was scarcely fourteen, and 'twas but the first strange chapter of a story he heard, in no way dreaming that 'twas one of which his own deepest pain and highest raptures84 would be part.
Often as the years passed, my Lord Dunstanwolde looked back upon this December day and remembered how, as they walked to and fro, he had marked for the hundredth time how beautiful and picturesque85 a figure the boy made in his suit of rich-coloured brocade, his curling, warm brown hair falling on his shoulders in thick, natural curls such as no perruquier could imitate, the bloom of health and out-door life upon his cheek, his handsome, well-opened eye sparkling or melting in kindly warmth as he conversed. He was a tall, straight-limbed lad, and had by this time attained86 such height and so bore himself that there were but few inches between his noble kinsman and himself, though the years between them were so many, and my Lord Dunstanwolde was of no mean stature87.
Outside a heavy rain fell, deluging88 the earth and drenching89 such grass as the winter had left, covering with its faded tussocks the sweep of the park lands. The sky was heavy with leaden clouds from which the water fell in sweeping90 dashes. Having walked for some time, the two stopped before the wide bay window at the east end of the Long Gallery and watched the deluge91 for a space, marking how the drops splashed upon the terrace, how the birds flew before it, and how the deer huddled92 together under the stripped trees as if glad of the small shelter their trunks and bare branches could afford.
"Such a day brings back to a man the gloomiest things he knows," said Lord Dunstanwolde after a few moments' silent gazing upon the scene. "I no sooner paused here to look forth at the greyness than there came back to me a hard tale I heard before I left Gloucestershire. 'Twas another tale of Wildairs, Gerald."
"Of Sir Jeoffry?" said Roxholm, with interest. It had happened that some time before Lord Dunstanwolde had heard of the impression made upon him by the story of the poor lady and her brutal lord and master. More than once they had spoken together of Wildairs Hall, and those who rioted, and those who suffered, in it, and Roxholm had learned that, year by year the Gloucestershire baronet's living had grown wilder and more dissolute, until his mad follies93 had cut him off from the companionship of all reputable persons, and he spent his days in brutal sports, drink, and rough entertainment with a dozen men as little respected as himself. His money he had squandered94 and gambled away at dice95, his estate fell to greater ruin every year, and no heir had come to him, his poor helpmeet having at length given him eight daughters, but two of whom had lived. His rage at this had increased even beyond its first fury as he realised that each new blunder of her ladyship was a new jest for the county. So it was that the boy turned towards his kinsman with interest, for in some manner the mishaps96 of this wretched family always moved him.
"Of Sir Jeoffry?" he said.
"Of Sir Jeoffry," my Lord Dunstanwolde answered; "but not so much of himself as of his poor lady. At last she is dead."
"Dead!" Roxholm exclaimed. "Dead!" and his voice fell, and he stood a moment and watched the driving rain, full of strange thoughts.
"'Tis happier for her, surely," he said. "I—one cannot feel sorrow for her. How did she die, my lord?"
"As woefully and as neglected as she lived," his lordship answered. "She had given birth to another female infant, and 'twas plain the poor thing knew her last hour had come. She was alone with the one ignorant woman who was all she had to aid her in her hour of trial. The night before Sir Jeoffry had held a drinking bout26 with a party of his boon97 companions, and in the morning, when they were gathered noisily in the courtyard to go forth hunting, the old woman appeared in their midst to acquaint her master of the infant's birth and to bring a message from her mistress, who begged her lord to come to her before he rode forth, saying that she felt strangely ill, and wished greatly to see him." His lordship paused a moment, and a shadow passed swiftly across his countenance98, brought there by a sad memory.
Young Roxholm turned towards him and waited with a speaking look for his next words.
"Then—my lord—?" he broke forth inquiringly. Lord Dunstanwolde passed his hand over his forehead.
"He would not go," he answered; "he would not go. He sent a ribald message to the poor soul—cursing the child she had brought into the world, and then he rode away. The servants say that the old woman had left her mistress alone in her chamber99 and came down to eat and drink. When she went back to her charge the fire had gone out—the room was cold as the grave, and the poor lady lay stone dead, her head fallen upon her wailing100 infant's body in such manner that, had not the child been stronger than most new-born things and fought for its life, it would have been smothered101 in its first hour."
The boy Marquess turned suddenly away and took several hurried steps up the Long Gallery. When he returned his forehead was flushed, his eyes sparkled with an inward fire, and his breath came quickly—but he found no words to utter.
"Once," said Lord Dunstanwolde, slowly, "I saw a tender creature die after her travail—but she was beloved to worship, and our hearts stood still in our bosoms102 as we waited. Mine has truly never seemed to beat since then. Her child—who might, perchance, have aided me to live again, and who would have been my hope and joy and pride, died with her. This poor thing, unwanted, hated, and cast aside to live or die—as if it were the young of some wild creature of the woods—this one, they say, has the strength of ten, and will survive. God have mercy on its evil fortunes."
Young Roxholm stood with folded arms gazing straight before him again into the driving rain. His brow was knit, and he was biting his boyish red lip.
"Is there mercy?" he said in a low voice, at length. "Is there justice, since a human thing can be so cast into the world—and left alone?"
Lord Dunstanwolde put his hand upon his shoulder.
"All of us ask," he said. "None of us knows."
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panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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deposed
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| v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 )；（在法庭上）宣誓作证 | |
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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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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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debauch
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| v.使堕落，放纵 | |
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impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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flouted
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| v.藐视，轻视( flout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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wasteful
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| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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tyrants
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| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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intrigued
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| 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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scapegoat
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| n.替罪的羔羊，替人顶罪者；v.使…成为替罪羊 | |
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appendage
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| n.附加物 | |
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42
spoke
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| 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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43
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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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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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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46
honourableness
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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49
consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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50
bereavement
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| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
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51
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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52
beheld
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| 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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53
kinsmen
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| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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54
overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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56
archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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58
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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59
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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61
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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insurgents
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| n.起义，暴动，造反( insurgent的名词复数 ) | |
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63
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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assuaged
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| v.减轻( assuage的过去式和过去分词 )；缓和；平息；使安静 | |
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fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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hurdle
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| n.跳栏，栏架；障碍，困难；vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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galloped
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| （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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74
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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80
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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81
joyfulness
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82
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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83
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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84
raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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85
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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88
deluging
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| v.使淹没( deluge的现在分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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89
drenching
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| n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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90
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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91
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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92
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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93
follies
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| 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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94
squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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mishaps
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| n.轻微的事故，小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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97
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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98
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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99
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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100
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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101
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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102
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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