For all the starkness1 of frost that now befell, it was not till the early days of February that the packed heavens began to discharge themselves of the congested stores of snow they had been long garnering2. By then the ground was iron a foot deep; the last green thing was withered3 upon itself; dead birds hung in the hedgerows and rabbits were stuck stiff in their burrows4. Familiar presentments of trees and buildings offered strange new aspects as seen from the middle of frozen ponds, and the very least sap of nature was so withdrawn5 as that it seemed a marvel6 the principle of life could endure, to hug itself with any promise of spring.
But to our gentleman waking one morning, there was earnest of the first white fall outside in the wan7 light struck rigidly8 from the ceiling. He rose and went to the window, and saw the cold sheet spread, pure and beautiful and hiding all his world; and at that he knew himself committed to such a prolonged hob-nobbing with his lares as he had never before experienced.
He was hardly discomfited9. This prospective11 imprisonment12 carried with it a picture of home occupations very peaceful and unvexed. Sheltered from the wind, he would study to make of himself a shepherd beloved of his flock. A vision of a sombre library, full of serious warmth and winking14 book-backs, with himself a quiet dreaming student, in the dusk afternoons, set in the midst, appealed pleasantly to his mind’s eye. It should be a period of pregnant repose15, while thought and virtue16 should grow large within him and induce him to a nobler attitude towards life.
In the modest enthusiasm engendered17 of this prospect10, he even wished it would snow ever more and more, until he and his were shut in beyond a last chance of present rescue; and if the desire proved him less foreseeing from the domestic point of view than he would have imagined, it did, at least, most fully18 avouch19 his honesty of purpose.
Since his return he had rather courted seclusion20; nor had he gone much abroad, nor—be it marked—ventured within the radiated influence of the “First Inn.” He had, in consequence, no personal knowledge of those movements of Mr. Brander that were subsequent to his interview with him; but he kept Dennis, to whom he had given his confidence in the matter, on the alert, and that good serving-man reported that no information was in the neighbourhood of any recrudescence of blackguardism on the part of the “Dog and Duck.” Therefore he was fain to hope that the baffled ex-schoolmaster had for the time being succumbed22 to circumstance and withdrawn himself as he came.
Now, on that afternoon of the first snow, Mr. Tuke was busying himself in the room he had made his private and personal study, and Darda was helping23 him to the arrangement of his none too numerous volumes, when her brother came in to crave24 a word with his master.
“Sir,” said he, “I believe you would like to know that Sir David and Miss Royston are returned to ‘Chatters.’”
Tuke looked up in some surprise.
“Already?” he said. “Are you sure?”
“Indeed, yes, sir. I had it from Betty Pollack.”
“Betty?”
“She drove over to-day, sir, with her father, for orders, hearing that you had come back; and she stated that young Gamble had happened upon Sir David and party posting over the high downs at six o’clock yesterday evening.”
“Oh, very well, Dennis.”
The man withdrew, and the master resumed his labours preoccupied25. Presently he slapped a book down upon the table, and—“You must go on by yourself, Darda,” said he, and left the room.
For some minutes after his exit the girl remained motionless where she stood; her ear turned to the last echo of his retreating footstep, her face like a deep-cut cameo, stained with blue shadows, the glory of her hair flaming against a background of snow. From her whiteness and her quiet she might have been the very ghost of some burning thought awake for the first time to the winter of its desolation.
Presently she uttered a little heart-rending sigh, and went on forlornly with her occupation.
Her master, in the meanwhile, was gone about his business; and that was no less than a visit to the returned travellers. His resolve to undertake this was not the fruit of any desperate hope. He had no natural inclination26 to hold himself cheaply in questions of moral treatment, and he was sensitive, in a manly27 way, to the insolences of feminine rebuke28. But he had schooled himself into an attitude towards Miss Royston which only some real act of violence to his feelings should convince him was entirely29 unjustified, and he would not consent to yield his office at that lady’s little court unless he were to suffer an outspoken30 decree of banishment31. He had made up his mind, in fact, like a little naughty but repentant32 boy, to be good, and good he would be if properly encouraged. Now he was to see if Angela would resume her former self with her accustomed life, and, desiring test of this, he would plunge33 once more into the fire. And here, I regret to say, all his eremitic visions dissolved into thin air, and he was decided34 that for him the “running brooks” must suffice for library.
He walked through the deep snow to “Chatters,” and was removing his coat in the hall thereof, after being admitted, when a lofty and languid figure came upon him, and paused in some fatigued35 surprise on its way to a room-door.
“You here, Dunlone!” he said. “This is entirely unexpected.”
“Well,” said Tuke, “being here, I should like to ask you a question. Have you acquainted our friends of my real title?”
“Oh, curse it, no!” said the lord. “What the devil’s it got to do with me?”
“That’s right. I have my reasons for the change, of course, and I’ll ask you to respect them.”
“I give myself no cursed concern about it. I don’t know that it makes much difference,” cried my lord irritably39. “You seem to think I’ve no affairs but yours to consider.”
“You’ll not be offensive, I know,” said Tuke. “It’s not your way.”
The other sniffed40 and preceded the visitor into the drawing-room. He, the latter, pondered profoundly on his short journey thither41, and steeled himself against probabilities.
But here he was agreeably and quite surprisingly flattered. Miss Royston received him with a charming naïveté of welcome, and seemed to encourage him to assume the rôle of a familiar neighbour.
“Are you not astonished to see us back so soon?” she said. “You know how eagerly I grasp at any excuse for a return to the country. Through all the clash and sparkle of town I hear the birds singing and see the lambs frisking in the meadows.”
“They’re not so much as dropped in January,” said Dunlone seriously.
Miss Angela blushed.
He coughed and bowed, and was altogether wholly perplexed43 as to the nature of her present attitude towards him.
“And what was the excuse you grasped at?” said he.
She made a little moue with her lips—she was amazingly confidential—and shrugged44 her pretty shoulders at the oblivious45 viscount.
“He was returning to Cornwall,” she whispered, “and almost drove us home that he might make a half-way house of ‘Chatters.’ I vow46 we were forced to come.”
She was delightfully47 secretive. There was no mention of my lord’s tailor. Almost Tuke misdoubted that Dunlone had kept his aristocratic faith with him.
She lifted her shoulders again at that. Her expression said plainly, “His motive? You know as well as I do, sir, what is the lure49 to any male creature in this house.”
“He is not a first example of savoir vivre,” she whispered; “but, if he is a cub50, he is a tiger-cub.”
“Does that recommend him in your eyes?”
“What hypocrisy51 to pretend it does not in any. He may feed like a wolf, but he hath the royal coat, and his stripes shall cover a multitude of sins.”
“No doubt,” she said, with a light laugh.
He sat silent some moments. Was she sincere, he pondered, or could it be possible she merely sought to play him into check with this insolent54 pawn55?
Now, for the first time, it occurred to him that his own hitherto tactics might have lacked fairness. Miss Royston was very prettily56 instinct with the prudence57 of her class, and it could be nothing less than wrong-headedness that should hold her to blame for subordinating passion to a sense of refinement58. Indeed, what better security against weakness or levity59 could she present him than this very reluctance60 of hers to submit herself to the suit of an uncertified admirer? If in the unacknowledged bitterness of his own degradation61 he had taken some savage62 pleasure in presenting his least admirable side to the world, was this uninterested lady to be called upon to discriminate63 in the question of his grievances64, or not rather to be the more commended for tentatively holding his approaches in check? With such a prize to win, it had surely been his more honourable65 course, not to read in her reserve a force antagonistic66 to his own, but to inventory67 his every possession, and place all, with the truth, at her feet. Why, in short, should she, whose heart he could not flatter himself he had taken at once and by storm, be content to consign68 her long traditions of refinement to one who could give no assurance of his right position to maintain and honour the gift?
Then he thought: “I have Creel’s consent, and it only needs another kind word from her, and the truth shall come. I will tell her what are my real name and title, and so learn for once and for all if, satisfied on these points, she will be willing to forego both for the third item on the list—the man himself.”
And, at this pass, in pops Sir David, with his round face like a full-stop, and puts the period for the time being to a very promising69 situation.
The baronet, it must be said, showed some embarrassment70 over the contretemps. “I ain’t responsible for this Dunlone business, you know,” his pained eyebrows71 pleaded to Tuke. “I don’t profess72 to understand Angel, and she’s as wilful73 as the deuce, she is.”
He would nevertheless have had his friend stay to dinner; but this Tuke would not consent to, pleading his riding-dress and boots for excuse, and protesting that he must go after he had drunk the dish of tea Miss Royston had promised him.
All the time he was there the lady made much of her visitor, while my lord sat by on a sofa, with his mouth like a slur-mark in music, sulkily employing himself in ripping the gold thread from a sword-knot. For this exquisite74 had brought his “drizzling” box with him—a beautiful tortoise-shell casket, with the Dunlone stork75 in silver on the lid, and within a neat array of hilt-bands, shoulder-straps, and galloons of tarnished76 lace—and would sit by the hour together, silent as a Trappist, while he unravelled77 his yarn78 and wound it upon wooden reels. Out of the sale of these, he would tell you, he made quite a little monthly income, for there was no outlay79, the material being cajoled from easy friends or accepted from parasites80; and without doubt the occupation and its moral fitted him like a glove.
He did not even look up when the other came to bid him good-evening, but Tuke thought he heard him murmur81, “Oh, curse it!” under his breath, and was fain to accept this benediction82 as a negative testimony83 to the value put upon him as a rival, and to the capriciousness of the soft sex in general.
The short winter afternoon was closing in as our gentleman, profoundly cogitating84 on the policy it should be best to pursue with a ravissante who would thus humble85 or exalt86 him according to the whimsies87 of her mood, came down to his own gate in the hollow where the ruined lodge88 was situated89. Here much had been redressed90 and improved, so that—though the building itself remained an enbowered wreck—the entrance and the drive presented an ordered appearance, and, indeed, to any lover of the picturesque91, an aspect quite alluring92 in its sweet and lofty loneliness.
He had entered and clanked-to the gate behind him, when something glimmering93 to the back of a tree-trunk brought him to a pause, and immediately he advanced upon it, and, skirting the bole, jerked to a stop and cried, “Betty!”
She stood before him, her head hanging and her face gone a little white; and she knitted her fingers together and had not, it seemed, a word to say.
“Why, what are you doing here, in the dusk and the snow?” he said, in something of a stern voice. “I understood you had gone back with your grandfather?”
Her forehead, under its hood21, took a line of pain, and her lips trembled. He thought he foresaw the coming shower, and his reluctance to encourage it made him assume a little harshness.
“Where is your grandfather?” he said coldly and brusquely.
At that she glanced up at him like a frightened child.
“Don’t—don’t be angry with me!” her looks said plainly.
“Betty?” he asked, reproachfully.
“Grandfather went on first,” she whispered, “and I was to follow.”
“Why? Why didn’t you go with him?”
At that her tears came thick and fast. She shook before him, trying to repress them.
“You can’t go that long way by yourself,” he said, more gently. “Why did you remain behind?”
“I wanted to see you—only to see you and not be seen. You have been away—have kept away so long. Have I vexed13 you? It was what I thought was right. But I’m weak to hold by all I resolved. I only wanted to see you, and now I’ll go.”
She moved a quick step towards the gate. He let her retreat a pace or two. For the first time, I think, he realized what he had been doing. He struggled fiercely with himself; but, no, he could not part with her like this.
“Betty!” he cried again, softly. “You must come back to me.”
She hesitated, turned, and came. He put her in front of him, and took her face between his hands.
“Oh, my dear!” he said, “what have I done?”
She looked up piteously into his eyes.
“No, no,” she whispered, in a drowned voice, “you’re not to blame. You keep your word—you would have me keep mine, like the gentleman you are. It’s—it’s——”
“What, Betty?”
“Only let me see you now and then—see you, and not be spoken to or noticed.”
“How can I prevent you, if you will? But would it be wise?”
She drew herself away from him gently but forcibly.
“No, it would not,” she said, in a low voice; “but love is never that. Yes, love—why should I hide it? And I have found out what I wanted to know. I shall soon hear the bells ringing for your wedding, and—and—oh! why did you ever kiss me?”
And at that she ran from him. He called to her, hurried after her, but she was heedless. He saw her speed up the road, and he durst not follow. He knew that, country-bred girl as she was, she would make little of the miles to Stockbridge, even were her grandfather not awaiting her at a distance, which he thought improbable.
Then, retracing95 his steps with a groan96, he went on to his house. He walked sternly. He was not only despicable in his own eyes, but cruel in a manner he had not thought was possible to his nature.
As he entered his hall, Dennis came upon him with startled eyes.
“Sir,” he said, eagerly, “may I have a word with you?”
点击收听单词发音
1 starkness | |
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2 garnering | |
v.收集并(通常)贮藏(某物),取得,获得( garner的现在分词 ) | |
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3 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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4 burrows | |
n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘(洞穴),挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 );翻寻 | |
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5 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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6 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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7 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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8 rigidly | |
adv.刻板地,僵化地 | |
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9 discomfited | |
v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词);使狼狈;使挫折;挫败 | |
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10 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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11 prospective | |
adj.预期的,未来的,前瞻性的 | |
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12 imprisonment | |
n.关押,监禁,坐牢 | |
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13 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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14 winking | |
n.瞬眼,目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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15 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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16 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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17 engendered | |
v.产生(某形势或状况),造成,引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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19 avouch | |
v.确说,断言 | |
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20 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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21 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
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22 succumbed | |
不再抵抗(诱惑、疾病、攻击等)( succumb的过去式和过去分词 ); 屈从; 被压垮; 死 | |
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23 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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24 crave | |
vt.渴望得到,迫切需要,恳求,请求 | |
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25 preoccupied | |
adj.全神贯注的,入神的;被抢先占有的;心事重重的v.占据(某人)思想,使对…全神贯注,使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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26 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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27 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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28 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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29 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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30 outspoken | |
adj.直言无讳的,坦率的,坦白无隐的 | |
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31 banishment | |
n.放逐,驱逐 | |
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32 repentant | |
adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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33 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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34 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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35 fatigued | |
adj. 疲乏的 | |
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36 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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37 accosted | |
v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 );跟…搭讪;(乞丐等)上前向…乞讨;(妓女等)勾搭 | |
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38 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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39 irritably | |
ad.易生气地 | |
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40 sniffed | |
v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
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41 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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42 plaintive | |
adj.可怜的,伤心的 | |
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43 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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44 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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45 oblivious | |
adj.易忘的,遗忘的,忘却的,健忘的 | |
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46 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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47 delightfully | |
大喜,欣然 | |
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48 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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49 lure | |
n.吸引人的东西,诱惑物;vt.引诱,吸引 | |
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50 cub | |
n.幼兽,年轻无经验的人 | |
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51 hypocrisy | |
n.伪善,虚伪 | |
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52 rib | |
n.肋骨,肋状物 | |
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53 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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54 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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55 pawn | |
n.典当,抵押,小人物,走卒;v.典当,抵押 | |
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56 prettily | |
adv.优美地;可爱地 | |
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57 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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58 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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59 levity | |
n.轻率,轻浮,不稳定,多变 | |
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60 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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61 degradation | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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62 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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63 discriminate | |
v.区别,辨别,区分;有区别地对待 | |
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64 grievances | |
n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 );苦衷;不满;牢骚 | |
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65 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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66 antagonistic | |
adj.敌对的 | |
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67 inventory | |
n.详细目录,存货清单 | |
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68 consign | |
vt.寄售(货品),托运,交托,委托 | |
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69 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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70 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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71 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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72 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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73 wilful | |
adj.任性的,故意的 | |
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74 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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75 stork | |
n.鹳 | |
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76 tarnished | |
(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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77 unravelled | |
解开,拆散,散开( unravel的过去式和过去分词 ); 阐明; 澄清; 弄清楚 | |
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78 yarn | |
n.纱,纱线,纺线;奇闻漫谈,旅行轶事 | |
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79 outlay | |
n.费用,经费,支出;v.花费 | |
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80 parasites | |
寄生物( parasite的名词复数 ); 靠他人为生的人; 诸虫 | |
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81 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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82 benediction | |
n.祝福;恩赐 | |
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83 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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84 cogitating | |
v.认真思考,深思熟虑( cogitate的现在分词 ) | |
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85 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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86 exalt | |
v.赞扬,歌颂,晋升,提升 | |
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87 whimsies | |
n.怪念头( whimsy的名词复数 );异想天开;怪脾气;与众不同的幽默感 | |
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88 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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89 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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90 redressed | |
v.改正( redress的过去式和过去分词 );重加权衡;恢复平衡 | |
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91 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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92 alluring | |
adj.吸引人的,迷人的 | |
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93 glimmering | |
n.微光,隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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94 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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95 retracing | |
v.折回( retrace的现在分词 );回忆;回顾;追溯 | |
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96 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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