In the days of which you read all classes, save perhaps the very poor, fared better in meat and in drink than they have ever done since. The country was covered with woodlands—there were seventy separate forests in England alone, some of them covering half a shire. Within these forests the great beasts of the chase were strictly1 preserved, but the smaller game, the hares, the rabbits, the birds, which swarmed2 round the coverts3, found their way readily into the poor man's pot. Ale was very cheap, and cheaper still was the mead4 which every peasant could make for himself out of the wild honey in the tree-trunks. There were many tea-like drinks also, which were brewed5 by the poor at no expense: mallow tea, tansy tea, and others the secret of which has passed.
Amid the richer classes there was rude profusion8, great joints9 ever on the sideboard, huge pies, beasts of the field and beasts of the chase, with ale and rough French or Rhenish wines to wash them down. But the very rich had attained10 to a high pitch of luxury in their food, and cookery was a science in which the ornamentation of the dish was almost as important as the dressing11 of the food. It was gilded12, it was silvered, it was painted, it was surrounded with flame. From the boar and the peacock down to such strange food as the porpoise13 and the hedgehog, every dish had its own setting and its own sauce, very strange and very complex, with flavorings of dates, currants, cloves14, vinegar, sugar and honey, of cinnamon, ground ginger15, sandalwood, saffron, brawn16 and pines. It was the Norman tradition to eat in moderation, but to have a great profusion of the best and of the most delicate from which to choose. From them came this complex cookery, so unlike the rude and often gluttonous17 simplicity18 of the old Teutonic stock.
Sir John Buttesthorn was of that middle class who fared in the old fashion, and his great oak supper-table groaned19 beneath the generous pastries21, the mighty22 joints and the great flagons. Below were the household, above on a raised dais the family table, with places ever ready for those frequent guests who dropped in from the high road outside. Such a one had just come, an old priest, journeying from the Abbey of Chertsey to the Priory of Saint John at Midhurst. He passed often that way, and never without breaking his journey at the hospitable23 board of Cosford.
“Welcome again, good Father Athanasius!” cried the burly Knight24. “Come sit here on my right and give me the news of the country-side, for there is never a scandal but the priests are the first to know it.”
The priest, a kindly25, quiet man, glanced at an empty place upon the farther side of his host. “Mistress Edith?” said he.
“Aye, aye, where is the hussy?” cried her father impatiently. “Mary, I beg you to have the horn blown again, that she may know that the supper is on the table. What can the little owlet do abroad at this hour of the night?”
There was trouble in the priest's gentle eyes as he touched the Knight upon the sleeve. “I have seen Mistress Edith within this hour,” said he. “I fear that she will hear no horn that you may blow, for she must be at Milford ere now.”
“At Milford? What does she there?”
“I pray you, good Sir John, to abate26 your voice somewhat, for indeed this matter is for our private discourse27, since it touches the honor of a lady.”
“Her honor?” Sir John's ruddy face had turned redder still, as he stared at the troubled features of the priest. “Her honor, say you—the honor of my daughter? Make good those words, or never set your foot over the threshold of Cosford again!”
“I trust that I have done no wrong, Sir John, but indeed I must say what I have seen, else would I be a false friend and an unworthy priest.”
“Haste man, haste! What in the Devil's name have you seen?”
“Know you a little man, partly misshapen, named Paul de la Fosse?”
“I know him well. He is a man of noble family and coat-armor, being the younger brother of Sir Eustace de la Fosse of Shalford. Time was when I had thought that I might call him son, for there was never a day that he did not pass with my girls, but I fear that his crooked28 back sped him ill in his wooing.”
“Alas, Sir John! It is his mind that is more crooked than his back. He is a perilous29 man with women, for the Devil hath given him such a tongue and such an eye that he charms them even as the basilisk. Marriage may be in their mind, but never in his, so that I could count a dozen and more whom he has led to their undoing30. It is his pride and his boast over the whole countryside.”
“Well, well, and what is this to me or mine?”
“Even now, Sir John, as I rode my mule31 up the road I met this man speeding toward his home. A woman rode by his side, and though her face was hooded32 I heard her laugh as she passed me. That laugh I have heard before, and it was under this very roof, from the lips of Mistress Edith.”
The Knight's knife dropped from his hand. But the debate had been such that neither Mary nor Nigel could fail to have heard it. Mid7 the rough laughter and clatter33 of voices from below the little group at the high table had a privacy of their own.
“Fear not, father,” said the girl—“indeed, the good Father Athanasius hath fallen into error, and Edith will be with us anon. I have heard her speak of this man many times of late, and always with bitter words.”
“It is true, sir,” cried Nigel eagerly. “It was only this very evening as we rode over Thursley Moor34 that Mistress Edith told me that she counted him not a fly, and that she would be glad if he were beaten for his evil deeds.”
But the wise priest shook his silvery locks. “Nay35, there is ever danger when a woman speaks like that. Hot hate is twin brother to hot love. Why should she speak so if there were not some bond between them?”
“And yet,” said Nigel, “what can have changed her thoughts in three short hours? She was here in the hall with us since I came. By Saint Paul, I will not believe it!”
Mary's face darkened. “I call to mind,” said she, “that a note was brought her by Hannekin the stable varlet when you were talking to us, fair sir, of the terms of the chase. She read it and went forth36.”
Sir John sprang to his feet, but sank into his chair again with a groan20. “Would that I were dead,” he cried, “ere I saw dishonor come upon my house, and am so tied with this accursed foot that I can neither examine if it be true, nor yet avenge37 it! If my son Oliver were here, then all would be well. Send me this stable varlet that I may question him.”
“I pray you, fair and honored sir,” said Nigel, “that you will take me for your son this night, that I may handle this matter in the way which seems best. On jeopardy38 of my honor I will do all that a man may.”
“Nigel, I thank you. There is no man in Christendom to whom I would sooner turn.”
“But I would lean your mind in one matter, fair sir. This man, Paul de la Fosse, owns broad acres, as I understand, and comes of noble blood. There is no reason if things be as we fear that he should not marry your daughter?”
“Nay, she could not wish for better.”
“It is well. And first I would question this Hannekin; but it shall be done in such a fashion that none shall know, for indeed it is not a matter for the gossip of servants. But if you will show me the man, Mistress Mary, I will take him out to tend my own horse, and so I shall learn all that he has to tell.”
Nigel was absent for some time, and when he returned the shadow upon his face brought little hope to the anxious hearts at the high table. “I have locked him in the stable loft39, lest he talk too much,” said he, “for my questions must have shown him whence the wind blew. It was indeed from this man that the note came, and he had brought with him a spare horse for the lady.”
The old Knight groaned, and his face sank upon his hands.
“Nay, father, they watch you!” whispered Mary. “For the honor of our house let us keep a bold face to all.” Then, raising her young clear voice, so that it sounded through the room: “If you ride eastward40, Nigel, I would fain go with you, that my sister may not come back alone.”
“We will ride together, Mary,” said Nigel, rising; then in a lower voice: “But we cannot go alone, and if we take a servant all is known. I pray you to stay at home and leave the matter with me.”
“Nay, Nigel, she may sorely need a woman's aid, and what woman should it be save her own sister? I can take my tire-woman with us.”
“Nay, I shall ride with you myself if your impatience41 can keep within the powers of my mule,” said the old priest.
“But it is not your road, father?”
“The only road of a true priest is that which leads to the good of others. Come, my children, and we will go together.”
And so it was that stout42 Sir John Buttesthorn, the aged43 Knight of Duplin, was left alone at his own high table, pretending to eat, pretending to drink, fidgeting in his seat, trying hard to seem unconcerned with his mind and body in a fever, while below him his varlets and handmaids laughed and jested, clattering44 their cups and clearing their trenchers, all unconscious of the dark shadow which threw its gloom over the lonely man upon the dais above.
Meantime the Lady Mary upon the white jennet which her sister had ridden on the same evening, Nigel on his war-horse, and the priest on the mule, clattered46 down the rude winding47 road which led to London. The country on either side was a wilderness48 of heather moors49 and of morasses50 from which came the strange crying of night-fowl. A half-moon shone in the sky between the rifts51 of hurrying clouds. The lady rode in silence, absorbed in the thought of the task before them, the danger and the shame.
Nigel chatted in a low tone with the priest. From him he learned more of the evil name of this man whom they followed. His house at Shalford was a den45 of profligacy52 and vice53. No woman could cross that threshold and depart unstained. In some strange fashion, inexplicable54 and yet common, the man, with all his evil soul and his twisted body, had yet some strange fascination55 for women, some mastery over them which compelled them to his will. Again and again he had brought ruin to a household, again and again his adroit56 tongue and his cunning wit had in some fashion saved him from the punishment of his deeds. His family was great in the county, and his kinsmen57 held favor with the King, so that his neighbors feared to push things too far against him. Such was the man, malignant58 and ravenous59, who had stooped like some foul60 night-hawk and borne away to his evil nest the golden beauty of Cosford. Nigel said little as he listened, but he raised his hunting-dagger61 to his tightened62 lips, and thrice he kissed the cross of its handle.
They had passed over the moors and through the village of Milford and the little township of Godalming, until their path turned southward over the Pease marsh64 and crossed the meadows of Shalford. There on the dark hillside glowed the red points of light which marked the windows of the house which they sought. A somber65 arched avenue of oak-trees led up to it, and then they were in the moon-silvered clearing in front.
From the shadow of the arched door there sprang two rough serving-men, bearded and gruff, great cudgels in their hands, to ask them who they were and what their errand. The Lady Mary had slipped from her horse and was advancing to the door, but they rudely barred her way.
“Nay, nay, our master needs no more!” cried one, with a hoarse66 laugh. “Stand back, mistress, whoever you be! The house is shut, and our lord sees no guests to-night.”
“Fellow,” said Nigel, speaking low and clear, “stand back from us! Our errand is with your master.”
“Bethink you, my children,” cried the old priest, “would it not be best perchance, that I go in to him and see whether the voice of the Church may not soften67 this hard heart? I fear bloodshed if you enter.”
“Nay, father, I pray you to stay here for the nonce,” said Nigel. “And you, Mary, do you bide68 with the good priest, for we know not what may be within.”
Again he turned to the door, and again the two men barred his passage.
“Stand back, I say, back for your lives!” said Nigel. “By Saint Paul! I should think it shame to soil my sword with such as you, but my soul is set, and no man shall bar my path this night.”
The men shrank from the deadly menace of that gentle voice.
“That is indeed my name.”
“Had you spoken it I for one would not have stopped your way. Put down your staff, Wat, for this is no stranger, but the Squire of Tilford.”
“As well for him,” grumbled70 the other, lowering his cudgel with an inward prayer of thanksgiving. “Had it been otherwise I should have had blood upon my soul to-night. But our master said nothing of neighbors when he ordered us to hold the door. I will enter and ask him what is his will.”
But already Nigel was past them and had pushed open the outer door. Swift as he was, the Lady Mary was at his very heels, and the two passed together into the hall beyond.
It was a great room, draped and curtained with black shadows, with one vivid circle of light in the center, where two oil lamps shone upon a small table. A meal was laid upon the table, but only two were seated at it, and there were no servants in the room. At the near end was Edith, her golden hair loose and streaming down over the scarlet71 and black of her riding-dress.
At the farther end the light beat strongly upon the harsh face and the high-drawn misshapen shoulders of the lord of the house. A tangle72 of black hair surmounted73 a high rounded forehead, the forehead of a thinker, with two deep-set cold gray eyes twinkling sharply from under tufted brows. His nose was curved and sharp, like the beak74 of some cruel bird, but below the whole of his clean-shaven powerful face was marred75 by the loose slabbing mouth and the round folds of the heavy chin. His knife in one hand and a half-gnawed bone in the other, he looked fiercely up, like some beast disturbed in his den, as the two intruders broke in upon his hall.
Nigel stopped midway between the door and the table. His eyes and those of Paul de la Fosse were riveted76 upon each other. But Mary, with her woman's soul flooded over with love and pity, had rushed forward and cast her arms round her younger sister. Edith had sprung up from her chair, and with averted77 face tried to push the other away from her.
“Edith, Edith! By the Virgin78, I implore79 you to come back with us, and to leave this wicked man!” cried Mary. “Dear sister, you would not break our father's heart, nor bring his gray head in dishonor to the grave! Come back Edith, come back and all is well.”
But Edith pushed her away, and her fair cheeks were flushed with her anger. “What right have you over me, Mary, you who are but two years older, that you should follow me over the country-side as though I were a runagate villain80 and you my mistress? Do you yourself go back, and leave me to do that which seems best in my own eyes.”
But Mary still held her in her arms, and still strove to soften the hard and angry heart. “Our mother is dead, Edith. I thank God that she died ere she saw you under this roof! But I stand for her, as I have done all my life, since I am indeed your elder. It is with her voice that I beg and pray you that you will not trust this man further, and that you will come back ere it be too late!”
Edith writhed81 from her grasp, and stood flushed and defiant82, with gleaming, angry eyes fixed83 upon her sister. “You may speak evil of him now,” said she, “but there was a time when Paul de la Fosse came to Cosford, and who so gentle and soft-spoken to him then as wise, grave, sister Mary? But he has learned to love another; so now he is the wicked man, and it is shame to be seen under his roof! From what I see of my good pious84 sister and her cavalier it is sin for another to ride at night with a man at your side, but it comes easy enough to you. Look at your own eye, good sister, ere you would take the speck85 from that of another.”
Mary stood irresolute86 and greatly troubled, holding down her pride and her anger, but uncertain how best to deal with this strong wayward spirit.
“It is not a time for bitter words, dear sister,” said she, and again she laid her hand upon her sister's sleeve. “All that you say may be true. There was indeed a time when this man was friend to us both, and I know even as you do the power which he may have to win a woman's heart. But I know him now, and you do not. I know the evil that he has wrought87, the dishonor that he has brought, the perjury88 that lies upon his soul, the confidence betrayed, the promise unfulfilled—all this I know. Am I to see my own sister caught in the same well-used trap? Has it shut upon you, child? Am I indeed already too late? For God's sake, tell me, Edith, that it is not so?”
Edith plucked her sleeve from her sister and made two swift steps to the head of the table. Paul de la Fosse still sat silent with his eyes upon Nigel. Edith laid her hand upon his shoulder: “This is the man I love, and the only man that I have ever loved. This is my husband,” said she.
At the word Mary gave a cry of joy.
“And is it so?” she cried. “Nay, then all is in honor, and God will see to the rest. If you are man and wife before the altar, then indeed why should I, or any other, stand between you? Tell me that it is indeed so, and I return this moment to make your father a happy man.”
Edith pouted89 like a naughty child. “We are man and wife in the eyes of God. Soon also we shall be wedded90 before all the world. We do but wait until next Monday when Paul's brother, who is a priest at St. Albans, will come to wed6 us. Already a messenger has sped for him, and he will come, will he not, dear love?”
“He will come,” said the master of Shalford, still with his eyes fixed upon the silent Nigel.
“It is a lie; he will not come,” said a voice from the door.
It was the old priest, who had followed the others as far as the threshold.
“He will not come,” he repeated as he advanced into the room. “Daughter, my daughter, hearken to the words of one who is indeed old enough to be your earthly father. This lie has served before. He has ruined others before you with it. The man has no brother at Saint Albans. I know his brothers well, and there is no priest among them. Before Monday, when it is all too late, you will have found the truth as others have done before you. Trust him not, but come with us!”
Paul de la Fosse looked up at her with a quick smile and patted the hand upon his shoulder.
“Do you speak to them, Edith,” said he.
Her eyes flashed with scorn as she surveyed them each in turn, the woman, the youth and the priest.
“I have but one word to say to them,” said she. “It is that they go hence and trouble us no more. Am I not a free woman? Have I not said that this is the only man I ever loved? I have loved him long. He did not know it, and in despair he turned to another. Now he knows all and never again can doubt come between us. Therefore I will stay here at Shalford and come to Cosford no more save upon the arm of my husband. Am I so weak that I would believe the tales you tell against him? Is it hard for a jealous woman and a wandering priest to agree upon a lie? No, no, Mary, you can go hence and take your cavalier and your priest with you, for here I stay, true to my love and safe in my trust upon his honor!”
“Well spoken, on my faith, my golden bird!” said the little master of Shalford. “Let me add my own word to that which has been said. You would not grant me any virtue91 in your unkindly speech, good Lady Mary, and yet you must needs confess that at least I have good store of patience, since I have not set my dogs upon your friends who have come between me and my ease. But even to the most virtuous92 there comes at last a time when poor human frailty93 may prevail, and so I pray you to remove both yourself, your priest and your valiant94 knight errant, lest perhaps there be more haste and less dignity when at last you do take your leave. Sit down, my fair love, and let us turn once more to our supper.” He motioned her to her chair, and he filled her wine-cup as well as his own.
Nigel had said no word since he had entered the room, but his look had never lost its set purpose, nor had his brooding eyes ever wandered from the sneering95 face of the deformed96 master of Shalford. Now he turned with swift decision to Mary and to the priest.
“That is over,” said he in a low voice. “You have done all that you could, and now it is for me to play my part as well as I am able. I pray you, Mary, and you, good father, that you will await me outside.”
“Nay, Nigel, if there is danger—”
“It is easier for me, Mary, if you are not there. I pray you to go. I can speak to this man more at my ease.”
She looked at him with questioning eyes and then obeyed.
Nigel plucked at the priest's gown.
“I pray you, father, have you your book of offices with you?”
“Surely, Nigel, it is ever in my breast.”
“Have it ready, father!”
“For what, my son?”
“There are two places you may mark; there is the service of marriage and there is the prayer for the dying. Go with her, father, and be ready at my call.”
He closed the door behind them and was alone with this ill-matched couple. They both turned in their chairs to look at him, Edith with a defiant face, the man with a bitter smile upon his lips and malignant hatred97 in his eyes.
“What,” said he, “the knight errant still lingers? Have we not heard of his thirst for glory? What new venture does he see that he should tarry here?”
Nigel walked to the table.
“There is no glory and little venture,” said he; “but I have come for a purpose and I must do it. I learn from your own lips, Edith, that you will not leave this man.”
“If you have ears you have heard it.”
“You are, as you have said, a free woman, and who can gainsay98 you? But I have known you, Edith, since we played as boy and girl on the heather-hills together. I will save you from this man's cunning and from your own foolish weakness.”
“What would you do?”
“There is a priest without. He will marry you now. I will see you married ere I leave this hall.”
“Or else you never leave this hall alive. Nay, call not for your servants or your dogs! By Saint Paul! I swear to you that this matter lies between us three, and that if any fourth comes at your call you, at least, shall never live to see what comes of it! Speak then, Paul of Shalford! Will you wed this woman now, or will you not?”
Edith was on her feet with outstretched arms between them. “Stand back, Nigel! He is small and weak. You would not do him a hurt! Did you not say so this very day? For God's sake, Nigel, do not look at him so! There is death in your eyes.”
“A snake may be small and weak, Edith, yet every honest man would place his heel upon it. Do you stand back yourself, for my purpose is set.”
“Paul!” she turned her eyes to the pale sneering face. “Bethink you, Paul! Why should you not do what he asks? What matter to you whether it be now or on Monday? I pray you, dear Paul, for my sake let him have his way! Your brother can read the service again if it so please him. Let us wed now, Paul, and then all is well.”
He had risen from his chair, and he dashed aside her appealing hands. “You foolish woman,” he snarled100, “and you, my savior of fair damsels, who are so bold against a cripple, you have both to learn that if my body be weak there is the soul of my breed within it! To marry because a boasting, ranting101, country Squire would have me do so—no, by the soul of God, I will die first! On Monday I will marry, and no day sooner, so let that be your answer.”
“It is the answer that I wished,” said Nigel, “for indeed I see no happiness in this marriage, and the other may well be the better way. Stand aside, Edith!” He gently forced her to one side and drew his sword.
De la Fosse cried aloud at the sight. “I have no sword. You would not murder me?” said he, leaning back with haggard-face and burning eyes against his chair. The bright steel shone in the lamp-light. Edith shrank back, her hand over her face.
“Take this sword!” said Nigel, and he turned the hilt to the cripple. “Now!” he added, as he drew his hunting knife. “Kill me if you can, Paul de la Fosse, for as God is my help I will do as much for you!”
The woman, half swooning and yet spellbound and fascinated, looked on at that strange combat. For a moment the cripple stood with an air of doubt, the sword grasped in his nerveless fingers. Then as he saw the tiny blade in Nigel's hand the greatness of the advantage came home to him, and a cruel smile tightened his loose lips. Slowly, step by step he advanced, his chin sunk upon his chest, his eyes glaring from under the thick tangle of his brows like fires through the brushwood. Nigel waited for him, his left hand forward, his knife down by his hip63, his face grave, still and watchful102.
Nearer and nearer yet, with stealthy step, and then with a bound and a cry of hatred and rage Paul de la Fosse had sped his blow. It was well judged and well swung, but point would have been wiser than edge against that supple103 body and those active feet. Quick as a flash, Nigel had sprung inside the sweep of the blade, taking a flesh wound on his left forearm, as he pressed it under the hilt. The next instant the cripple was on the ground and Nigel's dagger was at his throat.
“You dog!” he whispered. “I have you at my mercy! Quick ere I strike, and for the last time! Will you marry or no?”
The crash of the fall and the sharp point upon his throat had cowed the man's spirit. He looked up with a white face and the sweat gleamed upon his forehead. There was terror in his eyes.
“Will you marry?”
“Yes, yes, I will wed her! After all she is a good wench and I might do worse. Let me up! I tell you I will marry her! What more would you have?”
Nigel stood above him with his foot upon his misshapen body. He had picked up his sword, and the point rested upon the cripple's breast.
“Nay, you will bide where you are! If you are to live—and my conscience cries loud against it—at least your wedding will be such as your sins have deserved. Lie there, like the crushed worm that you are!” Then he raised his voice. “Father Athanasius!” he cried. “What ho! Father Athanasius!”
The old priest ran to the cry, and so did the Lady Mary. A strange sight it was that met them now in the circle of light, the frightened girl, half-unconscious against the table, the prostrate106 cripple, and Nigel with foot and sword upon his body.
“Your book, father!” cried Nigel. “I know not if what we do is good or ill; but we must wed them, for there is no way out.”
But the girl by the table had given a great cry, and she was clinging and sobbing107 with her arms round her sister's neck.
“Oh, Mary, I thank the Virgin that you have come! I thank the Virgin that it is not too late! What did he say? He said that he was a de la Fosse and that he would not be married at the sword-point. My heart went out to him when he said it. But I, am I not a Buttesthorn, and shall it be said that I would marry a man who could be led to the altar with a knife at his throat? No, no, I see him as he is! I know him now, the mean spirit, the lying tongue! Can I not read in his eyes that he has indeed deceived me, that he would have left me as you say that he has left others? Take me home, Mary, my sister, for you have plucked me back this night from the very mouth of Hell!”
And so it was that the master of Shalford, livid and brooding, was left with his wine at his lonely table, while the golden beauty of Cosford, hot with shame and anger, her fair face wet with tears, passed out safe from the house of infamy108 into the great calm and peace of the starry109 night.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
strictly
|
|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
swarmed
|
|
| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
coverts
|
|
| n.隐蔽的，不公开的，秘密的( covert的名词复数 )；复羽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
mead
|
|
| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
brewed
|
|
| 调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 )； 酝酿； 沏（茶）； 煮（咖啡） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
wed
|
|
| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
mid
|
|
| adj.中央的，中间的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
profusion
|
|
| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
joints
|
|
| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
attained
|
|
| （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） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
gilded
|
|
| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
porpoise
|
|
| n.鼠海豚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
cloves
|
|
| n.丁香（热带树木的干花，形似小钉子，用作调味品，尤用作甜食的香料）( clove的名词复数 )；蒜瓣(a garlic ~|a ~of garlic) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
ginger
|
|
| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
brawn
|
|
| n.体力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
gluttonous
|
|
| adj.贪吃的，贪婪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
groan
|
|
| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
pastries
|
|
| n.面粉制的糕点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
hospitable
|
|
| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
abate
|
|
| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
discourse
|
|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
crooked
|
|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
perilous
|
|
| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
undoing
|
|
| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
mule
|
|
| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
hooded
|
|
| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
clatter
|
|
| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
moor
|
|
| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
avenge
|
|
| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
jeopardy
|
|
| n.危险；危难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
loft
|
|
| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
eastward
|
|
| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
clattering
|
|
| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
den
|
|
| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
clattered
|
|
| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
moors
|
|
| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
morasses
|
|
| n.缠作一团( morass的名词复数 )；困境；沼泽；陷阱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
51
rifts
|
|
| n.裂缝( rift的名词复数 )；裂隙；分裂；不和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
profligacy
|
|
| n.放荡，不检点，肆意挥霍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
vice
|
|
| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
fascination
|
|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
adroit
|
|
| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
kinsmen
|
|
| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
malignant
|
|
| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
ravenous
|
|
| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
dagger
|
|
| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
tightened
|
|
| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
hip
|
|
| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
marsh
|
|
| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
somber
|
|
| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
hoarse
|
|
| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
soften
|
|
| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
bide
|
|
| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
grumbled
|
|
| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
tangle
|
|
| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
surmounted
|
|
| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
beak
|
|
| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
marred
|
|
| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
riveted
|
|
| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
implore
|
|
| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
villain
|
|
| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
writhed
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
defiant
|
|
| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
pious
|
|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
speck
|
|
| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
irresolute
|
|
| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
perjury
|
|
| n.伪证；伪证罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
pouted
|
|
| v.撅（嘴）( pout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
wedded
|
|
| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
virtuous
|
|
| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
frailty
|
|
| n.脆弱；意志薄弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
valiant
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
sneering
|
|
| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
deformed
|
|
| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
gainsay
|
|
| v.否认，反驳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
sneered
|
|
| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
snarled
|
|
| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
ranting
|
|
| v.夸夸其谈( rant的现在分词 )；大叫大嚷地以…说教；气愤地)大叫大嚷；不停地大声抱怨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
supple
|
|
| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
calf
|
|
| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
shambles
|
|
| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
prostrate
|
|
| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
sobbing
|
|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
infamy
|
|
| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
starry
|
|
| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |