The snow was gone, but it was still cold and unpleasant weather when the ruler of Mr. Massarene’s fate, accompanied by a score or more intimate acquaintances who had been persuaded to patronize “Billy,” arrived in the dusk at Vale Royal with an enormous amount of luggage and a regiment1 of body-servants and maids.
“You needn’t have come to meet us. I know my way about here better than you do,” was the ungracious salutation with which the host, who had gone himself to the station, was met by the object of his veneration2. She never flattered him now; she had got him well in hand; it was no longer necessary to do violence to her nature; when one likes the use of the spur one does not humor one’s horse with sugar; she thought the spur and the whip salutary for him, and employed them with scant3 mercy.
She mounted as lightly as a young cat to the box of the four-in-hand break, took the reins4, and drove her mesmerized5, trembling yet enchanted6 victim through the dusky lanes and over the muddy roads which were familiar to her, the lights of the lamps flashing, and the chatter7 and laughter of the other occupants of the break bringing the laboring8 people out of their cottages, as the lady whom they knew so well flew by them in the twilight9.
“Seems kind o’ heartless like in Lady Kenny to go to the great house now the poor lord’s in it no more; him her own cousin and all,” said a young woman to her husband who was only a hedger and ditcher, but a shrewd observer in his way, and who replied, as he looked after the four white-stockinged bays: “Lady Kenny aren’t one to cry for spilt milk; she knows where her bread is buttered. Lord, gal10, ’twas she made Roxhall sell, and I’ll take my oath as I stands here that most o’ the blunt went in her pocket.”
All the people for forty miles round were of the same opinion, and owed her a grudge11 for it. Roxhall had been[177] a very popular landlord and employer; his tenantry and laboring folks mourned for him, and despised the new man who stood on his hearthstone. Quite indifferent, however, to the voces populi she drove safely through the familiar gates and up the mile-long avenue as night descended13, and went into the library, looking very handsome with her blue eyes almost black, and her fair face bright and rosy14, from the chilly15 high winds of the bleak16 April evening.
She pulled off her sealskins and threw them to one of her attendant gentlemen, and then walked forward to the warmth of the great Elizabethan fireplace. “Well, my dear woman, how do you like it?” she said good-humoredly to Margaret Massarene, as she drew off her gloves and took a cup of tea before the hearth12 where a stately fire was burning for its beauty’s sake: the great room was heated by hot water pipes. Margaret Massarene was in that dual17 state of trepidation18, anxiety, offence, and bewilderment into which the notice of her monitress invariably plunged19 her. She murmured some inarticulate words, and glanced timidly at the bevy21 of strangers. But Mouse did not take the trouble to introduce her friends to their hostess; some of them were already acquainted with her, but some were not: all with equal and unceremonious readiness ignored her presence, and descended on the teacups and muffins and caviare sandwiches with the unanimity22 of a flock of rooks settling down on to a field mined with wire worms.
“Always had tea in here in Gerald’s time,” said one of the men, staring about him to see if there was any alteration23 made in the room.
“I don’t think you know my daughter,” Mrs. Massarene summed courage to murmur20, with a nervous glance toward Katherine, who stood at the other end of the wide chimney-piece, a noble piece of fine oak carving24 with huge silver dogs of the Stuart period, and the Roxhall arms in bold bosses above it.
Mouse, looking extremely like her brother, flashed her sapphire25 eyes like a search light over the face and figure of the person in whom she had by instinct divined an antagonist26, and desired to find a sister-in-law.
[178]“So glad,” she murmured vaguely27, as she put down her cup, and held out her hand with a composite grace all her own, at once charmingly amiable28 and intolerably insolent29.
Katherine merely made her a low curtsey, and did not put out her hand in return.
“How’s Sherry and Bitters?” asked Lady Kenilworth, marking but ignoring the rudeness. “Amusing creature, isn’t he? Bored to death, I suppose, in India?”
“It would be difficult, I think, for the most stupid person to be bored in India,” replied Katherine briefly31. “Lord Framlingham is not stupid.”
Lady Kenilworth stared. Then she laughed, as it was so very comical to find Billy’s daughter such a person as this.
“I saw from that bust32 of Dalou’s that she wouldn’t be facile,” she reflected. “Looks as if she thought pumpkins33 of herself; if she’s cheeky to me it will be the worse for her.”
Katherine was very cold, very pale, very still; the men did not get on with her, and soon abandoned the attempt to do so. The ladies, after staring hard, scarcely noticed her or her mother, but chattered34 amongst themselves like sparrows on a house roof after rain. With swelling36 heart she felt their gaze fixed37 on her; two of them put up their eyeglasses. She wore a plain silver-colored woolen38 gown, but their experienced eye recognized the cut of a famous faiseur, and the natural lines of her form were unusually perfect.
“Très bien mise; très simple, mais très bien,” said a Parisienne, Duchesse de Saint-Avit, quite audibly, gazing at her as if she were some curious piece of carving like the fireplace.
“Elle n’est pas mal du tout,” returned a foreign diplomatist quite audibly also, as though he were in the stalls of a theatre.
“Sullen40, is she?” thought Mouse, toasting one of her pretty feet on the fender. “Gives herself airs, does she? That’s old Fram’s doing, I expect.”
Ignoring her as an unknown quantity, to be seen to at leisure and annihilated41 if needful, she turned to her host, who was standing42 awkwardly behind the brilliant throng43.[179] “Got my telegram about the Bird rooms?” she said sharply. She would have spoken more civilly to an hotel-keeper.
The Bird rooms were a set of three rooms, bed, dressing45, and sitting-room46; their walls painted with birds and flowers on a pale-blue ground, their silk hangings and furniture of corresponding color and design; and many birds in Chelsea and Battersea, majolica, terra de pipa, and other china and pottery47, on the tables and cabinets. She did not care a straw about the birds; but they were the warmest, cosiest48 rooms in the house facing full south, and were detached from observation in a manner which was agreeable and convenient; and she had sent a brief dispatch that morning to command their reservation for herself. Country houses are always selected with regard to their conveniences for innocent and unobserved intercourse49.
The Bird rooms were duly assigned to her, and Mr. Massarene himself had walked through them that morning to make sure that they were thoroughly50 warmed, that the writing-table was properly furnished, and that the rarest flowers had been gathered for the vases on the table; he with eagerness assured her that her word had been law.
“I hope you haven’t altered anything there?” she said, taking up her gloves. “It’s very absurd, you know, to put Turkish screens and lamps in an old Tudor room like this. They’ve smartened the place up,” she said to her friends, looking about her. “That open work cedar51 wood screen wasn’t across that door in Gerald’s time, nor those great bronze lamps hanging over there. Where’d you get them, Billy? They look like Santa Sophia.”
But she did not listen to Billy’s reply. She was looking at the mulberry-colored velvet52 curtains which replaced in the windows the somewhat shabby and frayed53 hangings of her cousin’s reign39.
“I wish I had come here last year,” she said to her discomfited54 host. “You should have touched nothing. A place like this doesn’t want Bond Street emptied into it. I don’t know what Gerald would say. He’d be dreadfully angry.”
[180]Mr. Massarene thought that Lord Roxhall had parted with his right to be angry; but he dared not say so. He murmured that he was sorry; whatever there might be that was not suitable should be removed.
He regretfully confessed his utter inability to see it; was grieved they were incorrect; they should be moved to-morrow.
“Lady Kenilworth is a purist,” said his daughter in clear cold tones. “New people who come into old houses are of necessity eclectic.”
Her father frowned. He did not know what eclectic meant, but he supposed it meant something vulgar. His guest stared: if Billy’s daughter were cheeky like this it would be necessary, she thought, to take her down a peg57 or two. But she was forced to confess to herself that the daughter of the house did not look like a person whom it would be easy to take down, either one peg or many.
“Would you like to go to your rooms, ma’am?” murmured her hostess, when the tea had been drunk and the chatter had ceased for a minute and the sound of the first dinner-gong boomed through the house.
“My dear woman,” replied Mouse, “I know the place better than you do! But, really, if I shall find Pekin mandarins on oak banisters, and Minton plaques58 on Tudor panels, I shall not have strength to go up the staircase!”
“What do she mean?” murmured Margaret Massarene.
“She means to be insolent,” replied her daughter, and the reply was not in a very low tone. But Lady Kenilworth was or pretended to be out of hearing, going out of the library with two of her special friends and calling on others to come with her and see what the vandals had done: the gong was booming loudly.
William Massarene was inexpressibly mortified59; the more keenly so because if he had listened to Prince Khris two years before he would not have had Bond Street and the Rue60 de Rivoli emptied into a beautiful, hoary61, sombre, old Tudor house.
Mouse felt no qualms62 whatever at seeing the new people in the old house. She had been unable to understand[181] why Roxhall would not himself come with her. But some people were so whimsical and faddish63 and sentimental64. They spoiled their own lives and bothered those of others. She thought it was good fun to see William Massarene in the old Tudor dining-hall and his wife in the beautiful oval Italian drawing-room. Roxhall would not have seen the fun of it, but men are so slow to catch a joke.
“They are so deliciously ridiculous and incongruous!” she said to one of her companions.
She had brought a “rattling good lot” with her; smart women and cheery men who could ride to hounds all day and play bac’ all night, or run twenty miles to see an otter-worry and be as “fresh as paint” next morning; people with blue blood in their veins65, and good old names, and much personal beauty and strength, and much natural health and intelligence; but who by choice led a kind of life beside which that of an ape is intellectual and that of an amœba is useful; people who were very good-natured and horribly cruel, who could no more live without excitement than without cigarettes, who were never still unless their doctor gave them morphia, who went to Iceland for a fortnight and to Africa for a month; who never dined in their own homes except when they gave a dinner-party, who could not endure solitude66 for ten minutes, who went anywhere to be amused, who read nothing except telegrams, and who had only two cares in life—money and their livers.
They came down to Vale Royal to be amused, to eat well, to chatter amongst themselves as if they were on a desert island, to carry on their flirtations, their meetings, their intrigues67, and to arrange the pastimes of their days and nights precisely68 as they pleased without the slightest reference to those who entertained them.
“What would you like to do to-morrow?” their host had ventured to say to one of them, and the guest had replied, “Oh, pray don’t bother; we’re going somewhere, but I forget where.”
They had brought a roulette-wheel with them, and cards and counters; for their leader knew by experience that the evenings without such resources were apt to be dull at Vale Royal. William Massarene, indeed, had provided[182] forms of entertainment such as were unattainable by the limited means of the Roxhall family. He had caused admirable musicians, good singers, even a choice little troupe69 of foreign comedians70, to be brought down for this famous week in which the azure71 eyes of his divinity smiled upon him under his own roof-tree. But there was one diversion which she considered superior in its attractions to anything which tenors72 and sopranos, viols and violins, or even Palais Royal players, could give her, and that diversion she took without asking the permission of anybody. There was a with-drawing-room at Vale Royal which was always known as the Italian Room because some Venetian artist, of no great fame but of much graceful73 talent, had painted ceiling and walls, as was proven by old entries in account books of the years 1640-50, contained in the muniment-room of the Roxhalls. On the third night after their arrival, when they were all in this Italian room, after a short performance by the Parisian comedians, a long table of ebony and ivory was unceremoniously cleared of the various objects of art which had been placed on it, and the roulette-wheel was enthroned there instead by the hands of Lady Kenilworth herself, and the little ball was set off on its momentous74 gyrations.
She was looking more than ever like a lovely flower, with a turquoise75 collar round her throat, and real forget-me-nots fastened by diamonds in her hair. For some minutes William Massarene, who had slept through the French comedy, and was still drowsy76, did not become sensible of what was taking place in his drawing-room. But when the shouts and laughter of the merry gamblers reached his ear and he realized with difficulty what was taking place, a heavy frown, such as Kerosene77 City had learned to dread55, stole on his brows, and a startled horror opened wide his eyes.
Play! Play under his roof!
All his Protestant and Puritan soul awoke. A large portion of his earliest gains had been made by the miners and navvies and cowboys who had gathered to stake their dollars in the back den30 of his shop in Kerosene City; and later on he had made millions by his ownership of private hells in larger towns of the United States; and the very[183] thought of gambling78 was odious79 to him because he felt that these were portions of his past on which no light must ever shine. He felt that he owed it to the conscience which he had acquired with his London clothes and his English horses to prohibit all kinds of play, however innocent, in his own drawing-rooms. He crossed the room and, nervously80 approaching the leader of the band, ventured to murmur close to her ivory shoulder: “You never said you meant to play, Lady Kenilworth. I can’t have any play—I can’t indeed—in my house.”
His tone was timid and imploring81. He was frightened at his own temerity82, and grew grey with terror as he spoke44. She turned her head and transfixed him with the imperious challenge of her glance.
“What are you talking about, my good man?” she said in her clearest and unkindest tone. “It is not your house when I’m in it.”
“Don’t talk rot, Billy!” she cried with impatience84. “Who cares about your principles? Keep them for the hustings85.”
Then she turned the ivory shoulder on him again, and, amidst the vociferous86 laughter of the circle of players, William Massarene, feeling that he had made a fool of himself, hastily and humbly87 retreated.
The merriment pealed88 in louder ecstasy89 up to the beautiful painted ceiling, as she cried after the retreating figure: “You go to bed, Billy—go to bed! Or we sha’n’t let you dine with us to-morrow night!”
“You’re rather rough on the poor beast, Lady Kenny,” said one of the players who was next her.
“Billy’s like a Cairo donkey—he must feel the goad90 and be gagged,” replied Mouse, sweeping91 her counters together with a rapacious92 grace like a hawk’s circling flight.
Then the little ball ran about in its momentous gyrations, and the counters changed hands, and the game went on all the giddier, all the merrier, because “Billy thought it improper93.”
Katherine rose from her seat by the pianoforte and[184] came to her father’s side. Indignation shone in her lustrous94 eyes, while a flash of pain, of shame, and of anger burned on her cheeks.
“Father, oh, father!” she said in a low, intense murmur, “send them away! They insult you every hour, every moment! Why do you endure it? Turn them all out to-morrow morning!”
“Mind your own business! Do I want any lessons from you, damn you?” said Massarene, in a sullen whisper, more infuriated by her perspicuity95 than by the facts on which her appeal to him was based.
His daughter shrank a little, like a high-spirited animal unjustly beaten—not from fear, but from wounded pride and mute disgust. She went back to the pianoforte and opened the book of “Lohengrin.”
He threw himself heavily into an armchair, and took up an album of Caran d’Ache drawings and bent96 over it, not seeing a line of the sketches97, and not being able to read a line of the jests appended to them. All he saw was that lovely figure down there at the roulette-table, with the forget-me-nots in her glittering hair and at her snowy bosom98, and the turquoise collar round her throat.
“Billy!”
No one had ever called him Billy since the time when he had been a cow-boy, getting up in the dark in bitter winter mornings to pitchfork the dung out of the stalls, and chop the great swedes and mangolds, and break the ice in the drinking-trough. Never in all her life had his wife ever dared to call him Billy. He knew the name made him ridiculous; he knew that he was the object of all that ringing laughter; he knew that he was made absurd, contemptible99, odious; but he would not allow his daughter, nor would he allow any other person, to say so. He was hypnotized by that fair patrician100 who threw the mud in his face; the mud smelt101 as sweet to him as roses. It was only her pretty, airy, nonchalant way—the way she had de par35 la grâce de Dieu which became her so well, which was part and parcel of her, which was a mark of grace, like her delicate nostrils102 and her arched instep.
[185]When she had tired of her roulette, it irritated her extremely to see the large gorgeous form of Mrs. Massarene dozing103 on a couch and waking up with difficulty from dreams, no doubt, of cowslip meadows and patient cows whisking their tails over the dew; and the erect104 figure of her daughter sitting beside the grand piano and turning over the leaves of musical scores.
“Why don’t you send your women to bed, Billy?” she said to him very crossly. “It fidgets one to see them eternally sitting there like the Horse Guards in their saddles at Whitehall. Politeness? Oh, is it meant for politeness? Well, I will give them a dispensation, then. Do tell them to go to bed; I am sure good creatures like those have lots of prayers to say before they go to by-bye!”
“Why don’t you and your mother go to your rooms? We are all of us very late people,” she said, directly, as she passed Katherine Massarene.
“You are my parents’ guest, Lady Kenilworth; I endeavor not to forget it,” was the reply.
“What does she mean by that?” her guest wondered; she thought she meant some covert105 rebuke106. She did not at all like the steady contemptuous gaze of this young woman’s tranquil107 eyes.
“Oh, my dear, how dreadfully old-fashioned and formal you are!” she cried, with an impatient little laugh; and the daughter of the house thought her familiarity more odious than her rudeness. She perceived the impression she made on the young woman whom she meant to marry Ronald.
“You see, I feel quite at home here,” she added by way of explanation. “Of course, you know it was my cousin’s house.”
“I wonder you like to come to it,” said Katherine as she paused. “It must be painful to see it in the hands of strangers, and those strangers common people.”
“How droll108 you are!” cried Mouse, with another little laugh. “I am sure we shall be great friends when we come to know each other well.”
Katherine was silent; and Mouse, slightly disconcerted, bade her a brief good-night, and took her own way to the[186] Bird rooms. For once in her life she had met a person whom she did not understand.
“Ronald shall marry her, but I shall always hate her,” she thought, as she went to the Bird rooms. “However, everybody always hates their sisters-in-law, whoever they may be.”
The young woman seemed intolerably insolent to her: so cold, so grave, so visibly disapproving109 herself; it was quite insupportable to have Billy’s daughter giving herself grand airs like a tragedian at the Français. But for her intention to make Ronald marry the Massarene fortune she would have expressed her surprise and offence in unequivocal terms.
“Really, these new people are too absurd,” she thought, as her maid disrobed her whilst the chimes of the clock tower rung in the fourth hour of the morning. “Too infinitely110 absurd. They must know that we don’t come to their houses to see them; and yet they will stay in their drawing-rooms like so many figures of Tussaud. It is really too obtuse111 and ridiculous.”
She was, however, too sleepy to reflect longer on their stolid112 obstinacy113, or to decide how she should on the morrow best teach them their place.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
regiment
|
|
| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
veneration
|
|
| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
scant
|
|
| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
reins
|
|
| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
mesmerized
|
|
| v.使入迷( mesmerize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
chatter
|
|
| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
laboring
|
|
| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
gal
|
|
| n.姑娘，少女 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
grudge
|
|
| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
hearth
|
|
| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
chilly
|
|
| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
bleak
|
|
| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
dual
|
|
| adj.双的；二重的，二元的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
trepidation
|
|
| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
bevy
|
|
| n.一群 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
unanimity
|
|
| n.全体一致，一致同意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
alteration
|
|
| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
carving
|
|
| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
sapphire
|
|
| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
antagonist
|
|
| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
insolent
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
den
|
|
| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
bust
|
|
| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
pumpkins
|
|
| n.南瓜( pumpkin的名词复数 )；南瓜的果肉，南瓜囊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
chattered
|
|
| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
par
|
|
| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
swelling
|
|
| n.肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
woolen
|
|
| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
annihilated
|
|
| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
throng
|
|
| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
pottery
|
|
| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
cosiest
|
|
| adj.温暖舒适的( cosy的最高级 )；亲切友好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
49
intercourse
|
|
| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
cedar
|
|
| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
frayed
|
|
| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
discomfited
|
|
| v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词)；使狼狈；使挫折；挫败 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
tyrant
|
|
| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
peg
|
|
| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
plaques
|
|
| （纪念性的）匾牌( plaque的名词复数 )； 纪念匾； 牙斑； 空斑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
mortified
|
|
| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
rue
|
|
| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
hoary
|
|
| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
qualms
|
|
| n.不安；内疚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
faddish
|
|
| adj.好赶时髦的；一时流行的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
intrigues
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
troupe
|
|
| n.剧团，戏班；杂技团；马戏团 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
comedians
|
|
| n.喜剧演员，丑角( comedian的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
azure
|
|
| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
tenors
|
|
| n.男高音( tenor的名词复数 )；大意；男高音歌唱家；（文件的）抄本 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
momentous
|
|
| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
turquoise
|
|
| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
drowsy
|
|
| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
kerosene
|
|
| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
gambling
|
|
| n.赌博；投机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
odious
|
|
| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
imploring
|
|
| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
temerity
|
|
| n.鲁莽，冒失 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
gasp
|
|
| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
hustings
|
|
| n.竞选活动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
vociferous
|
|
| adj.喧哗的，大叫大嚷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
pealed
|
|
| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
goad
|
|
| n.刺棒，刺痛物；激励；vt.激励，刺激 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
rapacious
|
|
| adj.贪婪的，强夺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
improper
|
|
| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
lustrous
|
|
| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
perspicuity
|
|
| n.（文体的）明晰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
sketches
|
|
| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
contemptible
|
|
| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
patrician
|
|
| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
smelt
|
|
| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
nostrils
|
|
| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
dozing
|
|
| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
covert
|
|
| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
rebuke
|
|
| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
tranquil
|
|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
droll
|
|
| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
disapproving
|
|
| adj.不满的，反对的v.不赞成( disapprove的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
obtuse
|
|
| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
stolid
|
|
| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
obstinacy
|
|
| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |