"A lovely lady, garmented in light
From her own beauty."
—Shelley.
The day that is to bring them Luttrell has dawned, deepened, burst into perfect beauty, and now holds out its arms to the restful evening. A glorious sunny evening as yet, full of its lingering youth, with scarce a hint of the noon's decay. The little yellow sunbeams, richer perhaps in tint1 than they were two hours agone, still play their games of hide-and-seek and bo-peep among the roses that climb and spread themselves in all their creamy, rosy2, snowy loveliness over the long, low house where live the Massereenes, and breathe forth3 scented4 kisses to the wooing wind.
A straggling house is Brooklyn, larger, at the first glance, than it in reality is, and distinctly comfortable, yet with its comfort, a thing very far apart from luxury, and with none of the sleepiness of an over-rich prosperity about it. In spite of the late June sun, there is a general air of life, a tremulous merriment, everywhere: the voices of the children, a certain laugh that rings like far-off music, the cooing of the pigeons beneath the eaves, the cluck-cluck of the silly fowls5 in the farm-yard,—all mingle6 to defy the creeping sense of laziness that the day generates.
"It is late," says Mr. Massereene to himself, examining his watch for the fifteenth time as he saunters in a purposeless fashion up and down before the hall door. There is a suppressed sense of expectancy7 both in his manner and in the surroundings. The gravel8 has been newly raked, and gleams white and untrodden. The borders of the lawn that join on to it have been freshly clipped. A post in the railings, that for three weeks previously9 has been tottering10 to its fall, has been securely propped11, and now stands firm and uncompromising as its fellows.
"It is almost seven," says Letitia, showing her fresh, handsome face at the drawing-room window. "Do you think he will be here for dinner, John?"
"I am incapable12 of thought," says John. "I find that when a man who is in the habit of dining at six is left without his dinner until seven he grows morose13. It is a humiliating discovery. Surely the stomach should be subservient14 to the mind; but it isn't. Letitia, like a good girl, do say you have ordered up the soup."
"But, my dear John, had we not better wait a little longer?"
"My dear Letitia, most certainly not, unless you wish to raise a storm impossible to quell15. At present I feel myself in a mood that a very little more waiting will render ferocious16. Besides,"—seeing his wife slightly uneasy,—"as he did not turn up about six, he cannot by any possibility be here until half-past eight."
"And I took such trouble with that dinner!" says Letitia, with a sigh.
"I am more glad to hear it than I can tell you," says her husband, briskly. "Take my word for it, Letty, your trouble won't go for nothing."
Eight,—half-past eight—nine.
"I don't believe he is coming at all," says Molly, pettishly18, coming out from the curtains of the window, and advancing straight into the middle of the room.
Under the chandelier, that has been so effectively touched up for this recreant19 knight20, she stands bathed in the soft light of the many candles that beam down with mild kindliness21 upon her. It seems as though they love to rest upon her,—to add yet one more charm, if it may be, to the sweet, graceful22 figure, the half-angry, wholly charming attitude, the tender, lovable, fresh young face.
Her eyes, large, dark, and blue,—true Irish eyes, that bespeak23 her father's race,—shine with a steady clearness. They do not sparkle, they are hardly brilliant; they look forth at one with an expression so soft, so earnest, yet withal so merry, as would make one stake their all on the sure fact that the heart within her must be golden.
Her nut-brown hair, drawn24 back from her low brow into a loose coil behind, is enriched here and there with little sunny tresses, while across her forehead a few wavy25 locks—veritable love-locks, in Molly's case—wander idly, not as of a set purpose, but rather as though they have there drifted of their own gay will.
Upon her cheeks no roses lie,—unless they be the very creamiest roses that ever eye beheld26. She is absolutely without color until such occasions rise as when grief or gladness touch her and dye her lovely skin with their red glow.
But it is her mouth—at once her betrayer and her chief charm—that one loves. In among its many curves lies all her wickedness,—the beautiful mouth, so full of mockery, laughter, fun, a certain decision, and tenderness unspeakable.
She smiles, and all her face is as one perfect sunbeam. Surely never has she looked so lovely. The smile dies, her lips close, a pensive27 sweetness creeps around them, and one terms one's self a fatuous28 fool to have deemed her at her best a moment since; and so on through all the many changes that only serve to show how countless29 is her store of hidden charms.
She is slender, but not lean, round, yet certainly not full, and of a middle height. For herself, she is impulsive30; a little too quick at times, fond of life and laughter, as all youth should be, while perhaps (that I should live to say it!) down deep within her, somewhere, there hides, but half suppressed and ever ready to assert itself, a wayward, turbulent vein31 that must be termed coquetry.
Now, at this instant the little petulant32 frown, born of "hope deferred," that puckers33 up her forehead has fallen into her eyes, notwithstanding the jealous guard of the long curling lashes35, and, looking out defiantly36 from thence, gives her all the appearance of a beloved but angry child fretting37 at the delay of some coveted38 toy.
"I don't believe he is coming at all," she says, again, with increased emphasis, having received no answer to her first assertion, Letitia being absorbed in a devout39 prayer that her words may come true, while John is disgracefully drowsy40. "Oh, fancy the time I have wasted over my appearance, and all for nothing! I won't be able to get up the enthusiasm a second time: I feel that. How I hate young men,—young men in the army especially! They are so selfish and so good-for-nothing, with no thought for any one on earth but Number One. Give me a respectable, middle-aged41 squire42, with no aspirations43 beyond South-downs and Early York."
"Poor Molly Bawn!" says John, rousing himself to meet the exigencies44 of the moment. "'I deeply sympathize.' And just when you are looking so nice, too: isn't she, Letty? I vow45 and protest, that young man deserves nothing less than extinction46."
"I wish I had the extinguishing of him," says Molly, viciously. Then, laughing a little, and clasping her hands loosely behind her back, she walks to a mirror, the better to admire the long white trailing robe, the faultless face, the red rose dying on her breast. "And just when I had taken such pains with my hair!" she says, making a faint grimace47 at her own vanity. "John, as there is no one else to admire me, do say (whether you think it or not) I am the prettiest person you ever saw."
"I wouldn't even hesitate over such a simple lie as that," says John; "only—Letty is in the room: consider her feelings."
"A quarter to nine. I really think he can't be coming now," breaks in Letitia, hopefully.
"Coming or not coming, I shan't remain in for him an instant longer this delicious night," says Molly, walking toward the open window, under which runs a balcony, and gazing out into the still, calm moonlight. "He is probably not aware of my existence; so that even if he does come he will not take my absence in bad part; and if he does, so much the better. Even in such a poor revenge there is a sweetness."
"Molly," apprehensively48, "the dew is falling."
"I hope so," answers Molly, with a smile, stepping out into the cool, refreshing49 dark.
Down the wooden steps, along the gravel path, into the land of dreaming flowers she goes. Pale moonbeams light her way as, with her gown uplifted, she wanders from bed to bed, and with a dainty greediness drinks in the honeyed breathings round her. Here now she stoops to lift with gentle touch a drooping50 head, lest in its slumber51 some defiling52 earth come near it; and here she stands to mark a spider's net, brilliant with dews from heaven. A crafty53 thing to have so fair a home!—And here she sighs.
"Well, if he doesn't come, what matters it? A stranger cannot claim regret. And yet what fun it would have been! what fun! (Poor lily, what evil chance came by you to break your stem and lay your white head there?) Perhaps—who knows?—he might be the stupidest mortal that ever dared to live, and then—yet not so stupid as the walls, and trees, and shrubs54, while he can own a tongue to answer back. Ah! wretched slug, would you devour55 my tender opening leaves? Ugh! I cannot touch the slimy thing. Where has my trowel gone? I wish my ears had never heard his name,—Luttrell; a pretty name, too; but we all know how little is in that. I feel absurdly disappointed; and why? Because it is decreed that a man I never have known I never shall know. I doubt my brain is softening56. But why has my tent been pitched in such a lonely spot? And why did he say he'd come? And why did John tell me he was good to look at, and, oh! that best of all things—young?"
A sound,—a step,—the vague certainty of a presence near. And Molly, turning, finds herself but a few yards distant from the expected guest. The fates have been kind!
A tall young man, slight and clean-limbed, with a well-shaped head so closely shaven as to suggest a Newgate barber; a long fair moustache, a long nose, a rather large mouth, luminous57 azure58 eyes, and a complexion59 the sun has vainly tried to brown, reducing it merely to a deeper flesh-tint. On the whole, it is a very desirable face that Mr. Luttrell owns; and so Molly decides in her first swift glance of pleased surprise. Yes, the fates have been more than kind.
As for Luttrell himself, he is standing34 quite still, in the middle of the garden-path, staring at this living Flora61. Inside not a word has been said about her, no mention of her name had fallen ever so lightly into the conversation. He had made his excuses, had received a hearty62 welcome; both he and Massereene had declared themselves convinced that not a day had gone over the head of either since last they parted. He had bidden Mrs. Massereene good-night, and had come out here to smoke a cigar in quietude, all without suspicion that the house might yet contain another lovelier inmate63. Is this her favorite hour for rambling64? Is she a spirit? Or a lunatic? Yes, that must be it.
Meanwhile through the moonlight—in it—comes Molly, very slowly, a perfect creature, in trailing, snowy robes. Luttrell, forgetting the inevitable65 cigar,—a great concession,—stands mutely regarding her as, with warm parted lips and a smile, half amused, half wondering, she gazes back at him.
"Even a plain woman may gain beauty from a moonbeam; what, then, must a lovely woman seem when clothed in its pure rays?"
"You are welcome,—very welcome," says Molly, at length, in her low, soft voice.
"Thank you," returns he, mechanically, still lost in conjecture66.
"I am not a fairy, nor a spirit, nor yet a vision," murmurs67 Molly, now openly amused. "Have no fear. See," holding out to him a slim cool hand; "touch me, and be convinced, I am only Molly Massereene."
He takes the hand and holds it closely, still entranced. Already—even though three minutes have scarcely marked their acquaintance—he is dimly conscious that there might possibly be worse things in this world than a perpetual near-to "only Molly Massereene."
"So you did come," she goes on, withdrawing her fingers slowly but positively68, and with a faint uplifting of her straight brows, "after all. I was so afraid you wouldn't, you were so long. John—we all thought you had thrown us over."
To have Beauty declare herself overjoyed at the mere60 fact of your presence is, under any circumstances, intoxicating69. To have such an avowal70 made beneath the romantic light of a summer moon is maddening.
"You cared?" says Luttrell, in hopeful doubt.
"Cared!" with a low gay laugh. "I should think I did care. I quite longed for you to come. If you only knew as well as I do the terrible, never-ending dullness of this place, you would understand how one could long for the coming of any one."
Try as he will, he cannot convince himself that the termination of this sentence is as satisfactory as its commencement.
"When the evening wore on," with a little depressed71 shake of her head, "and still you made no sign, and I began to feel sure it was all too good to be true, and that you were about to disappoint me and plead some hateful excuse by the morning post, I almost hated you, and was never in such a rage in my life. But," again holding out her hand to him, with a charming smile "I forgive you now."
"Then forgive me one thing more,—my ignorance," says Luttrell, retaining the fingers this time with much increased firmness. "And tell me who you are."
"Don't you know, really? You never heard of me from John or—— What a fall to my pride, and when in my secret heart I had almost flattered myself that——"
"What?" eagerly.
"Oh, nothing—only—— By the bye, now you have confessed yourself ignorant of my existence, what did bring you down to this uninteresting village?" All this with the most perfect naïveté.
"A desire," says Luttrell, smiling in spite of himself, "to see again your—what shall I say?"—hesitating—"father?"
"Nonsense," says Molly, quickly, with a little frown. "How could you think John my father? When he looks so young, too. I hope you are not stupid: we shall never get on if you are. How could he be my father?"
"How could he be your brother?"
"Step-brother, then," says Molly, unwillingly72. "I will acknowledge it for this once only. But never again, mind, as he is dearer to me than half a dozen real brothers. You like him very much, don't you?" examining him anxiously. "You must, to take the trouble to come all the way down here to see him."
"I do, indeed, more than I can say," replies the young man, with wise heartiness73 that is yet unfeigned. "He has stood to me too often in the old school-days to allow of my ever forgetting him. I would go farther than Morley to meet him, after a lengthened74 absence such as mine has been."
"Yes." Here they both pause, and Molly's eyes fall on her imprisoned76 hand. She is so evidently bent77 on being again ungenerous that Luttrell forces himself to break silence, with the mean object of distracting her thoughts.
"Oh, no," laughing; "you must not think that. To-night there was an excuse for me. And if there is blame in the matter, you must take it. But for your slothfulness, your tardiness79, your unpardonable laziness," spitefully, "my temper would not have driven me forth."
"But," reproachfully, "you do not ask the cause of my delay. How would you like to be first inveigled80 into taking a rickety vehicle in the last stage of dissipation and then deposited by that vehicle, without an instant's warning, upon your mother earth? For my part, I didn't like it at all."
"I'm so sorry," says Molly, sweetly. "Did all that really happen to you, and just while I was abusing you with all my might and main? I think I shall have to be very good to you to make up for it."
"I think so too," says Luttrell, gravely. "My ignominious81 breakdown82 was nothing in comparison with a harsh word thrown at me by you. I feel a deep sense of injury upon me."
"It all comes of our being in what the papers call 'poor circumstances,'" says Molly, lightly. "Now, when I marry and you come to see me, I shall send a carriage and a spirited pair of grays to meet you at the station. Think of that."
"I won't," says Luttrell; "because I don't believe I would care to see you at all when—you are married." Here, with a rashness unworthy of him, he presses, ever so gently, the slender fingers within his own. Instantly Miss Massereene, with a marked ignoring of the suggestion in his last speech, returns to her forgotten charge.
"I don't want to inconvenience you," she says, demurely83, with downcast lids, "but when you have quite done with my hand I think I should like it again. You see it is awkward being without it, as it is the right one."
"I'm not proud," says Luttrell, modestly. "I will try to make myself content if you will give me the left one."
At this they both laugh merrily; and, believe me, when two people so laugh together, there is very little ice left to be broken.
"And are you really glad I have come?" says Luttrell, bending, the better to see into her pretty face. "It sounds so unlikely."
"When one is starving, even dry bread is acceptable," returns Molly, with a swift but cruel glance.
"I refuse to understand you. You surely do not mean——"
"I mean this, that you are not to lay too much stress on the fact of my having said——"
"Well, Luttrell, where are you, old fellow? I suppose you thought you were quite forgotten. Couldn't come a moment sooner,—what with Letitia's comments on your general appearance and my own comments on my tobacco's disappearance84. However, here I am at last. Have you been lonely?"
"It is John," whispers that young lady mysteriously. "Won't I catch it if he finds me out here so late without a shawl? I must run. Good-night,"—she moves away from him quickly, but before many steps have separated them turns again, and, with her fingers on her lips, breathes softly, kindly—"until to-morrow." After which she waves him a last faint adieu and disappears.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
tint
|
|
| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
scented
|
|
| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
fowls
|
|
| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
mingle
|
|
| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
expectancy
|
|
| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
gravel
|
|
| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
previously
|
|
| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
tottering
|
|
| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
propped
|
|
| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
morose
|
|
| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
subservient
|
|
| adj.卑屈的，阿谀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
quell
|
|
| v.压制，平息，减轻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
ferocious
|
|
| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
gourmand
|
|
| n.嗜食者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
pettishly
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
recreant
|
|
| n.懦夫；adj.胆怯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
kindliness
|
|
| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
bespeak
|
|
| v.预定；预先请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
wavy
|
|
| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
beheld
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
pensive
|
|
| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
fatuous
|
|
| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
countless
|
|
| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
impulsive
|
|
| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
vein
|
|
| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
petulant
|
|
| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
puckers
|
|
| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
lashes
|
|
| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
defiantly
|
|
| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
fretting
|
|
| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
coveted
|
|
| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
devout
|
|
| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
drowsy
|
|
| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
middle-aged
|
|
| adj.中年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
exigencies
|
|
| n.急切需要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
vow
|
|
| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
extinction
|
|
| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
grimace
|
|
| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
apprehensively
|
|
| adv.担心地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
refreshing
|
|
| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
drooping
|
|
| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
slumber
|
|
| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
defiling
|
|
| v.玷污( defile的现在分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
crafty
|
|
| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
shrubs
|
|
| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
devour
|
|
| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
softening
|
|
| 变软，软化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
luminous
|
|
| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
azure
|
|
| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
flora
|
|
| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
hearty
|
|
| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
inmate
|
|
| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
rambling
|
|
| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
conjecture
|
|
| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
murmurs
|
|
| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
intoxicating
|
|
| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
avowal
|
|
| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
depressed
|
|
| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
unwillingly
|
|
| adv.不情愿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
heartiness
|
|
| 诚实，热心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
lengthened
|
|
| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
blandly
|
|
| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
imprisoned
|
|
| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
smoothly
|
|
| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
tardiness
|
|
| n.缓慢；迟延；拖拉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
inveigled
|
|
| v.诱骗，引诱( inveigle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
ignominious
|
|
| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
breakdown
|
|
| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
demurely
|
|
| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
disappearance
|
|
| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |