Odo had appointed to leave Turin some two weeks after Trescorre'sdeparture; but the preparations for a young gentleman's travels were inthose days a momentous1 business, and one not to be discharged withoutvexatious postponements. The travelling-carriage must be purchased andfitted out, the gold-mounted dressing-case selected and engraved2 withthe owner's arms, servants engaged and provided with liveries, and thenoble tourist's own wardrobe stocked with an assortment3 of costumessuited to the vicissitudes4 of travel and the requirements of court life.
Odo's impatience5 to be gone increased with every delay, and at length hedetermined to go forward at all adventure, leaving Cantapresto toconclude the preparations and overtake him later. It had been agreedwith Trescorre that Odo, on his way to Pianura, should visit hisgrandfather, the old Marquess, whose increasing infirmities had for someyears past imprisoned6 him on his estates, and accordingly about theAscension he set out in the saddle for Donnaz, attended only by oneservant, and having appointed that Cantapresto should meet him with thecarriage at Ivrea.
The morning broke cloudy as he rode out of the gates. Beyond the suburbsa few drops fell, and as he pressed forward the country lay before himin the emerald freshness of a spring rain, vivid strips of vineyardalternating with silvery bands of oats, the domes7 of the walnut-treesdripping above the roadside, and the poplars along the water-courses allslanting one way in the soft continuous downpour. He had left Turin inthat mood of clinging melancholy8 which waits on the most hopefuldepartures, and the landscape seemed an image of anticipations9 cloudedwith regret. He had had a stormy but tender parting with Clarice, whoseefforts to act the forsaken10 Ariadne were somewhat marred11 by herirrepressible pride in her lover's prospects12, and whose last word hadcharged him to bring her back one of the rare lap-dogs bred by the monksof Bologna. Seen down the lengthening13 vista14 of separation even Clariceseemed regrettable; and Odo would have been glad to let his mind lingeron their farewells. But another thought importuned15 him. He had leftTurin without news of Vivaldi or Fulvia, and without having doneanything to conjure17 the peril18 to which his rashness had exposed them.
More than once he had been about to reveal his trouble to Alfieri; butshame restrained him when he remembered that it was Alfieri who hadvouched for his discretion19. After his conversation with Trescorre he hadtried to find some way of sending a word of warning to Vivaldi; but hehad no messenger whom he could trust; and would not Vivaldi justlyresent a warning from such a source? He felt himself the prisoner of hisown folly20, and as he rode along the wet country roads an invisiblegaoler seemed to spur beside him.
The clouds lifted at noon; and leaving the plain he mounted into a worldsparkling with sunshine and quivering with new-fed streams. The firstbreath of mountain-air lifted the mist from his spirit, and he began tofeel himself a boy again as he entered the high gorges22 in the cold lightafter sunset. It was about the full of the moon, and in his impatienceto reach Donnaz he resolved to push on after nightfall. The forest wasstill thinly-leaved, and the rustle23 of wind in the branches and thenoise of the torrents24 recalled his first approach to the castle, in thewild winter twilight25. The way lay in darkness till the moon rose, andonce or twice he took a wrong turn and found himself engaged in someovergrown woodland track; but he soon regained26 the high-road, and hisservant, a young fellow of indomitable cheerfulness, took the edge offtheir solitude27 by frequent snatches of song. At length the moon rose,and toward midnight Odo, spurring out of a dark glen, found himself atthe opening of the valley of Donnaz. A cold radiance bathed the familiarpastures, the houses of the village along the stream, and the turretsand crenellations of the castle at the head of the gorge21. The air wasbitter, and the horses' hoofs28 struck sharply on the road as they trottedpast the slumbering29 houses and halted at the gateway30 through which Odohad first been carried as a sleepy child. It was long before thetravellers' knock was answered, but a bewildered porter at lengthadmitted them, and Odo cried out when he recognised in the man's facethe features of one of the lads who had taught him to play pallone inthe castle court.
Within doors all were abed; but the cavaliere was expected, and supperlaid for him in the very chamber31 where he had slept as a lad. The sightof so much that was strange and yet familiar--of the old stone walls,the banners, the flaring32 lamps and worn slippery stairs--all so muchbarer, smaller, more dilapidated than he had remembered--stirred thedeep springs of his piety33 for inanimate things, and he was seized with afancy to snatch up a light and explore the recesses34 of the castle. Buthe had been in the saddle since dawn, and the keen air and the longhours of riding were in his blood. They weighted his lids, relaxed hislimbs, and gently divesting35 him of his hopes and fears, pressed him downin the deep sepulchre of a dreamless sleep...
Odo remained a month at Donnaz. His grandfather's happiness in hispresence would in itself have sufficed to detain him, apart from hisnatural tenderness for old scenes and associations. It was one of thecompensations of his rapidly travelling imagination that the past, fromeach new vantage-ground of sensation, acquired a fascination36 which tothe more sober-footed fancy only the perspective of years can give.
Life, in childhood, is a picture-book of which the text isundecipherable; and the youth now revisiting the unchanged setting ofhis boyhood was spelling out for the first time the legend beneath thepicture.
The old Marquess, though broken in body, still ruled his household fromhis seat beside the hearth37. The failure of bodily activity seemed tohave doubled his moral vigour38, and the walls shook with the vehemence39 ofhis commands. The Marchioness was sunk in a state of placid40 apathy41 fromwhich only her husband's outbursts roused her; one of the canonesses wasdead, and the other, drier and more shrivelled than ever, pined in hercorner like a statue whose mate is broken. Bruno was dead too; his olddog's bones had long since enriched a corner of the vineyard; and someof the younger lads that Odo had known about the place were grown tosober-faced men with wives and children.
Don Gervaso was still chaplain of Donnaz; and Odo saw with surprise thatthe grave ecclesiastic42 who had formerly43 seemed an old man to him was infact scarce past the middle age. In general aspect he was unchanged; buthis countenance44 had darkened, and what Odo had once taken for harshnessof manner he now perceived to be a natural melancholy. The young man hadnot been long at Donnaz without discovering that in that little world ofcrystallised traditions the chaplain was the only person conscious ofthe new forces abroad. It had never occurred to the Marquess thatanything short of a cataclysm45 such as it would be blasphemy46 to predictcould change the divinely established order whereby the territorial47 lordtook tithes48 from his peasantry and pastured his game on their crops. Thehierarchy which rested on the bowed back of the toiling49 serf andculminated in the figure of the heaven-sent King seemed to him asimmutable as the everlasting50 hills. The men of his generation had notlearned that it was built on a human foundation and that a suddenmovement of the underlying51 mass might shake the structure to itspinnacle. The Marquess, who, like Donna Laura, already beheld52 Odo on thethrone of Pianura, was prodigal53 of counsels which showed a touchinginability to discern the new aspect under which old difficulties werelikely to present themselves. That a ruler should be brave, prudent,personally abstemious54, and nobly lavish55 in his official display; that heshould repress any attempts on the privileges of the Church, while atthe same time protecting his authority from the encroachments of theHoly See; these axioms seemed to the old man to sum up the sovereign'sduty to the state. The relation, to his mind, remained a distinctlypersonal and paternal57 one; and Odo's attempts to put before him the newtheory of government, as a service performed by the ruler in theinterest of the ruled, resulted only in stirring up the old sediment58 ofabsolutism which generations of feudal59 power had deposited in the Donnazblood.
Only the chaplain perceived what new agencies were at work; but even helooked on as a watcher from a distant tower, who sees opposing armiesfar below him in the night, without being able to follow their movementsor guess which way the battle goes.
"The days," he said to Odo, "are evil. The Church's enemies, thebasilisks and dragons of unbelief and license60, are stirring in their oldlairs, the dark places of the human spirit. It is time that a freshpurification by blood should cleanse61 the earth of its sins. That hourhas already come in France, where the blood of heretics has latelyfertilised the soil of faith; it will come here, as surely as I nowstand before you; and till it comes the faithful can only weary heavenwith their entreaties62, if haply thereby63 they may mitigate64 the evil. Ishall remain here," he continued, "while the Marquess needs me; but thattask discharged, I intend to retire to one of the contemplative orders,and with my soul perpetually uplifted like the arms of Moses, wear outmy life in prayer for those whom the latter days shall overtake."Odo had listened in silence; but after a moment he said: "My father,among those who have called in to question the old order of things thereare many animated65 by no mere66 desire for change, no idle inclination67 topry into the divine mysteries, but who earnestly long to ease the burdenof mankind and let light into what you have called the dark places ofthe spirit. How is it, they ask, that though Christ came to save thepoor and the humble68, it is on them that life presses most heavily aftereighteen hundred years of His rule? All cannot be well in a world wheresuch contradictions exist, and what if some of the worst abuses of theage have found lodgment in the very ramparts that faith has builtagainst them?"Don Gervaso's face grew stern and his eyes rested sadly on Odo. "Youspeak," said he, "of bringing light into dark places; but what light isthere on earth save that which is shed by the Cross, and where shallthey find guidance who close their eyes to that divine illumination?""But is there not," Odo rejoined, "a divine illumination within each ofus, the light of truth which we must follow at any cost--or have theworst evils and abuses only to take refuge in the Church to findsanctuary there, as malefactors find it?"The chaplain shook his head. "It is as I feared," he said, "and Satanhas spread his subtlest snare69 for you; for if he tempts56 some in theguise of sensual pleasure, or of dark fears and spiritual abandonment,it is said that to those he most thirsts to destroy he appears in thelikeness of their Saviour70. You tell me it is to right the wrongs of thepoor and the humble that your new friends, the philosophers, haveassailed the authority of Christ. I have only one answer to make:
Christ, as you said just now, died for the poor--how many of yourphilosophers would do as much? Because men hunger and thirst, is that asign that He has forsaken them? And since when have earthly privilegesbeen the token of His favour? May He not rather have designed that, bycontinual sufferings and privations, they shall lay up for themselvestreasures in Heaven such as your eyes and mine shall never see or ourears hear? And how dare you assume that any temporal advantages couldatone for that of which your teachings must deprive them--the heavenlyconsolations of the love of Christ?"Odo listened with a sense of deepening discouragement. "But is itnecessary," he urged, "to confound Christ with His ministers, the lawwith its exponents71? May not men preserve their hope of heaven and yetlead more endurable lives on earth?""Ah, my child, beware, for this is the heresy72 of private judgment73, whichhas already drawn74 down thousands into the pit. It is one of the mostinsidious errors in which the spirit of evil has ever masqueraded; forit is based on the fallacy that we, blind creatures of a day, andourselves in the meshes75 of sin, can penetrate76 the counsels of theEternal, and test the balances of the heavenly Justice. I tremble tothink into what an abyss your noblest impulses may fling you, if youabandon yourself to such illusions; and more especially if it pleasesGod to place in your hands a small measure of that authority of which Heis the supreme77 repository.--When I took leave of you here nine yearssince," Don Gervaso continued in a gentler tone, "we prayed together inthe chapel78; and I ask you, before setting out on your new life, toreturn there with me and lay your doubts and difficulties before Him whoalone is able to still the stormy waves of the soul."Odo, touched by the appeal, accompanied him to the chapel, and knelt onthe steps whence his young spirit had once soared upward on the heavenlypleadings of the Mass. The chapel was as carefully tended as ever; andamid the comely79 appointments of the altar shone forth80 that Presencewhich speaks to men of an act of love perpetually renewed. But to Odothe voice was mute, the divinity wrapped in darkness; and he rememberedreading in some Latin author that the ancient oracles81 had ceased tospeak when their questioners lost faith in them. He knew not whether hisown faith was lost; he felt only that it had put forth on a sea ofdifficulties across which he saw the light of no divine command.
In this mood there was no more help to be obtained from Don Gervaso thanfrom the Marquess. Odo's last days at Donnaz were clouded by a sense ofthe deep estrangement82 between himself and that life of which the outwardaspect was so curiously83 unchanged. His past seemed to look at him withunrecognising eyes, to bar the door against his knock; and he rode awaysaddened by that sense of isolation84 which follows the first encounterwith a forgotten self.
At Ivrea the sight of Cantapresto and the travelling-carriage roused himas from a waking dream. Here, at his beck were the genial85 realities oflife, embodied86, humorously enough, in the bustling87 figure which for somany years had played a kind of comic accompaniment to his experiences.
Cantapresto was in a fever of expectation. To set forth on the roadagain, after nine years of well-fed monotony, and under conditions sofavourable to his physical well-being88, was to drink the wine of romancefrom a golden cup. Odo was at the age when the spirit lies as naturallyopen to the variations of mood as a lake to the shifting of the breeze;and Cantapresto's exuberant89 humour, and the novel details of theirtravelling equipment, had soon effaced90 the graver influences of Donnaz.
Life stretched before him alluring91 and various as the open road; and hispulses danced to the tune16 of the postillion's whip as the carriagerattled out of the gates.
It was a bright morning and the plain lay beneath them like a plantedgarden, in all the flourish and verdure of June; but the roads beingdeep in mire92, and unrepaired after the ravages93 of the winter, it waspast noon before they reached the foot of the hills. Here matters werelittle better, for the highway was ploughed deep by the wheels of thenumberless vans and coaches journeying from one town to another duringthe Whitsun holidays, so that even a young gentleman travelling postmust resign himself to a plebeian94 rate of progression. Odo at first wastoo much pleased with the novelty of the scene to quarrel with anyincidental annoyances95; but as the afternoon wore on the way began toseem long, and he was just giving utterance96 to his impatience whenCantapresto, putting his head out of the window, announced in a tone ofpious satisfaction that just ahead of them were a party of travellers infar worse case than themselves. Odo, leaning out, saw that, a dozenyards ahead, a modest chaise of antique pattern had in fact come togrief by the roadside. He called to his postillion to hurry forward, andthey were soon abreast97 of the wreck98, about which several people weregrouped in anxious colloquy99. Odo sprang out to offer his services; butas he alit he felt Cantapresto's hand on his sleeve.
"Cavaliere," the soprano whispered, "these are plainly people of nocondition, and we have yet a good seven miles to Vercelli, where all theinns will be crowded for the Whitsun fair. Believe me, it were better togo forward."Odo advanced without heeding100 this admonition; but a moment later he hadalmost regretted his action; for in the centre of the group about thechaise stood the two persons whom, of all the world, he was at thatmoment least wishful of meeting.
1 momentous | |
adj.重要的,重大的 | |
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2 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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3 assortment | |
n.分类,各色俱备之物,聚集 | |
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4 vicissitudes | |
n.变迁,世事变化;变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 );盛衰兴废 | |
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5 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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6 imprisoned | |
下狱,监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7 domes | |
n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 );像圆屋顶一样的东西;圆顶体育场 | |
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8 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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9 anticipations | |
预期( anticipation的名词复数 ); 预测; (信托财产收益的)预支; 预期的事物 | |
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10 Forsaken | |
adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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11 marred | |
adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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12 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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13 lengthening | |
(时间或空间)延长,伸长( lengthen的现在分词 ); 加长 | |
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14 vista | |
n.远景,深景,展望,回想 | |
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15 importuned | |
v.纠缠,向(某人)不断要求( importune的过去式和过去分词 );(妓女)拉(客) | |
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16 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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17 conjure | |
v.恳求,祈求;变魔术,变戏法 | |
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18 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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19 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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20 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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21 gorge | |
n.咽喉,胃,暴食,山峡;v.塞饱,狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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22 gorges | |
n.山峡,峡谷( gorge的名词复数 );咽喉v.(用食物把自己)塞饱,填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 );作呕 | |
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23 rustle | |
v.沙沙作响;偷盗(牛、马等);n.沙沙声声 | |
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24 torrents | |
n.倾注;奔流( torrent的名词复数 );急流;爆发;连续不断 | |
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25 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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26 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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27 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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28 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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29 slumbering | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的现在分词形式) | |
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30 gateway | |
n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
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31 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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32 flaring | |
a.火焰摇曳的,过份艳丽的 | |
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33 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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34 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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35 divesting | |
v.剥夺( divest的现在分词 );脱去(衣服);2。从…取去…;1。(给某人)脱衣服 | |
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36 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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37 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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38 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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39 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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40 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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41 apathy | |
n.漠不关心,无动于衷;冷淡 | |
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42 ecclesiastic | |
n.教士,基督教会;adj.神职者的,牧师的,教会的 | |
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43 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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44 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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45 cataclysm | |
n.洪水,剧变,大灾难 | |
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46 blasphemy | |
n.亵渎,渎神 | |
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47 territorial | |
adj.领土的,领地的 | |
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48 tithes | |
n.(宗教捐税)什一税,什一的教区税,小部分( tithe的名词复数 ) | |
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49 toiling | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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50 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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51 underlying | |
adj.在下面的,含蓄的,潜在的 | |
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52 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 | |
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53 prodigal | |
adj.浪费的,挥霍的,放荡的 | |
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54 abstemious | |
adj.有节制的,节俭的 | |
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55 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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56 tempts | |
v.引诱或怂恿(某人)干不正当的事( tempt的第三人称单数 );使想要 | |
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57 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
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58 sediment | |
n.沉淀,沉渣,沉积(物) | |
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59 feudal | |
adj.封建的,封地的,领地的 | |
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60 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
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61 cleanse | |
vt.使清洁,使纯洁,清洗 | |
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62 entreaties | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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63 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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64 mitigate | |
vt.(使)减轻,(使)缓和 | |
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65 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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66 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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67 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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68 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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69 snare | |
n.陷阱,诱惑,圈套;(去除息肉或者肿瘤的)勒除器;响弦,小军鼓;vt.以陷阱捕获,诱惑 | |
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70 saviour | |
n.拯救者,救星 | |
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71 exponents | |
n.倡导者( exponent的名词复数 );说明者;指数;能手 | |
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72 heresy | |
n.异端邪说;异教 | |
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73 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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74 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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75 meshes | |
网孔( mesh的名词复数 ); 网状物; 陷阱; 困境 | |
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76 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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77 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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78 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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79 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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80 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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81 oracles | |
神示所( oracle的名词复数 ); 神谕; 圣贤; 哲人 | |
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82 estrangement | |
n.疏远,失和,不和 | |
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83 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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84 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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85 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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86 embodied | |
v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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87 bustling | |
adj.喧闹的 | |
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88 well-being | |
n.安康,安乐,幸福 | |
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89 exuberant | |
adj.充满活力的;(植物)繁茂的 | |
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90 effaced | |
v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 );抹去;超越;使黯然失色 | |
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91 alluring | |
adj.吸引人的,迷人的 | |
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92 mire | |
n.泥沼,泥泞;v.使...陷于泥泞,使...陷入困境 | |
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93 ravages | |
劫掠后的残迹,破坏的结果,毁坏后的残迹 | |
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94 plebeian | |
adj.粗俗的;平民的;n.平民;庶民 | |
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95 annoyances | |
n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 );烦恼;打扰;使人烦恼的事 | |
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96 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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97 abreast | |
adv.并排地;跟上(时代)的步伐,与…并进地 | |
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98 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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99 colloquy | |
n.谈话,自由讨论 | |
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100 heeding | |
v.听某人的劝告,听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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