Influenced by these reasonings, I determined1 to retain what had thus been put into my hands. My next care was in regard to the scene I should choose, as the retreat of that life which I had just saved from the grasp of the executioner. The danger to which I was exposed of forcible interruption in my pursuits, was probably, in some respects, less now than it had been previously2 to this crisis. Besides, that I was considerably3 influenced in this deliberation by the strong loathing4 I conceived for the situations in which I had lately been engaged. I knew not in what mode Mr. Falkland intended to exercise his vengeance5 against me; but I was seized with so unconquerable an aversion to disguise, and the idea of spending my life in personating a fictitious6 character, that I could not, for the present at least, reconcile my mind to any thing of that nature. The same kind of disgust I had conceived for the metropolis7, where I had spent so many hours of artifice8, sadness, and terror. I therefore decided9 in favour of the project which had formerly10 proved amusing to my imagination, of withdrawing to some distant, rural scene, a scene of calmness and obscurity, where for a few years at least, perhaps during the life of Mr. Falkland, I might be hidden from the world, recover the wounds my mind had received in this fatal connection, methodise and improve the experience which had been accumulated, cultivate the faculties11 I in any degree possessed12, and employ the intervals14 of these occupations in simple industry, and the intercourse15 of guileless, uneducated, kind-intentioned minds. The menaces of my persecutor16 seemed to forebode the inevitable17 interruption of this system. But I deemed it wise to put these menaces out of my consideration I compared them to death, which must infallibly overtake us we know not when; but the possibility of whose arrival next year, next week, tomorrow, must be left out of the calculation of him who would enter upon any important or well-concerted undertaking18.
Such were the ideas that determined my choice. Thus did my youthful mind delineate the system of distant years, even when the threats of instant calamity19 still sounded in my ears. I was inured20 to the apprehension21 of mischief22, till at last the hoarse23 roarings of the beginning tempest had lost their power of annihilating24 my peace. I however thought it necessary, while I was most palpably within the sphere of the enemy, to exert every practicable degree of vigilance. I was careful not to incur25 the hazards of darkness and solitude26. When I left the town it was with the stage-coach, an obvious source of protection against glaring and enormous violence. Meanwhile I found myself no more exposed to molestation27 in my progress, than the man in the world who should have had the least reason for apprehensions28 of this nature. As the distance increased, I relaxed something in my precaution, though still awake to a sense of danger, and constantly pursued with the image of my foe29. I fixed30 upon an obscure market-town in Wales as the chosen seat of my operations. This place recommended itself to my observation as I was wandering in quest of an abode31. It was clean, cheerful, and of great simplicity32 of appearance. It was at a distance from any public and frequented road, and had nothing which could deserve the name of trade. The face of nature around it was agreeably diversified33, being partly wild and romantic, and partly rich and abundant in production.
Here I solicited34 employment in two professions; the first, that of a watchmaker, in which though the instructions I had received were few, they were eked35 out and assisted by a mind fruitful in mechanical invention; the other, that of an instructor36 in mathematics and its practical application, geography, astronomy, land-surveying, and navigation. Neither of these was a very copious37 source of emolument38 in the obscure retreat I had chosen for myself; but, if my receipts were slender, my disbursements were still fewer. In this little town I became acquainted with the vicar, the apothecary39, the lawyer, and the rest of the persons who, time out of mind, had been regarded as the top gentry40 of the place. Each of these centred in himself a variety of occupations. There was little in the appearance of the vicar that reminded you of his profession, except on the recurring41 Sunday. At other times he condescended42, with his evangelical hand to guide the plough, or to drive the cows from the field to the farm-yard for the milking. The apothecary occasionally officiated as a barber, and the lawyer was the village schoolmaster.
By all these persons I was received with kindness and hospitality. Among people thus remote from the bustle43 of human life there is an open spirit of confidence, by means of which a stranger easily finds access to their benevolence45 and good-will. My manners had never been greatly debauched from the simplicity of rural life by the scenes through which I had passed; and the hardships I had endured had given additional mildness to my character. In the theatre upon which I was now placed I had no rival. My mechanical occupation had hitherto been a non-resident; and the schoolmaster, who did not aspire46 to the sublime47 heights of science I professed48 to communicate, was willing to admit me as a partner in the task of civilising the unpolished manners of the inhabitants. For the parson, civilisation49 was no part of his trade; his business was with the things of a better life, not with the carnal concerns of this material scene; in truth, his thoughts were principally occupied with his oatmeal and his cows.
These however were not the only companions which this remote retirement50 afforded me. There was a family of a very different description, of which I gradually became the chosen intimate. The father was a shrewd, sensible, rational man, but who had turned his principal attention to subjects of agriculture. His wife was a truly admirable and extraordinary woman. She was the daughter of a Neapolitan nobleman, who, after having visited, and made a considerable figure, in every country in Europe, had at length received the blow of fate in this village. He had been banished51 his country upon suspicion of religious and political heresy53, and his estates confiscated54. With this only child, like Prospero in the Tempest, he had withdrawn55 himself to one of the most obscure and uncultivated regions of the world. Very soon however after his arrival in Wales he had been seized with a malignant56 fever, which carried him off in three days. He died possessed of no other property than a few jewels, and a bill of credit, to no considerable amount, upon an English banker.
Here then was the infant Laura, left in a foreign country, and without a single friend. The father of her present husband was led by motives58 of pure humanity to seek to mitigate59 the misfortunes of the dying Italian. Though a plain uninstructed man, with no extraordinary refinement60 of intellect, there was something in his countenance61 that determined the stranger in his present forlorn and melancholy62 situation, to make him his executor, and the guardian63 of his daughter. The Neapolitan understood enough of English to explain his wishes to this friendly attendant of his death-bed. As his circumstances were narrow, the servants of the stranger, two Italians, a male and a female, were sent back to their own country soon after the death of their master.
Laura was at this time eight years of age. At these tender years she had been susceptible64 of little direct instruction; and, as she grew up, even the memory of her father became, from year to year, more vague and indistinct in her mind. But there was something she derived65 from her father, whether along with the life he bestowed66, or as the consequence of his instruction and manners, which no time could efface67. Every added year of her life contributed to develop the fund of her accomplishments68. She read, she observed, she reflected. Without instructors69, she taught herself to draw, to sing, and to understand the more polite European languages. As she had no society in this remote situation but that of peasants, she had no idea of honour or superiority to be derived from her acquisitions; but pursued them from a secret taste, and as the sources of personal enjoyment70.
A mutual71 attachment72 gradually arose between her and the only son of her guardian. His father led him, from early youth, to the labours and the sports of the field, and there was little congeniality between his pursuits and those of Laura. But this was a defect that she was slow to discover. She had never been accustomed to society in her chosen amusements, and habit at that time even made her conceive, that they were indebted to solitude for an additional relish73. The youthful rustic74 had great integrity, great kindness of heart, and was a lad of excellent sense. He was florid, well-proportioned, and the goodness of his disposition75 made his manners amiable76. Accomplishments greater than these she had never seen in human form, since the death of her father. In fact, she is scarcely to be considered as a sufferer in this instance; since, in her forlorn and destitute77 condition, it is little probable, when we consider the habits and notions that now prevail, that her accomplishments, unassisted by fortune, would have procured78 her an equal alliance in marriage.
When she became a mother her heart opened to a new affection. The idea now presented itself, which had never occurred before, that in her children at least she might find the partners and companions of her favourite employments. She was, at the time of my arrival, mother of four, the eldest79 of which was a son. To all of them she had been a most assiduous instructor. It was well for her perhaps that she obtained this sphere for the exercise of her mind. It came just at the period when the charm which human life derives80 from novelty is beginning to wear off. It gave her new activity and animation81. It is perhaps impossible that the refinements82 of which human nature is capable should not, after a time, subside83 into sluggishness84, if they be not aided by the influence of society and affection.
The son of the Welch farmer by this admirable woman was about seventeen years of age at the time of my settlement in their neighbourhood. His eldest sister was one year younger than himself. The whole family composed a group, with which a lover of tranquillity85 and virtue86 would have delighted to associate in any situation. It is easy therefore to conceive how much I rejoiced in their friendship, in this distant retirement, and suffering, as I felt myself, from the maltreatment and desertion of my species. The amiable Laura had a wonderful quickness of eye, and rapidity of apprehension; but this feature in her countenance was subdued87 by a sweetness of disposition, such as I never in any other instance saw expressed in the looks of a human being. She soon distinguished88 me by her kindness and friendship; for, living as she had done, though familiar with the written productions of a cultivated intellect, she had never seen the thing itself realised in a living being, except in the person of her father. She delighted to converse89 with me upon subjects of literature and taste, and she eagerly invited my assistance in the education of her children. The son, though young, had been so happily improved and instructed by his mother, that I found in him nearly all the most essential qualities we require in a friend. Engagement and inclination90 equally led me to pass a considerable part of every day in this agreeable society. Laura treated me as if I had been one of the family; and I sometimes flattered myself that I might one day become such in reality. What an enviable resting-place for me, who had known nothing but calamity, and had scarcely dared to look for sympathy and kindness in the countenance of a human being!
The sentiments of friendship which early disclosed themselves between me and the member of this amiable family daily became stronger. At every interview, the confidence reposed91 in me by the mother increased. While our familiarity gained in duration, it equally gained in that subtlety92 of communication by which it seemed to shoot forth93 its roots in every direction. There are a thousand little evanescent touches in the development of a growing friendship, that are neither thought of, nor would be understood, between common acquaintances. I honoured and esteemed95 the respectable Laura like a mother; for, though the difference of our ages was by no means sufficient to authorise the sentiment, it was irresistibly96 suggested to me by the fact of her always being presented to my observation under the maternal97 character. Her son was a lad of great understanding, generosity98, and feeling, and of no contemptible99 acquirements; while his tender years, and the uncommon100 excellence101 of his mother, subtracted something from the independence of his judgment102, and impressed him with a sort of religious deference103 for her will. In the eldest daughter I beheld104 the image of Laura; for that I felt attached to her for the present; and I sometimes conceived it probable that hereafter I might learn to love her for her own sake — Alas105, it was thus that I amused myself with the visions of distant years, while I stood in reality on the brink106 of the precipice107!
It will perhaps be thought strange that I never once communicated the particulars of my story to this amiable matron, or to my young friend, for such I may also venture to call him, her son. But in truth I abhorred108 the memory of this story; I placed all my hopes of happiness in the prospect109 of its being consigned110 to oblivion. I fondly flattered myself that such would be the event: in the midst of my unlooked-for happiness, I scarcely recollected111, or, recollecting112, was disposed to yield but a small degree of credit to, the menaces of Mr. Falkland.
One day, that I was sitting alone with the accomplished113 Laura, she repeated his all-dreadful name. I started with astonishment114, amazed that a woman like this, who knew nobody, who lived as it were alone in a corner of the universe, who had never in a single instance entered into any fashionable circle, this admirable and fascinating hermit115, should, by some unaccountable accident, have become acquainted with this fatal and tremendous name. Astonishment however was not my only sensation. I became pale with terror; I rose from my seat; I attempted to sit down again; I reeled out of the room, and hastened to bury myself in solitude. The unexpectedness of the incident took from me all precaution, and overwhelmed my faculties. The penetrating116 Laura observed my behaviour; but nothing further occurred to excite her attention to it at that time; and, concluding from my manner that enquiry would be painful to me, she humanely117 suppressed her curiosity.
I afterwards found that Mr. Falkland had been known to the father of Laura; that he had been acquainted with the story of Count Malvesi, and with a number of other transactions redounding118 in the highest degree to the credit of the gallant119 Englishman. The Neapolitan had left letters in which these transactions were recorded, and which spoke120 of Mr. Falkland in the highest terms of panegyric121. Laura had been used to regard every little relic122 of her father with a sort of religious veneration123; and, by this accident, the name of Mr. Falkland was connected in her mind with the sentiments of unbounded esteem94.
The scene by which I was surrounded was perhaps more grateful to me, than it would have been to most other persons with my degree of intellectual cultivation124. Sore with persecution125 and distress126, and bleeding at almost every vein127, there was nothing I so much coveted128 as rest and tranquillity. It seemed as if my faculties were, at least for the time, exhausted129 by the late preternatural intensity130 of their exertions131, and that they stood indispensably in need of a period of comparative suspension.
This was however but a temporary feeling. My mind had always been active, and I was probably indebted to the sufferings I had endured, and the exquisite133 and increased susceptibility they produced, for new energies. I soon felt the desire of some additional and vigorous pursuit. In this state of mind, I met by accident, in a neglected corner of the house of one of my neighbours, with a general dictionary of four of the northern languages. This incident gave a direction to my thoughts. In my youth I had not been inattentive to languages. I determined to attempt, at least for my own use, an etymological134 analysis of the English language. I easily perceived, that this pursuit had one advantage to a person in my situation, and that a small number of books, consulted with this view, would afford employment for a considerable time. I procured other dictionaries. In my incidental reading, I noted135 the manner in which words were used, and applied136 these remarks to the illustration of my general enquiry. I was unintermitted in my assiduity, and my collections promised to accumulate. Thus I was provided with sources both of industry and recreation, the more completely to divert my thoughts from the recollection of my past misfortunes.
In this state, so grateful to my feelings, week after week glided137 away without interruption and alarm. The situation in which I was now placed had some resemblance to that in which I had spent my earlier years, with the advantage of a more attractive society, and a riper judgment. I began to look back upon the intervening period as upon a distempered and tormenting138 dream; or rather perhaps my feelings were like those of a man recovered from an interval13 of raging delirium139, from ideas of horror, confusion, flight, persecution, agony, and despair! When I recollected what I had undergone, it was not without satisfaction, as the recollection of a thing that was past; every day augmented140 my hope that it was never to return. Surely the dark and terrific menaces of Mr. Falkland were rather the perturbed141 suggestions of his angry mind, than the final result of a deliberate and digested system! How happy should I feel, beyond the ordinary lot of man, if, after the terrors I had undergone, I should now find myself unexpectedly restored to the immunities142 of a human being!
While I was thus soothing143 my mind with fond imaginations, it happened that a few bricklayers and their labourers came over from a distance of five or six miles, to work upon some additions to one of the better sort of houses in the town, which had changed its tenant144. No incident could be more trivial than this, had it not been for a strange coincidence of time between this circumstance, and a change which introduced itself into my situation. This first manifested itself in a sort of shyness with which I was treated, first by one person, and then another, of my new-formed acquaintance. They were backward to enter into conversation with me, and answered my enquiries with an awkward and embarrassed air. When they met me in the street or the field, their countenances145 contracted a cloud, and they endeavoured to shun146 me. My scholars quitted me one after another; and I had no longer any employment in my mechanical profession. It is impossible to describe the sensations, which the gradual but uninterrupted progress of this revolution produced in my mind. It seemed as if I had some contagious147 disease, from which every man shrunk with alarm, and left me to perish unassisted and alone. I asked one man and another to explain to me the meaning of these appearances; but every one avoided the task, and answered in an evasive and ambiguous manner. I sometimes supposed that it was all a delusion148 of the imagination; till the repetition of the sensation brought the reality too painfully home to my apprehension. There are few things that give a greater shock to the mind, than a phenomenon in the conduct of our fellow men, of great importance to our concerns, and for which we are unable to assign any plausible149 reason. At times I was half inclined to believe that the change was not in other men, but that some alienation150 of my own understanding generated the horrid151 vision. I endeavoured to awaken152 from my dream, and return to my former state of enjoyment and happiness; but in vain. To the same consideration it may be ascribed, that, unacquainted with the source of the evil, observing its perpetual increase, and finding it, so far as I could perceive, entirely153 arbitrary in its nature, I was unable to ascertain154 its limits, or the degree in which it would finally overwhelm me.
In the midst however of the wonderful and seemingly inexplicable155 nature of this scene, there was one idea that instantly obtruded156 itself, and that I could never after banish52 from my mind. It is Falkland! In vain I struggled against the seeming improbability of the supposition. In vain I said, “Mr. Falkland, wise as he is, and pregnant in resources, acts by human, not by supernatural means. He may overtake me by surprise, and in a manner of which I had no previous expectation; but he cannot produce a great and notorious effect without some visible agency, however difficult it may be to trace that agency to its absolute author. He cannot, like those invisible personages who are supposed from time to time to interfere157 in human affairs, ride in the whirlwind, shroud158 himself in clouds and impenetrable darkness, and scatter159 destruction upon the earth from his secret habitation.” Thus it was that I bribed160 my imagination, and endeavoured to persuade myself that my present unhappiness originated in a different source from my former. All evils appeared trivial to me, in comparison with the recollection and perpetuation161 of my parent misfortune. I felt like a man distracted, by the incoherence of my ideas to my present situation, excluding from it the machinations of Mr. Falkland, on the one hand; and on the other, by the horror I conceived at the bare possibility of again encountering his animosity, after a suspension of many weeks, a suspension as I had hoped for ever. An interval like this was an age to a person in the calamitous162 situation I had so long experienced. But, in spite of my efforts, I could not banish from my mind the dreadful idea. My original conceptions of the genius and perseverance163 of Mr. Falkland had been such, that I could with difficulty think any thing impossible to him. I knew not how to set up my own opinions of material causes and the powers of the human mind, as the limits of existence. Mr. Falkland had always been to my imagination an object of wonder, and that which excites our wonder we scarcely suppose ourselves competent to analyse.
It may well be conceived, that one of the first persons to whom I thought of applying for an explanation of this dreadful mystery was the accomplished Laura. My disappointment here cut me to the heart. I was not prepared for it. I recollected the ingenuousness165 of her nature, the frankness of her manners, the partiality with which she had honoured me. If I were mortified166 with the coldness, the ruggedness167, and the cruel mistake of principles with which the village inhabitants repelled168 my enquiries, the mortification169 I suffered, only drove me more impetuously to seek the cure of my griefs from this object of my admiration170. “In Laura,” said I, “I am secure from these vulgar prejudices. I confide44 in her justice. I am sure she will not cast me off unheard, nor without strictly171 examining a question on all sides, in which every thing that is valuable to a person she once esteemed, may be involved.”
Thus encouraging myself, I turned my steps to the place of her residence. As I passed along I called up all my recollection, I summoned my faculties. “I may be made miserable,” said I, “but it shall not be for want of any exertion132 of mine, that promises to lead to happiness. I will be clear, collected, simple in narrative172, ingenuous164 in communication. I will leave nothing unsaid that the case may require. I will not volunteer any thing that relates to my former transactions with Mr. Falkland; but, if I find that my present calamity is connected with those transactions, I will not fear but that by an honest explanation I shall remove it.”
I knocked at the door. A servant appeared, and told me that her mistress hoped I would excuse her; she must really beg to dispense173 with my visit.
I was thunderstruck. I was rooted to the spot. I had been carefully preparing my mind for every thing that I supposed likely to happen, but this event had not entered into my calculations. I roused myself in a partial degree, and walked away without uttering a word.
I had not gone far before I perceived one of the workmen following me, who put into my hands a billet. The contents were these:—
“MR. WILLIAMS,
“Let me see you no more. I have a right at least to expect your compliance174 with this requisition; and, upon that condition, I pardon the enormous impropriety and guilt175 with which you have conducted yourself to me and my family.
“LAURA DENISON.”
The sensations with which I read these few lines are indescribable. I found in them a dreadful confirmation176 of the calamity that on all sides invaded me. But what I felt most was the unmoved coldness with which they appeared to be written. This coldness from Laura, my comforter, my friend, my mother! To dismiss, to cast me off for ever, without one thought of compunction!
I determined however, in spite of her requisition, and in spite of her coldness, to have an explanation with her. I did not despair of conquering the antipathy177 she harboured. I did not fear that I should rouse her from the vulgar and unworthy conception, of condemning178 a man, in points the most material to his happiness, without stating the accusations179 that are urged against him, and without hearing him in reply.
Though I had no doubt, by means of resolution, of gaining access to her in her house, yet I preferred taking her unprepared, and not warmed against me by any previous contention180. Accordingly, the next morning, at the time she usually devoted181 to half an hour’s air and exercise, I hastened to her garden, leaped the paling, and concealed182 myself in an arbour. Presently I saw, from my retreat, the younger part of the family strolling through the garden, and from thence into the fields; but it was not my business to be seen by them. I looked after them however with earnestness, unobserved; and I could not help asking myself, with a deep and heartfelt sigh, whether it were possible that I saw them now for the last time?
They had not advanced far into the fields, before their mother made her appearance. I observed in her her usual serenity183 and sweetness of countenance. I could feel my heart knocking against my ribs184. My whole frame was in a tumult185. I stole out of the arbour; and, as I advanced nearer, my pace became quickened.
“For God’s sake, madam,” exclaimed I, “give me a hearing! Do not avoid me!”
She stood still. “No, sir,” she replied, “I shall not avoid you. I wished you to dispense with this meeting; but since I cannot obtain that — I am conscious of no wrong; and therefore, though the meeting gives me pain, it inspires me with no fear.”
“Oh, madam,” answered I, “my friend! the object of all my reverence186! whom I once ventured to call my mother! can you wish not to hear me? Can yon have no anxiety for my justification187, whatever may be the unfavourable impression you may have received against me?”
“Not an atom. I have neither wish nor inclination to hear you. That tale which, in its plain and unadorned state, is destructive of the character of him to whom it relates, no colouring can make an honest one.”
“Good God! Can you think of condemning a man when you have heard only one side of his story?”
“Indeed I can,” replied she with dignity. “The maxim189 of hearing both sides may be very well in some cases; but it would be ridiculous to suppose that there are not cases, that, at the first mention, are too clear to admit the shadow of a doubt. By a well-concerted defence you may give me new reasons to admire your abilities; but I am acquainted with them already. I can admire your abilities, without tolerating your character.”
“Madam! Amiable, exemplary Laura! whom, in the midst of all your harshness and inflexibility190, I honour! I conjure191 you, by every thing that is sacred, to tell me what it is that has filled you with this sudden aversion to me.”
“No, sir; that you shall never obtain from me. I have nothing to say to you. I stand still and hear you; because virtue disdains192 to appear abashed193 and confounded in the presence of vice194. Your conduct even at this moment, in my opinion, condemns195 you. True virtue refuses the drudgery196 of explanation and apology. True virtue shines by its own light, and needs no art to set it off. You have the first principles of morality as yet to learn.”
“And can you imagine, that the most upright conduct is always superior to the danger of ambiguity197?”
“Exactly so. Virtue, sir, consists in actions, and not in words. The good man and the bad are characters precisely198 opposite, not characters distinguished from each other by imperceptible shades. The Providence199 that rules us all, has not permitted us to be left without a clew in the most important of all questions. Eloquence200 may seek to confound it; but it shall be my care to avoid its deceptive201 influence. I do not wish to have my understanding perverted202, and all the differences of things concealed from my apprehension.”
“Madam, madam! it would be impossible for you to hold this language, if you had not always lived in this obscure retreat, if you had ever been conversant203 with the passions and institutions of men.”
“It may be so. And, if that be the case, I have great reason to be thankful to my God, who has thus enabled me to preserve the innocence204 of my heart, and the integrity of my understanding.”
“Can you believe then that ignorance is the only, or the safest, preservative205 of integrity?”
“Sir, I told you at first, and I repeat to you again, that all your declamation206 is in vain. I wish you would have saved me and yourself that pain which is the only thing that can possibly result from it. But let us suppose that virtue could ever be the equivocal thing you would have me believe. Is it possible, if you had been honest, that you would not have acquainted me with your story? Is it possible, that you would have left me to have been informed of it by a mere207 accident, and with all the shocking aggravations you well knew that accident would give it? Is it possible you should have violated the most sacred of all trusts, and have led me unknowingly to admit to the intercourse of my children a character, which if, as you pretend, it is substantially honest, you cannot deny to be blasted and branded in the face of the whole world? Go, sir; I despise you. You are a monster and not a man. I cannot tell whether my personal situation misleads me; but, to my thinking, this last action of yours is worse than all the rest. Nature has constituted me the protector of my children. I shall always remember and resent the indelible injury you have done them. You have wounded me to the very heart, and have taught me to what a pitch the villainy of man can extend.”
“Madam, I can be silent no longer. I see that you have by some means come to a hearing of the story of Mr. Falkland.”
“I have. I am astonished you have the effrontery208 to pronounce his name. That name has been a denomination209, as far back as my memory can reach, for the most exalted210 of mortals, the wisest and most generous of men.”
“Madam, I owe it to myself to set you right on this subject. Mr. Falkland —”
“Mr. Williams, I see my children returning from the fields, and coming this way. The basest action you ever did was the obtruding211 yourself upon them as an instructor. I insist that you see them no more. I command you to be silent. I command you to withdraw. If you persist in your absurd resolution of expostulating with me, you must take some other time.”
I could continue no longer. I was in a manner heart-broken through the whole of this dialogue. I could not think of protracting212 the pain of this admirable woman, upon whom, though I was innocent of the crimes she imputed213 to me, I had inflicted214 so much pain already. I yielded to the imperiousness of her commands, and withdrew.
I hastened, without knowing why, from the presence of Laura to my own habitation. Upon entering the house, an apartment of which I occupied, I found it totally deserted215 of its usual inhabitants. The woman and her children were gone to enjoy the freshness of the breeze. The husband was engaged in his usual out-door occupations. The doors of persons of the lower order in this part of the country are secured, in the day-time, only with a latch216. I entered, and went into the kitchen of the family. Here, as I looked round, my eyes accidentally glanced upon a paper lying in one corner, which, by some association I was unable to explain, roused in me a strong sensation of suspicion and curiosity. I eagerly went towards it, caught it up, and found it to be the very paper of the WONDERFUL AND SURPRISING HISTORY OF CALEB WILLIAMS, the discovery of which, towards the close of my residence in London, had produced in me such inexpressible anguish217.
This encounter at once cleared up all the mystery that hung upon my late transactions. Abhorred and intolerable certainty succeeded to the doubts which had haunted my mind. It struck me with the rapidity of lightning. I felt a sudden torpor218 and sickness that pervaded219 every fibre of my frame.
Was there no hope that remained for me? Was acquittal useless? Was there no period, past or in prospect, that could give relief to my sufferings? Was the odious220 and atrocious falsehood that had been invented against me, to follow me wherever I went, to strip me of character, to deprive me of the sympathy and good-will of mankind, to wrest221 from me the very bread by which life must be sustained?
For the space perhaps of half an hour the agony I felt from this termination to my tranquillity, and the expectation it excited of the enmity which would follow me through every retreat, was such as to bereave222 me of all consistent thinking, much more of the power of coming to any resolution. As soon as this giddiness and horror of the mind subsided223, and the deadly calm that invaded my faculties was no more, one stiff and master gale224 gained the ascendancy225, and drove me to an instant desertion of this late cherished retreat. I had no patience to enter into further remonstrance226 and explanation with the inhabitants of my present residence. I believed that it was in vain to hope to recover the favourable188 prepossession and tranquillity I had lately enjoyed. In encountering the prejudices that were thus armed against me, I should have to deal with a variety of dispositions227, and, though I might succeed with some, I could not expect to succeed with all. I had seen too much of the reign57 of triumphant228 falsehood, to have that sanguine229 confidence in the effects of my innocence, which would have suggested itself to the mind of any other person of my propensities230 and my age. The recent instance which had occurred in my conversation with Laura might well contribute to discourage me. I could not endure the thought of opposing the venom231 that was thus scattered232 against me, in detail and through its minuter particles. If ever it should be necessary to encounter it, if I were pursued like a wild beast, till I could no longer avoid turning upon my hunters, I would then turn upon the true author of this unprincipled attack; I would encounter the calumny233 in its strong hold; I would rouse myself to an exertion hitherto unessayed; and, by the firmness, intrepidity234, and unalterable constancy I should display, would yet compel mankind to believe Mr. Falkland a suborner and a murderer!
1 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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2 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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3 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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4 loathing | |
n.厌恶,憎恨v.憎恨,厌恶( loathe的现在分词);极不喜欢 | |
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5 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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6 fictitious | |
adj.虚构的,假设的;空头的 | |
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7 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
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8 artifice | |
n.妙计,高明的手段;狡诈,诡计 | |
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9 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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10 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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11 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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12 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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13 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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14 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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15 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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16 persecutor | |
n. 迫害者 | |
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17 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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18 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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19 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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20 inured | |
adj.坚强的,习惯的 | |
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21 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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22 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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23 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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24 annihilating | |
v.(彻底)消灭( annihilate的现在分词 );使无效;废止;彻底击溃 | |
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25 incur | |
vt.招致,蒙受,遭遇 | |
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26 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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27 molestation | |
n.骚扰,干扰,调戏;折磨 | |
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28 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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29 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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30 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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31 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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32 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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33 diversified | |
adj.多样化的,多种经营的v.使多样化,多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 );进入新的商业领域 | |
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34 solicited | |
v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 );(指娼妇)拉客;索求;征求 | |
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35 eked | |
v.(靠节省用量)使…的供应持久( eke的过去式和过去分词 );节约使用;竭力维持生计;勉强度日 | |
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36 instructor | |
n.指导者,教员,教练 | |
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37 copious | |
adj.丰富的,大量的 | |
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38 emolument | |
n.报酬,薪水 | |
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39 apothecary | |
n.药剂师 | |
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40 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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41 recurring | |
adj.往复的,再次发生的 | |
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42 condescended | |
屈尊,俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 ); 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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43 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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44 confide | |
v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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45 benevolence | |
n.慈悲,捐助 | |
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46 aspire | |
vi.(to,after)渴望,追求,有志于 | |
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47 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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48 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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49 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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50 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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51 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52 banish | |
vt.放逐,驱逐;消除,排除 | |
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53 heresy | |
n.异端邪说;异教 | |
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54 confiscated | |
没收,充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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56 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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57 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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58 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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59 mitigate | |
vt.(使)减轻,(使)缓和 | |
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60 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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61 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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62 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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63 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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64 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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65 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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66 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67 efface | |
v.擦掉,抹去 | |
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68 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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69 instructors | |
指导者,教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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70 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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71 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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72 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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73 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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74 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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75 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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76 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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77 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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78 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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79 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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80 derives | |
v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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81 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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82 refinements | |
n.(生活)风雅;精炼( refinement的名词复数 );改良品;细微的改良;优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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83 subside | |
vi.平静,平息;下沉,塌陷,沉降 | |
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84 sluggishness | |
不振,萧条,呆滞;惰性;滞性;惯性 | |
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85 tranquillity | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
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86 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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87 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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88 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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89 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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90 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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91 reposed | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92 subtlety | |
n.微妙,敏锐,精巧;微妙之处,细微的区别 | |
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93 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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94 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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95 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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96 irresistibly | |
adv.无法抵抗地,不能自持地;极为诱惑人地 | |
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97 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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98 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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99 contemptible | |
adj.可鄙的,可轻视的,卑劣的 | |
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100 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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101 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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102 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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103 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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104 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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105 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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106 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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107 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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108 abhorred | |
v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 );(厌恶地)回避;拒绝;淘汰 | |
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109 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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110 consigned | |
v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的过去式和过去分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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111 recollected | |
adj.冷静的;镇定的;被回忆起的;沉思默想的v.记起,想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112 recollecting | |
v.记起,想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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113 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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114 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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115 hermit | |
n.隐士,修道者;隐居 | |
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116 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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117 humanely | |
adv.仁慈地;人道地;富人情地;慈悲地 | |
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118 redounding | |
v.有助益( redound的现在分词 );及于;报偿;报应 | |
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119 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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120 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 | |
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121 panegyric | |
n.颂词,颂扬 | |
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122 relic | |
n.神圣的遗物,遗迹,纪念物 | |
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123 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
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124 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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125 persecution | |
n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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126 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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127 vein | |
n.血管,静脉;叶脉,纹理;情绪;vt.使成脉络 | |
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128 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 | |
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129 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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130 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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131 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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132 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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133 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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134 etymological | |
adj.语源的,根据语源学的 | |
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135 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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136 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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137 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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138 tormenting | |
使痛苦的,使苦恼的 | |
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139 delirium | |
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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140 Augmented | |
adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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141 perturbed | |
adj.烦燥不安的v.使(某人)烦恼,不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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142 immunities | |
免除,豁免( immunity的名词复数 ); 免疫力 | |
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143 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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144 tenant | |
n.承租人;房客;佃户;v.租借,租用 | |
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145 countenances | |
n.面容( countenance的名词复数 );表情;镇静;道义支持 | |
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146 shun | |
vt.避开,回避,避免 | |
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147 contagious | |
adj.传染性的,有感染力的 | |
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148 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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149 plausible | |
adj.似真实的,似乎有理的,似乎可信的 | |
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150 alienation | |
n.疏远;离间;异化 | |
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151 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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152 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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153 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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154 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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155 inexplicable | |
adj.无法解释的,难理解的 | |
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156 obtruded | |
v.强行向前,强行,强迫( obtrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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158 shroud | |
n.裹尸布,寿衣;罩,幕;vt.覆盖,隐藏 | |
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159 scatter | |
vt.撒,驱散,散开;散布/播;vi.分散,消散 | |
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160 bribed | |
v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂 | |
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161 perpetuation | |
n.永存,不朽 | |
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162 calamitous | |
adj.灾难的,悲惨的;多灾多难;惨重 | |
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163 perseverance | |
n.坚持不懈,不屈不挠 | |
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164 ingenuous | |
adj.纯朴的,单纯的;天真的;坦率的 | |
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165 ingenuousness | |
n.率直;正直;老实 | |
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166 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) | |
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167 ruggedness | |
险峻,粗野; 耐久性; 坚固性 | |
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168 repelled | |
v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 );使厌恶;排斥;推开 | |
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169 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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170 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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171 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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172 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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173 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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174 compliance | |
n.顺从;服从;附和;屈从 | |
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175 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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176 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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177 antipathy | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
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178 condemning | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的现在分词 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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179 accusations | |
n.指责( accusation的名词复数 );指控;控告;(被告发、控告的)罪名 | |
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180 contention | |
n.争论,争辩,论战;论点,主张 | |
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181 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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182 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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183 serenity | |
n.宁静,沉着,晴朗 | |
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184 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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185 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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186 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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187 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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188 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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189 maxim | |
n.格言,箴言 | |
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190 inflexibility | |
n.不屈性,顽固,不变性;不可弯曲;非挠性;刚性 | |
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191 conjure | |
v.恳求,祈求;变魔术,变戏法 | |
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192 disdains | |
鄙视,轻蔑( disdain的名词复数 ) | |
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193 abashed | |
adj.窘迫的,尴尬的v.使羞愧,使局促,使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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194 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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195 condemns | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的第三人称单数 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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196 drudgery | |
n.苦工,重活,单调乏味的工作 | |
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197 ambiguity | |
n.模棱两可;意义不明确 | |
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198 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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199 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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200 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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201 deceptive | |
adj.骗人的,造成假象的,靠不住的 | |
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202 perverted | |
adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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203 conversant | |
adj.亲近的,有交情的,熟悉的 | |
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204 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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205 preservative | |
n.防腐剂;防腐料;保护料;预防药 | |
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206 declamation | |
n. 雄辩,高调 | |
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207 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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208 effrontery | |
n.厚颜无耻 | |
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209 denomination | |
n.命名,取名,(度量衡、货币等的)单位 | |
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210 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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211 obtruding | |
v.强行向前,强行,强迫( obtrude的现在分词 ) | |
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212 protracting | |
v.延长,拖延(某事物)( protract的现在分词 ) | |
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213 imputed | |
v.把(错误等)归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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214 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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215 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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216 latch | |
n.门闩,窗闩;弹簧锁 | |
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217 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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218 torpor | |
n.迟钝;麻木;(动物的)冬眠 | |
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219 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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220 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
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221 wrest | |
n.扭,拧,猛夺;v.夺取,猛扭,歪曲 | |
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222 bereave | |
v.使痛失(亲人等),剥夺,使丧失 | |
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223 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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224 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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225 ascendancy | |
n.统治权,支配力量 | |
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226 remonstrance | |
n抗议,抱怨 | |
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227 dispositions | |
安排( disposition的名词复数 ); 倾向; (财产、金钱的)处置; 气质 | |
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228 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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229 sanguine | |
adj.充满希望的,乐观的,血红色的 | |
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230 propensities | |
n.倾向,习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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231 venom | |
n.毒液,恶毒,痛恨 | |
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232 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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233 calumny | |
n.诽谤,污蔑,中伤 | |
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234 intrepidity | |
n.大胆,刚勇;大胆的行为 | |
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