Nay1, hear me, brother — I am elder, wiser,
And holier than thou — And age, and wisdom,
And holiness, have peremptory2 claims,
And will be listen’d to.
Old play.
When the matrons re-entered, and put an end to the conversation — which we have detailed3 in the last chapter, Dame4 Magdalen Graeme thus addressed her grandson and his pretty companion: “Have you spoke5 together, my children?— Have you become known to each other as fellow-travellers on the same dark and dubious6 road, whom chance hath brought together, and who study to learn the tempers and dispositions7 of those by whom their perils8 are to be shared?”
It was seldom the light-hearted Catharine could suppress a jest, so that she often spoke when she would have acted more wisely in holding her peace.
“Your grandson admires the journey which you propose so very greatly, that he was even now preparing for setting out upon it instantly.”
“This is to be too forward, Roland,” said the dame, addressing him, “as yesterday you were over slack — the just mean lies in obedience9, which both waits for the signal to start, and obeys it when given.— But once again, my children, have you so perused10 each other’s countenances12, that when you meet, in whatever disguise the times may impose upon you, you may recognize each in the other the secret agent of the mighty13 work in which you are to be leagued?— Look at each other, know each line and lineament of each other’s countenance11. Learn to distinguish by the step, by the sound of the voice, by the motion of the hand, by the glance of the eye, the partner whom Heaven hath sent to aid in working its will.— Wilt14 thou know that maiden15, whensoever, or wheresoever you shall again meet her, my Roland Graeme?”
As readily as truly did Roland answer in the affirmative. “And thou, my daughter, wilt thou again remember the features of this youth?”
“Truly, mother,” replied Catherine Seyton, “I have not seen so many men of late, that I should immediately forget your grandson, though I mark not much about him that is deserving of especial remembrance.”
“Join hands, then, my children,” said Magdalen Graeme; but, in saying so, was interrupted by her companion, whose conventual prejudices had been gradually giving her more and more uneasiness, and who could remain acquiescent16 no longer.
“Nay, my good sister, you forget,” said she to Magdalen, “Catharine is the betrothed17 bride of Heaven — these intimacies18 cannot be.”
“It is in the cause of Heaven that I command them to embrace,” said Magdalen, with the full force of her powerful voice; “the end, sister, sanctifies the means we must use.”
“They call me Lady Abbess, or Mother at the least, who address me,” said Dame Bridget, drawing herself up, as if offended at her friend’s authoritative19 manner —“the Lady of Heathergill forgets that she speaks to the Abbess of Saint Catherine.”
“When I was what you call me,” said Magdalen, “you indeed were the Abbess of Saint Catherine, but both names are now gone, with all the rank that the world and that the church gave to them; and we are now, to the eye of human judgment20, two poor, despised, oppressed women, dragging our dishonoured21 old age to a humble22 grave. But what are we in the eye of Heaven?— Ministers, sent forth23 to work his will,— in whose weakness the strength of the church shall be manifested-before whom shall be humbled24 the wisdom of Murray, and the dark strength of Morton,— And to such wouldst thou apply the narrow rules of thy cloistered25 seclusion26?— or, hast thou forgotten the order which I showed thee from thy Superior, subjecting thee to me in these matters?”
“On thy head, then, be the scandal and the sin,” said the Abbess, sullenly27.
“On mine be they both,” said Magdalen. “I say, embrace each other, my children.”
But Catherine, aware, perhaps, how the dispute was likely to terminate, had escaped from the apartment, and so disappointed the grandson, at least as much as the old matron.
“She is gone,” said the Abbess, “to provide some little refreshment28. But it will have little savour to those who dwell in the world; for I, at least, cannot dispense29 with the rules to which I am vowed30, because it is the will of wicked men to break down the sanctuary32 in which they wont33 to be observed.”
“It is well, my sister,” replied Magdalen, “to pay each even the smallest tithes34 of mint and cummin which the church demands, and I blame not thy scrupulous35 observance of the rules of thine order. But they were established by the church, and for the church’s benefit; and reason it is that they should give way when the salvation36 of the church herself is at stake.”
The Abbess made no reply.
One more acquainted with human nature than the inexperienced page, might have found amusement in comparing the different kinds of fanaticisms which these two females exhibited. The Abbess, timid, narrowminded, and discontented, clung to ancient usages and pretensions37 which were ended by the Reformation; and was in adversity, as she had been in prosperity, scrupulous, weak-spirited, and bigoted38. While the fiery39 and more lofty spirit of her companion suggested a wider field of effort, and would not be limited by ordinary rules in the extraordinary schemes which were suggested by her bold and irregular imagination. But Roland Graeme, instead of tracing these peculiarities40 of character in the two old damps, only waited with great anxiety for the return of Catherine, expecting probably that the proposal of the fraternal embrace would be renewed, as his grandmother seemed disposed to carry matters with a high hand.
His expectations, or hopes, if we may call them so, were, however, disappointed; for, when Catherine re-entered on the summons of the Abbess, and placed on the table an earthen pitcher41 of water, and four wooden platters, with cups of the same materials, the Dame of Heathergill, satisfied with the arbitrary mode in which she had borne down the opposition42 of the Abbess, pursued her victory no farther — a moderation for which her grandson, in his heart, returned her but slender thanks.
In the meanwhile, Catherine continued to place upon the table the slender preparations for the meal of a recluse43, which consisted almost entirely44 of colewort, boiled and served up in a wooden platter, having no better seasoning45 than a little salt, and no better accompaniment than some coarse barley-bread, in very moderate quantity. The water-pitcher, already mentioned, furnished the only beverage46. After a Latin grace, delivered by the Abbess, the guests sat down to their spare entertainment. The simplicity47 of the fare appeared to produce no distaste in the females, who ate of it moderately, but with the usual appearance of appetite. But Roland Graeme had been used to better cheer. Sir Halbert Glendinning, who affected48 even an unusual degree of nobleness in his housekeeping, maintained it in a style of genial49 hospitality, which rivalled that of the Northern Barons50 of England. He might think, perhaps, that by doing so, he acted yet more completely the part for which he was born — that of a great Baron51 and a leader. Two bullocks, and six sheep, weekly, were the allowance when the Baron was at home, and the number was not greatly diminished during his absence. A boll of malt was weekly brewed52 into ale, which was used by the household at discretion53. Bread was baked in proportion for the consumption of his domestics and retainers; and in this scene of plenty had Roland Graeme now lived for several years. It formed a bad introduction to lukewarm greens and spring-water; and probably his countenance indicated some sense of the difference, for the Abbess observed, “It would seem, my son, that the tables of the heretic Baron, whom you have so long followed, are more daintily furnished than those of the suffering daughters of the church; and yet, not upon the most solemn nights of festival, when the nuns54 were permitted to eat their portion at mine own table, did I consider the cates, which were then served up, as half so delicious as these vegetables and this water, on which I prefer to feed, rather than do aught which may derogate55 from the strictness of my vow31. It shall never be said that the mistress of this house made it a house of feasting, when days of darkness and of affliction were hanging over the Holy Church, of which I am an unworthy member.”
“Well hast thou said, my sister,” replied Magdalen Graeme; “but now it is not only time to suffer in the good cause, but to act in it. And since our pilgrim’s meal is finished, let us go apart to prepare for our journey tomorrow, and to advise on the manner in which these children shall be employed, and what measures we can adopt to supply their thoughtlessness and lack of discretion.”
Notwithstanding his indifferent cheer, the heart of Roland Graeme bounded high at this proposal, which he doubted not would lead to another tête-a-tête betwixt him and the pretty novice57. But he was mistaken. Catherine, it would seem, had no mind so far to indulge him; for, moved either by delicacy58 or caprice, or some of those indescribable shades betwixt the one and the other, with which women love to tease, and at the same time to captivate, the ruder sex, she reminded the Abbess that it was necessary she should retire an hour before vespers; and, receiving the ready and approving nod of her Superior, she arose to withdraw. But before leaving the apartment, she made obeisance59 to the matrons, bending herself till her hands touched her knees, and then made a lesser60 reverence61 to Roland, which consisted in a slight bend of the body and gentle depression of the head. This she performed very demurely62; but the party on whom the salutation was conferred, thought he could discern in her manner an arch and mischievous63 exultation64 over his secret disappointment.—“The devil take the saucy65 girl,” he thought in his heart, though the presence of the Abbess should have repressed all such profane66 imaginations,—“she is as hard-hearted as the laughing hyaena that the story-books tell of — she has a mind that I shall not forget her this night at least.”
The matrons now retired67 also, giving the page to understand that he was on no account to stir from the convent, or to show himself at the windows, the Abbess assigning as a reason, the readiness with which the rude heretics caught at every occasion of scandalizing the religious orders.
“This is worse than the rigour of Mr. Henry Warden68, himself,” said the page, when he was left alone; “for, to do him justice, however strict in requiring the most rigid69 attention during the time of his homilies, he left us to the freedom of our own wills afterwards — ay, and would take a share in our pastimes, too, if he thought them entirely innocent. But these old women are utterly70 wrapt up in gloom, mystery and self-denial.— Well, then, if I must neither stir out of the gate nor look out at window, I will at least see what the inside of the house contains that may help to pass away one’s time — peradventure I may light on that blue-eyed laugher in some corner or other.”
Going, therefore, out of the chamber71 by the entrance opposite to that through which the two matrons had departed, (for it may be readily supposed that he had no desire to intrude72 on their privacy.) he wandered from one chamber to another, through the deserted73 edifice74, seeking, with boyish eagerness, some source of interest and amusement. Here he passed through a long gallery, opening on either hand into the little cells of the nuns, all deserted, and deprived of the few trifling75 articles of furniture which the rules of the order admitted.
“The birds are flown,” thought the page; “but whether they will find themselves worse off in the open air than in these damp narrow cages, I leave my Lady Abbess and my venerable relative to settle betwixt them. I think the wild young lark76 whom they have left behind them, would like best to sing under God’s free sky.”
A winding77 stair, strait and narrow, as if to remind the nuns of their duties of fast and maceration78, led down to a lower suite79 of apartments, which occupied the ground story of the house. These rooms were even more ruinous than those which he had left; for, having encountered the first fury of the assailants by whom the nunnery had been wasted, the windows had been dashed in, the doors broken down, and even the partitions betwixt the apartments, in some places, destroyed. As he thus stalked from desolation to desolation, and began to think of returning from so uninteresting a research to the chamber which he had left, he was surprised to hear the low of a cow very close to him. The sound was so unexpected at the time and place, that Roland Graeme started as if it had been the voice of a lion, and laid his hand on his dagger80, while at the same moment the light and lovely form of Catherine Seyton presented itself at the door of the apartment from which the sound had issued.
“Good even to you, valiant81 champion!” said she: “since the days of Guy of Warwick, never was one more worthy56 to encounter a dun cow.”
“Cow?” said Roland Graeme, “by my faith, I thought it had been the devil that roared so near me. Who ever heard of a convent containing a cow-house?”
“Cow and calf82 may come hither now,” answered Catherine, “for we have no means to keep out either. But I advise you, kind sir, to return to the place from whence you came.”
“Not till I see your charge, fair sister,” answered Roland, and made his way into the apartment, in spite of the half serious half laughing remonstrances83 of the girl.
The poor solitary84 cow, now the only severe recluse within the nunnery, was quartered in a spacious85 chamber, which had once been the refectory of the convent. The roof was graced with groined arches, and the wall with niches86, from which the images had been pulled down. These remnants of architectural ornaments87 were strangely contrasted with the rude crib constructed for the cow in one corner of the apartment, and the stack of fodder88 which was piled beside it for her food. 12
“By my faith,” said the page, “Crombie is more lordly lodged89 than any one here!”
“You had best remain with her,” said Catherine, “and supply by your filial attentions the offspring she has had the ill luck to lose.”
“I will remain, at least, to help you to prepare her night’s lair90, pretty Catherine,” said Roland, seizing upon a pitch-fork.
“By no means,” said Catherine; “for, besides that you know not in the least how to do her that service, you will bring a chiding91 my way, and I get enough of that in the regular course of things.”
“What! for accepting my assistance?” said the page,—“for accepting my assistance, who am to be your confederate in some deep matter of import? That were altogether unreasonable92 — and, now I think on it, tell me if you can, what is this mighty emprise to which I am destined93?”
“Robbing a bird’s nest, I should suppose,” said Catherine, “considering the champion whom they have selected.”
“By my faith,” said the youth, “and he that has taken a falcon’s nest in the Scaurs of Polmoodie, has done something to brag94 of, my fair sister.— But that is all over now — a murrain on the nest, and the eyases and their food, washed or unwashed, for it was all anon of cramming95 these worthless kites that I was sent upon my present travels. Save that I have met with you, pretty sister, I could eat my dagger-hilt for vexation at my own folly96. But, as we are to be fellow-travellers —”
“Fellow-labourers! not fellow-travellers!” answered the girl; “for to your comfort be it known, that the Lady Abbess and I set out earlier than you and your respected relative tomorrow, and that I partly endure your company at present, because it may be long ere we meet again.”
“By Saint Andrew, but it shall not though,” answered Roland; “I will not hunt at all unless we are to hunt in couples.”
“I suspect, in that and in other points, we must do as we are bid,” replied the young lady.—“But, hark! I hear my aunt’s voice.”
The old lady entered in good earnest, and darted97 a severe glance at her niece, while Roland had the ready wit to busy himself about the halter of the cow.
“The young gentleman,” said Catherine, gravely, “is helping98 me to tie the cow up faster to her stake, for I find that last night when she put her head out of window and lowed, she alarmed the whole village; and — we shall be suspected of sorcery among the heretics, if they do not discover the cause of the apparition99, or lose our cow if they do.”
“Relieve yourself of that fear,” said the Abbess, somewhat ironically; “the person to whom she is now sold, comes for the animal presently.”
“Good night, then, my poor companion,” said Catherine, patting the animal’s shoulders; “I hope thou hast fallen into kind hands, for my happiest hours of late have been spent in tending thee — I would I had been born to no better task!”
“Now, out upon thee, mean-spirited wench!” said the Abbess; “is that a speech worthy of the name of Seyton, or of the mouth of a sister of this house, treading the path of election — and to be spoken before a stranger youth, too?— Go to my oratory100, minion101 — there read your Hours till I come thither102, when I will read you such a lecture as shall make you prize the blessings103 which you possess.”
Catherine was about to withdraw in silence, casting a half sorrowful half comic glance at Roland Graeme, which seemed to say —“You see to what your untimely visit has exposed me,” when, suddenly changing her mind, she came forward to the page, and extended her hand as she bid him good evening. Their palms had pressed each other ere the astonished matron could interfere104, and Catherine had time to say —“Forgive me, mother; it is long since we have seen a face that looked with kindness on us. Since these disorders105 have broken up our peaceful retreat, all has been gloom and malignity106. I bid this youth kindly107 farewell, because he has come hither in kindness, and because the odds108 are great, that we may never again meet in this world. I guess better than he, that the schemes on which you are rushing are too mighty for your management, and that you are now setting the stone a-rolling, which must surely crush you in its descent. I bid fare-well,” she added, “to my fellow-victim!”
This was spoken with a tone of deep and serious feeling, altogether different from the usual levity109 of Catherine’s manner, and plainly showed, that beneath the giddiness of extreme youth and total inexperience, there lurked110 in her bosom111 a deeper power of sense and feeling, than her conduct had hitherto expressed.
The Abbess remained a moment silent after she had left the room. The proposed rebuke112 died on her tongue, and she appeared struck with the deep and foreboding, tone in which her niece had spoken her good-even. She led the way in silence to the apartment which they had formerly113 occupied, and where there was prepared a small refection, as the Abbess termed it, consisting of milk and barley-bread. Magdalen Graeme, summoned to take share in this collation114, appeared from an adjoining apartment, but Catherine was seen no more. There was little said during the hasty meal, and after it was finished, Roland Graeme was dismissed to the nearest cell, where some preparations had been made for his repose115.
The strange circumstances in which he found himself, had their usual effect in preventing slumber116 from hastily descending117 on him, and he could distinctly hear, by a low but earnest murmuring in the apartment which he had left, that the matrons continued in deep consultation118 to a late hour. As they separated he heard the Abbess distinctly express herself thus: “In a word, my sister, I venerate119 your character and the authority with which my Superiors have invested you; yet it seems to me, that, ere entering on this perilous120 course, we should consult some of the Fathers of the Church.”
“And how and where are we to find a faithful Bishop121 or Abbot at whom to ask counsel? The faithful Eustatius is no more — he is withdrawn122 from a world of evil, and from the tyranny of heretics. May Heaven and our Lady assoilzie him of his sins, and abridge123 the penance124 of his mortal infirmities!— Where shall we find another, with whom to take counsel?”
“Heaven will provide for the Church,” said the Abbess; “and the faithful fathers who yet are suffered to remain in the house of Kennaquhair, will proceed to elect an Abbot. They will not suffer the staff to fall down, or the mitre to be unfilled, for the threats of heresy125.”
“That will I learn tomorrow,” said Magdalen Graeme; “yet who now takes the office of an hour, save to partake with the spoilers in their work of plunder126?— tomorrow will tell us if one of the thousand saints who are sprung from the House of Saint Mary’s continues to look down on it in its misery127.— Farewell, my sister — we meet at Edinburgh.”
“Benedicito!” answered the Abbess, and they parted.
“To Kennaquhair and to Edinburgh we bend our way.” thought Roland Graeme. “That information have I purchased by a sleepless128 hour — it suits well with my purpose. At Kennaquhair I shall see Father Ambrose;— at Edinburgh I shall find the means of shaping my own course through this bustling129 world, without burdening my affectionate relation — at Edinburgh, too, I shall see again the witching novice, with her blue eyes and her provoking smile.”— He fell asleep, and it was to dream of Catherine Seyton.
1 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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2 peremptory | |
adj.紧急的,专横的,断然的 | |
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3 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
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4 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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5 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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6 dubious | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
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7 dispositions | |
安排( disposition的名词复数 ); 倾向; (财产、金钱的)处置; 气质 | |
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8 perils | |
极大危险( peril的名词复数 ); 危险的事(或环境) | |
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9 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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10 perused | |
v.读(某篇文字)( peruse的过去式和过去分词 );(尤指)细阅;审阅;匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览(某篇文字) | |
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11 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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12 countenances | |
n.面容( countenance的名词复数 );表情;镇静;道义支持 | |
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13 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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14 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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15 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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16 acquiescent | |
adj.默许的,默认的 | |
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17 betrothed | |
n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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18 intimacies | |
亲密( intimacy的名词复数 ); 密切; 亲昵的言行; 性行为 | |
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19 authoritative | |
adj.有权威的,可相信的;命令式的;官方的 | |
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20 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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21 dishonoured | |
a.不光彩的,不名誉的 | |
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22 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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23 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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24 humbled | |
adj. 卑下的,谦逊的,粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下,贬低 | |
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25 cloistered | |
adj.隐居的,躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退,使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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27 sullenly | |
不高兴地,绷着脸,忧郁地 | |
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28 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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29 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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30 vowed | |
起誓,发誓(vow的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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31 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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32 sanctuary | |
n.圣所,圣堂,寺庙;禁猎区,保护区 | |
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33 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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34 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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35 scrupulous | |
adj.审慎的,小心翼翼的,完全的,纯粹的 | |
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36 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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37 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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38 bigoted | |
adj.固执己见的,心胸狭窄的 | |
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39 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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40 peculiarities | |
n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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41 pitcher | |
n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐;(棒球)投手 | |
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42 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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43 recluse | |
n.隐居者 | |
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44 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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45 seasoning | |
n.调味;调味料;增添趣味之物 | |
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46 beverage | |
n.(水,酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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47 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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48 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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49 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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50 barons | |
男爵( baron的名词复数 ); 巨头; 大王; 大亨 | |
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51 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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52 brewed | |
调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 ); 酝酿; 沏(茶); 煮(咖啡) | |
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53 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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54 nuns | |
n.(通常指基督教的)修女, (佛教的)尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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55 derogate | |
v.贬低,诽谤 | |
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56 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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57 novice | |
adj.新手的,生手的 | |
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58 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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59 obeisance | |
n.鞠躬,敬礼 | |
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60 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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61 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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62 demurely | |
adv.装成端庄地,认真地 | |
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63 mischievous | |
adj.调皮的,恶作剧的,有害的,伤人的 | |
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64 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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65 saucy | |
adj.无礼的;俊俏的;活泼的 | |
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66 profane | |
adj.亵神的,亵渎的;vt.亵渎,玷污 | |
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67 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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68 warden | |
n.监察员,监狱长,看守人,监护人 | |
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69 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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70 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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71 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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72 intrude | |
vi.闯入;侵入;打扰,侵扰 | |
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73 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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74 edifice | |
n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿,教室) | |
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75 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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76 lark | |
n.云雀,百灵鸟;n.嬉戏,玩笑;vi.嬉戏 | |
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77 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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78 maceration | |
n.泡软,因绝食而衰弱 | |
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79 suite | |
n.一套(家具);套房;随从人员 | |
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80 dagger | |
n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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81 valiant | |
adj.勇敢的,英勇的;n.勇士,勇敢的人 | |
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82 calf | |
n.小牛,犊,幼仔,小牛皮 | |
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83 remonstrances | |
n.抱怨,抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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84 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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85 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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86 niches | |
壁龛( niche的名词复数 ); 合适的位置[工作等]; (产品的)商机; 生态位(一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位) | |
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87 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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88 fodder | |
n.草料;炮灰 | |
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89 lodged | |
v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 );暂住;埋入;(权利、权威等)归属 | |
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90 lair | |
n.野兽的巢穴;躲藏处 | |
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91 chiding | |
v.责骂,责备( chide的现在分词 ) | |
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92 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
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93 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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94 brag | |
v./n.吹牛,自夸;adj.第一流的 | |
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95 cramming | |
n.塞满,填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 );填塞;塞满;(为考试而)死记硬背功课 | |
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96 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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97 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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98 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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99 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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100 oratory | |
n.演讲术;词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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101 minion | |
n.宠仆;宠爱之人 | |
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102 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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103 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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104 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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105 disorders | |
n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 );凌乱;骚乱;(身心、机能)失调 | |
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106 malignity | |
n.极度的恶意,恶毒;(病的)恶性 | |
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107 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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108 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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109 levity | |
n.轻率,轻浮,不稳定,多变 | |
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110 lurked | |
vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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111 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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112 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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113 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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114 collation | |
n.便餐;整理 | |
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115 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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116 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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117 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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118 consultation | |
n.咨询;商量;商议;会议 | |
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119 venerate | |
v.尊敬,崇敬,崇拜 | |
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120 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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121 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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122 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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123 abridge | |
v.删减,删节,节略,缩短 | |
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124 penance | |
n.(赎罪的)惩罪 | |
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125 heresy | |
n.异端邪说;异教 | |
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126 plunder | |
vt.劫掠财物,掠夺;n.劫掠物,赃物;劫掠 | |
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127 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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128 sleepless | |
adj.不睡眠的,睡不著的,不休息的 | |
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129 bustling | |
adj.喧闹的 | |
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