What, Dagon up again!— I thought we had hurl’d him
Down on the threshold, never more to rise.
Bring wedge and axe1; and, neighbours, lend your hands
And rive the idol2 into winter fagots!
Athelstane, or the Converted Dane.
Roland Graeme slept long and sound, and the sun was high over the horizon, when the voice of his companion summoned him to resume their pilgrimage; and when, hastily arranging his dress, he went to attend her call, the enthusiastic matron stood already at the threshold, prepared for her journey. There was in all the deportment of this remarkable3 woman, a promptitude of execution, and a sternness of perseverance4, founded on the fanaticism5 which she nursed so deeply, and which seemed to absorb all the ordinary purposes and feelings of mortality. One only human affection gleamed through her enthusiastic energies, like the broken glimpses of the sun through the rising clouds of a storm. It was her maternal7 fondness for her grandson — a fondness carried almost to the verge8 of dotage9, in circumstances where the Catholic religion was not concerned, but which gave way instantly when it chanced either to thwart10 or come in contact with the more settled purpose of her soul, and the more devoted11 duty of her life. Her life she would willingly have laid down to save the earthly object of her affection; but that object itself she was ready to hazard, and would have been willing to sacrifice, could the restoration of the Church of Rome have been purchased with his blood. Her discourse12 by the way, excepting on the few occasions in which her extreme love of her grandson found opportunity to display itself in anxiety for his health and accommodation, turned entirely13 on the duty of raising up the fallen honours of the Church, and replacing a Catholic sovereign on the throne. There were times at which she hinted, though very obscurely and distantly, that she herself was foredoomed by Heaven to perform a part in this important task; and that she had more than mere14 human warranty15 for the zeal16 with which she engaged in it. But on this subject she expressed herself in such general language, that it was not easy to decide whether she made any actual pretensions18 to a direct and supernatural call, like the celebrated19 Elizabeth Barton, commonly called the Nun20 of Kent; 13 or whether she dwelt upon the general duty which was incumbent21 on all Catholics of the time, and the pressure of which she felt in an extraordinary degree.
Yet though Magdalen Graeme gave no direct intimation of her pretensions to be considered as something beyond the ordinary class of mortals, the demeanour of one or two persons amongst the travellers whom they occasionally met, as they entered the more fertile and populous23 part of the valley, seemed to indicate their belief in her superior attributes. It is true, that two clowns, who drove before them a herd25 of cattle — one or two village wenches, who seemed bound for some merry-making — a strolling soldier, in a rusted26 morion, and a wandering student, as his threadbare black cloak and his satchel27 of books proclaimed him — passed our travellers without observation, or with a look of contempt; and, moreover, that two or three children, attracted by the appearance of a dress so nearly resembling that of a pilgrim, joined in hooting28 and calling “Out upon the mass-monger!” But one or two, who nourished in their bosoms29 respect for the downfallen hierarchy30 — casting first a timorous31 glance around, to see that no one observed them — hastily crossed themselves — bent22 their knee to Sister Magdalen, by which name they saluted32 her — kissed her hand, or even the hem24 of her dalmatique — received with humility33 the Benedicite with which she repaid their obeisance34; and then starting up, and again looking timidly round to see that they had been unobserved, hastily resumed their journey. Even while within sight of persons of the prevailing35 faith, there were individuals bold enough, by folding their arms and bending their head, to give distant and silent intimation that they recognized Sister Magdalen, and honoured alike her person and her purpose.
She failed not to notice to her grandson these marks of honour and respect which from time to time she received. “You see,” she said, “my son, that the enemies have been unable altogether to suppress the good spirit, or to root out the true seed. Amid heretics and schismatics, spoilers of the church’s lands, and scoffers at saints and sacraments, there is left a remnant.”
“It is true, my mother,” said Roland Graeme; “but methinks they are of a quality which can help us but little. See you not all those who wear steel at their side, and bear marks of better quality, ruffle36 past us as they would past the meanest beggars? for those who give us any marks of sympathy, are the poorest of the poor, and most outcast of the needy37, who have neither bread to share with us, nor swords to defend us, nor skill to use them if they had. That poor wretch38 that last kneeled to you with such deep devotion, and who seemed emaciated39 by the touch of some wasting disease within, and the grasp of poverty without — that pale, shivering, miserable40 caitiff, how can he aid the great schemes you meditate41?”
“Much, my son,” said the Matron, with more mildness than the page perhaps expected. “When that pious42 son of the church returns from the shrine43 of Saint Ringan, whither he now travels by my counsel, and by the aid of good Catholics,— when he returns, healed, of his wasting malady44, high in health, and strong in limb, will not the glory of his faithfulness, and its miraculous45 reward, speak louder in the ears of this besotted people of Scotland, than the din6 which is weekly made in a thousand heretical pulpits?”
“Ay, but, mother, I fear the Saint’s hand is out. It is long since we have heard of a miracle performed at St. Ringan’s.”
The matron made a dead pause, and, with a voice tremulous with emotion, asked, “Art thou so unhappy as to doubt the power of the blessed Saint?”
“Nay, mother,” the youth hastened to reply, “I believe as the Holy Church commands, and doubt not Saint Ringan’s power of healing; but, be it said with reverence46, he hath not of late showed the inclination47.”
“And has this land deserved it?” said the Catholic matron, advancing hastily while she spoke48, until she attained49 the summit of a rising ground, over which the path led, and then standing50 again still. “Here,” she said, “stood the Cross, the limits of the Halidome of Saint Mary’s — here — on this eminence51 — from which the eye of the holy pilgrim might first catch a view of that ancient monastery52, the light of the land, the abode53 of Saints, and the grave of monarchs54 — Where is now that emblem55 of our faith? It lies on the earth — a shapeless block, from which the broken fragments have been carried off, for the meanest uses, till now no semblance56 of its original form remains57. Look towards the east, my son, where the sun was wont58 to glitter on stately spires59 — from which crosses and bells have now been hurled60, as if the land had been invaded once more by barbarous heathens.— Look at yonder battlements, of which we can, even at this distance, descry61 the partial demolition62; and ask if this land can expect from the blessed saints, whose shrines63 and whose images have been profaned64, any other miracles but those of vengeance65? How long,” she exclaimed, looking upward, “How long shall it be delayed?” She paused, and then resumed with enthusiastic rapidity, “Yes, my son, all on earth is but for a period — joy and grief, triumph and desolation, succeed each other like cloud and sunshine;— the vineyard shall not be forever trodden down, the gaps shall be amended66, and the fruitful branches once more dressed and trimmed. Even this day — ay, even this hour, I trust to hear news of importance. Dally67 not — let us on — time is brief, and judgment68 is certain.”
She resumed the path which led to the Abbey — a path which, in ancient times, was carefully marked out by posts and rails, to assist the pilgrim in his journey — these were now torn up and destroyed. A half-hour’s walk placed them in front of the once splendid Monastery, which, although the church was as yet entire, had not escaped the fury of the times. The long range of cells and of apartments for the use of the brethren, which occupied two sides of the great square, were almost entirely ruinous, the interior having been consumed by fire, which only the massive architecture of the outward walls had enabled them to resist. The Abbot’s house, which formed the third side of the square, was, though injured, still inhabited, and afforded refuge to the few brethren, who yet, rather by connivance69 than by actual authority,— were permitted to remain at Kennaquhair. Their stately offices — their pleasant gardens — the magnificent cloisters70 constructed for their recreation, were all dilapidated and ruinous; and some of the building materials had apparently71 been put into requisition by persons in the village and in the vicinity, who, formerly72 vassals73 of the Monastery, had not hesitated to appropriate to themselves a part of the spoils. Roland saw fragments of Gothic pillars richly carved, occupying the place of door-posts to the meanest huts; and here and there a mutilated statue, inverted74 or laid on its side, made the door-post, or threshold, of a wretched cow-house. The church itself was less injured than the other buildings of the Monastery. But the images which had been placed in the numerous niches75 of its columns and buttresses76, having all fallen under the charge of idolatry, to which the superstitious77 devotion of the Papists had justly exposed them, had been broken and thrown down, without much regard to the preservation78 of the rich and airy canopies79 and pedestals on which they were placed; nor, if the devastation80 had stopped short at this point, could we have considered the preservation of these monuments of antiquity81 as an object to be put in the balance with the introduction of the reformed worship.
Our pilgrims saw the demolition of these sacred and venerable representations of saints and angels — for as sacred and venerable they had been taught to consider them — with very different feelings. The antiquary may be permitted to regret the necessity of the action, but to Magdalen Graeme it seemed a deed of impiety82, deserving the instant vengeance of heaven,— a sentiment in which her relative joined for the moment as cordially as herself. Neither, however, gave vent84 to their feelings in words, and uplifted hands and eyes formed their only mode of expressing them. The page was about to approach the great eastern gate of the church, but was prevented by his guide. “That gate,” she said, “has long been blockaded, that the heretical rabble85 may not know there still exist among the brethren of Saint Mary’s men who dare worship where their predecessors86 prayed while alive, and were interred87 when dead — follow me this way, my son.”
Roland Graeme followed accordingly; and Magdalen, casting a hasty glance to see whether they were observed, (for she had learned caution from the danger of the times,) commanded her grandson to knock at a little wicket which she pointed88 out to him. “But knock gently,” she added, with a motion expressive89 of caution. After a little space, during which no answer was returned, she signed to Roland to repeat his summons for admission; and the door at length partially90 opening, discovered a glimpse of the thin and timid porter, by whom the duty was performed, skulking91 from the observation of those who stood without; but endeavouring at the same time to gain a sight of them without being himself seen. How different from the proud consciousness of dignity with which the porter of ancient days offered his important brow, and his goodly person, to the pilgrims who repaired to Kennaquhair! His solemn “Intrate, mei filii, ” was exchanged for a tremulous “You cannot enter now — the brethren are in their chambers92.” But, when Magdalen Graeme asked, in an under tone of voice, “Hast thou forgotten me, my brother?” he changed his apologetic refusal to “Enter, my honoured sister, enter speedily, for evil eyes are upon us”
They entered accordingly, and having waited until the porter had, with jealous haste, barred and bolted the wicket, were conducted by him through several dark and winding93 passages. As they walked slowly on, he spoke to the matron in a subdued94 voice, as if he feared to trust the very walls with the avowal95 which he communicated.
“Our Fathers are assembled in the Chapter-house, worthy96 sister — yes, in the Chapter-house — for the election of an Abbott.— Ah, Benedicite! there must be no ringing of bells — no high mass — no opening of the great gates now, that the people might see and venerate97 their spiritual Father! Our Fathers must hide themselves rather like robbers who choose a leader, than godly priests who elect a mitred Abbot.”
“Regard not that, my brother,” answered Magdalen Graeme; “the first successors of Saint Peter himself were elected, not in sunshine, but in tempests — not in the halls of the Vatican, but in the subterranean98 vaults99 and dungeons100 of heathen Rome — they were not gratulated with shouts and salvos of cannon-shot and of musketry, and the display of artificial fire — no, my brother — but by the hoarse101 summons of Lictors and Praetors, who came to drag the Fathers of the Church to martyrdom. From such adversity was the Church once raised, and by such will it now be purified.— And mark me, brother! not in the proudest days of the mitred Abbey, was a Superior ever chosen, whom his office shall so much honour, as he shall be honoured, who now takes it upon him in these days of tribulation102. On whom, my brother, will the choice fall?”
“On whom can it fall — or, alas103! who would dare to reply to the call, save the worthy pupil of the Sainted Eustatius — the good and valiant104 Father Ambrose?”
“I know it,” said Magdalen; “my heart told me long ere your lips had uttered his name. Stand forth105, courageous106 champion, and man the fatal breach107!— Rise, bold and experienced pilot, and seize the helm while the tempest rages!— Turn back the battle, brave raiser of the fallen standard!— Wield108 crook109 and slang, noble shepherd of a scattered110 flock!”
“I pray you, hush111, my sister!” said the porter, opening a door which led into the great church, “the brethren will be presently here to celebrate their election with a solemn mass — I must marshal them the way to the high altar — all the offices of this venerable house have now devolved on one poor decrepit112 old man.”
He left the church, and Magdalen and Roland remained alone in that great vaulted113 space, whose style of rich, yet chaste114 architecture, referred its origin to the early part of the fourteenth century, the best period of Gothic building. But the niches were stripped of their images in the inside as well as the outside of the church; and in the pell-mell havoc115, the tombs of warriors116 and of princes had been included in the demolition of the idolatrous shrines. Lances and swords of antique size, which had hung over the tombs of mighty117 warriors of former days, lay now strewed118 among relics119, with which the devotion of pilgrims had graced those of their peculiar120 saints; and the fragments of the knights121 and dames122, which had once lain recumbent, or kneeled in an attitude of devotion, where their mortal relics were reposed123, were mingled124 with those of the saints and angels of the Gothic chisel125, which the hand of violence had sent headlong from their stations.
The most fatal symptom of the whole appeared to be, that, though this violence had now been committed for many months, the Fathers had lost so totally all heart and resolution, that they had not adventured even upon clearing away the rubbish, or restoring the church to some decent degree of order. This might have been done without much labour. But terror had overpowered the scanty126 remains of a body once so powerful, and, sensible they were only suffered to remain in this ancient seat by connivance and from compassion127, they did not venture upon taking any step which might be construed128 into an assertion of their ancient rights, contenting themselves with the secret and obscure exercise of their religious ceremonial, in as unostentatious a manner as was possible.
Two or three of the more aged17 brethren had sunk under the pressure of the times, and the ruins had been partly cleared away to permit their interment. One stone had been laid over Father Nicholas, which recorded of him in special, that he had taken the vows129 during the incumbency130 of Abbot Ingelram, the period to which his memory so frequently recurred131. Another flag-stone, yet more recently deposited, covered the body of Philip the Sacristan, eminent132 for his aquatic133 excursion with the phantom134 of Avenel, and a third, the most recent of all, bore the outline of a mitre, and the words Hic jacet Eustatius Abbas ; for no one dared to add a word of commendation in favour of his learning, and strenuous135 zeal for the Roman Catholic faith.
Magdalen Graeme looked at and perused136 the brief records of these monuments successively, and paused over that of Father Eustace. “In a good hour for thyself,” she said, “but oh! in an evil hour for the Church, wert thou called from us. Let thy spirit be with us, holy man — encourage thy successor to tread in thy footsteps — give him thy bold and inventive capacity, thy zeal and thy discretion137 — even thy piety83 exceeds not his.” As she spoke, a side door, which closed a passage from the Abbot’s house into the church, was thrown open, that the Fathers might enter the choir138, and conduct to the high altar the Superior whom they had elected.
In former times, this was one of the most splendid of the many pageants139 which the hierarchy of Rome had devised to attract the veneration140 of the faithful. The period during which the Abbacy remained vacant, was a state of mourning, or, as their emblematical141 phrase expressed it, of widowhood; a melancholy142 term, which was changed into rejoicing and triumph when a new Superior was chosen. When the folding doors were on such solemn occasions thrown open, and the new Abbot appeared on the threshold in full-blown dignity, with ring and mitre, and dalmatique and crosier, his hoary143 standard-bearers and his juvenile144 dispensers of incense145 preceding him, and the venerable train of monks146 behind him, with all besides which could announce the supreme147 authority to which he was now raised, his appearance was a signal for the magnificent jubilate to rise from the organ and music-loft, and to be joined by the corresponding bursts of Alleluiah from the whole assembled congregation. Now all was changed. In the midst of rubbish and desolation, seven or eight old men, bent and shaken as much by grief and fear as by age, shrouded148 hastily in the proscribed149 dress of their order, wandered like a procession of spectres, from the door which had been thrown open, up through the encumbered150 passage, to the high altar, there to instal their elected Superior a chief of ruins. It was like a band of bewildered travellers choosing a chief in the wilderness151 of Arabia; or a shipwrecked crew electing a captain upon the barren island on which fate has thrown them.
They who, in peaceful times, are most ambitious of authority among others, shrink from the competition at such eventful periods, when neither ease nor parade attend the possession of it, and when it gives only a painful pre-eminence both in danger and in labour, and exposes the ill-fated chieftain to the murmurs152 of his discontented associates, as well as to the first assault of the common enemy. But he on whom the office of the Abbot of Saint Mary’s was now conferred, had a mind fitted for the situation to which he was called. Bold and enthusiastic, yet generous and forgiving — wise and skilful153, yet zealous154 and prompt — he wanted but a better cause than the support of a decaying superstition155, to have raised him to the rank of a truly great man. But as the end crowns the work, it also forms the rule by which it must be ultimately judged; and those who, with sincerity156 and generosity157, fight and fall in an evil cause, posterity158 can only compassionate159 as victims of a generous but fatal error. Amongst these, we must rank Ambrosius, the last Abbot of Kennaqubair, whose designs must be condemned160, as their success would have riveted161 on Scotland the chains of antiquated162 superstition and spiritual tyranny; but whose talents commanded respect, and whose virtues163, even from the enemies of his faith, extorted164 esteem165.
The bearing of the new Abbot served of itself to dignify166 a ceremonial which was deprived of all other attributes of grandeur167. Conscious of the peril168 in which they stood, and recalling, doubtless, the better days they had seen, there hung over his brethren an appearance of mingled terror, and grief, and shame, which induced them to hurry over the office in which they were engaged, as something at once degrading and dangerous.
But not so Father Ambrose. His features, indeed, expressed a deep melancholy, as he walked up the centre aisle169, amid the ruin of things which he considered as holy, but his brow was undejected, and his step firm and solemn. He seemed to think that the dominion170 which he was about to receive, depended in no sort upon the external circumstances under which it was conferred; and if a mind so firm was accessible to sorrow or fear, it was not on his own account, but on that of the Church to which he had devoted himself.
At length he stood on the broken steps of the high altar, barefooted, as was the rule, and holding in his hand his pastoral staff, for the gemmed171 ring and jewelled mitre had become secular172 spoils. No obedient vassals came, man after man, to make their homage173, and to offer the tribute which should provide their spiritual Superior with palfrey and trappings. No Bishop174 assisted at the solemnity, to receive into the higher ranks of the Church nobility a dignitary, whose voice in the legislature was as potential as his own. With hasty and maimed rites175, the few remaining brethren stepped forward alternately to give their new Abbot the kiss of peace, in token of fraternal affection and spiritual homage. Mass was then hastily performed, but in such precipitation as if it had been hurried over rather to satisfy the scruples176 of a few youths, who were impatient to set out on a hunting party, than as if it made the most solemn part of a solemn ordination177. The officiating priest faltered178 as he spoke the service, and often looked around, as if he expected to be interrupted in the midst of his office; and the brethren listened to that which, short as it was, they wished yet more abridged179.14
These symptoms of alarm increased as the ceremony proceeded, and, as it seemed, were not caused by mere apprehension180 alone; for, amid the pauses of the hymn181, there were heard without sounds of a very different sort, beginning faintly and at a distance, but at length approaching close to the exterior182 of the church, and stunning183 with dissonant184 clamour those engaged in the service. The winding of horns, blown with no regard to harmony or concert; the jangling of bells, the thumping185 of drums, the squeaking186 of bagpipes187, and the clash of cymbals188 — the shouts of a multitude, now as in laughter, now as in anger — the shrill189 tones of female voices, and of those of children, mingling190 with the deeper clamour of men, formed a Babel of sounds, which first drowned, and then awed191 into utter silence, the official hymns192 of the Convent. The cause and result of this extraordinary interruption will be explained in the next chapter.
1 axe | |
n.斧子;v.用斧头砍,削减 | |
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2 idol | |
n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
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3 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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4 perseverance | |
n.坚持不懈,不屈不挠 | |
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5 fanaticism | |
n.狂热,盲信 | |
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6 din | |
n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
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7 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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8 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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9 dotage | |
n.年老体衰;年老昏聩 | |
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10 thwart | |
v.阻挠,妨碍,反对;adj.横(断的) | |
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11 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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12 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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13 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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14 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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15 warranty | |
n.担保书,证书,保单 | |
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16 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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17 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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18 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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19 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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20 nun | |
n.修女,尼姑 | |
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21 incumbent | |
adj.成为责任的,有义务的;现任的,在职的 | |
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22 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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23 populous | |
adj.人口稠密的,人口众多的 | |
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24 hem | |
n.贴边,镶边;vt.缝贴边;(in)包围,限制 | |
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25 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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26 rusted | |
v.(使)生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27 satchel | |
n.(皮或帆布的)书包 | |
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28 hooting | |
(使)作汽笛声响,作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 ); 倒好儿; 倒彩 | |
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29 bosoms | |
胸部( bosom的名词复数 ); 胸怀; 女衣胸部(或胸襟); 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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30 hierarchy | |
n.等级制度;统治集团,领导层 | |
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31 timorous | |
adj.胆怯的,胆小的 | |
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32 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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33 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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34 obeisance | |
n.鞠躬,敬礼 | |
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35 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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36 ruffle | |
v.弄皱,弄乱;激怒,扰乱;n.褶裥饰边 | |
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37 needy | |
adj.贫穷的,贫困的,生活艰苦的 | |
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38 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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39 emaciated | |
adj.衰弱的,消瘦的 | |
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40 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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41 meditate | |
v.想,考虑,(尤指宗教上的)沉思,冥想 | |
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42 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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43 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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44 malady | |
n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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45 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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46 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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47 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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48 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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49 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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50 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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51 eminence | |
n.卓越,显赫;高地,高处;名家 | |
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52 monastery | |
n.修道院,僧院,寺院 | |
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53 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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54 monarchs | |
君主,帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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55 emblem | |
n.象征,标志;徽章 | |
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56 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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57 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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58 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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59 spires | |
n.(教堂的) 塔尖,尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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60 hurled | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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61 descry | |
v.远远看到;发现;责备 | |
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62 demolition | |
n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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63 shrines | |
圣地,圣坛,神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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64 profaned | |
v.不敬( profane的过去式和过去分词 );亵渎,玷污 | |
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65 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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66 Amended | |
adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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67 dally | |
v.荒废(时日),调情 | |
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68 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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69 connivance | |
n.纵容;默许 | |
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70 cloisters | |
n.(学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的)走廊( cloister的名词复数 );回廊;修道院的生活;隐居v.隐退,使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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71 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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72 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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73 vassals | |
n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 );(封建时代)诸侯;从属者;下属 | |
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74 inverted | |
adj.反向的,倒转的v.使倒置,使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75 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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76 buttresses | |
n.扶壁,扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑,加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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77 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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78 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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79 canopies | |
(宝座或床等上面的)华盖( canopy的名词复数 ); (飞行器上的)座舱罩; 任何悬于上空的覆盖物; 森林中天棚似的树荫 | |
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80 devastation | |
n.毁坏;荒废;极度震惊或悲伤 | |
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81 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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82 impiety | |
n.不敬;不孝 | |
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83 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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84 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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85 rabble | |
n.乌合之众,暴民;下等人 | |
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86 predecessors | |
n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 );前辈;(被取代的)原有事物;前身 | |
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87 interred | |
v.埋,葬( inter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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89 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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90 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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91 skulking | |
v.潜伏,偷偷摸摸地走动,鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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92 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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93 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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94 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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95 avowal | |
n.公开宣称,坦白承认 | |
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96 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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97 venerate | |
v.尊敬,崇敬,崇拜 | |
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98 subterranean | |
adj.地下的,地表下的 | |
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99 vaults | |
n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 );地下室;撑物跳高;墓穴 | |
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100 dungeons | |
n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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101 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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102 tribulation | |
n.苦难,灾难 | |
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103 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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104 valiant | |
adj.勇敢的,英勇的;n.勇士,勇敢的人 | |
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105 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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106 courageous | |
adj.勇敢的,有胆量的 | |
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107 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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108 wield | |
vt.行使,运用,支配;挥,使用(武器等) | |
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109 crook | |
v.使弯曲;n.小偷,骗子,贼;弯曲(处) | |
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110 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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111 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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112 decrepit | |
adj.衰老的,破旧的 | |
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113 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
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114 chaste | |
adj.贞洁的;有道德的;善良的;简朴的 | |
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115 havoc | |
n.大破坏,浩劫,大混乱,大杂乱 | |
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116 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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117 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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118 strewed | |
v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 );散落于;点缀;撒满 | |
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119 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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120 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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121 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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122 dames | |
n.(在英国)夫人(一种封号),夫人(爵士妻子的称号)( dame的名词复数 );女人 | |
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123 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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124 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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125 chisel | |
n.凿子;v.用凿子刻,雕,凿 | |
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126 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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127 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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128 construed | |
v.解释(陈述、行为等)( construe的过去式和过去分词 );翻译,作句法分析 | |
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129 vows | |
誓言( vow的名词复数 ); 郑重宣布,许愿 | |
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130 incumbency | |
n.职责,义务 | |
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131 recurred | |
再发生,复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 ); 治愈 | |
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132 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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133 aquatic | |
adj.水生的,水栖的 | |
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134 phantom | |
n.幻影,虚位,幽灵;adj.错觉的,幻影的,幽灵的 | |
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135 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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136 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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137 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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138 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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139 pageants | |
n.盛装的游行( pageant的名词复数 );穿古代服装的游行;再现历史场景的娱乐活动;盛会 | |
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140 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
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141 emblematical | |
adj.标志的,象征的,典型的 | |
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142 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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143 hoary | |
adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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144 juvenile | |
n.青少年,少年读物;adj.青少年的,幼稚的 | |
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145 incense | |
v.激怒;n.香,焚香时的烟,香气 | |
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146 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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147 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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148 shrouded | |
v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 );保密 | |
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149 proscribed | |
v.正式宣布(某事物)有危险或被禁止( proscribe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150 encumbered | |
v.妨碍,阻碍,拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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152 murmurs | |
n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 );低语声;怨言;嘀咕 | |
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153 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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154 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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155 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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156 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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157 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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158 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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159 compassionate | |
adj.有同情心的,表示同情的 | |
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160 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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161 riveted | |
铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 ); 把…固定住; 吸引; 引起某人的注意 | |
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162 antiquated | |
adj.陈旧的,过时的 | |
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163 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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164 extorted | |
v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 );曲解 | |
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165 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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166 dignify | |
vt.使有尊严;使崇高;给增光 | |
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167 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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168 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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169 aisle | |
n.(教堂、教室、戏院等里的)过道,通道 | |
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170 dominion | |
n.统治,管辖,支配权;领土,版图 | |
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171 gemmed | |
点缀(gem的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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172 secular | |
n.牧师,凡人;adj.世俗的,现世的,不朽的 | |
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173 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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174 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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175 rites | |
仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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176 scruples | |
n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 );顾虑,顾忌v.感到于心不安,有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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177 ordination | |
n.授任圣职 | |
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178 faltered | |
(嗓音)颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
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179 abridged | |
削减的,删节的 | |
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180 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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181 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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182 exterior | |
adj.外部的,外在的;表面的 | |
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183 stunning | |
adj.极好的;使人晕倒的 | |
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184 dissonant | |
adj.不和谐的;不悦耳的 | |
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185 thumping | |
adj.重大的,巨大的;重击的;尺码大的;极好的adv.极端地;非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词);狠打;怦怦地跳;全力支持 | |
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186 squeaking | |
v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 );吱吱叫;告密;充当告密者 | |
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187 bagpipes | |
n.风笛;风笛( bagpipe的名词复数 ) | |
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188 cymbals | |
pl.铙钹 | |
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189 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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190 mingling | |
adj.混合的 | |
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191 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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192 hymns | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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