Talbot Bulstrode yielded at last to John’s repeated invitations, and consented to pass a couple of days at Mellish Park.
He despised and hated himself for the absurd concession1. In what a pitiful farce2 had the tragedy ended! A visitor in the house of his rival — a calm spectator of Aurora3’s everyday, commonplace happiness. For the space of two days he had consented to occupy this most preposterous4 position. Two days only; then back to the Cornish miners, and the desolate5 bachelor’s lodgings6 in Queen’s Square, Westminster; back to his tent in life’s great Sahara. He could not, for the very soul of him, resist the temptation of beholding7 the inner life of that Yorkshire mansion8. He wanted to know for certain — what was it to him, I wonder — whether she was really happy, and had utterly9 forgotten him. They all returned to the Park together — Aurora, John, Archibald Floyd, Lucy, Talbot Bulstrode, and Captain Hunter. The last-named officer was a jovial10 gentleman, with a hook nose and auburn whiskers; a gentleman whose intellectual attainments11 were of no very oppressive order, but a hearty12, pleasant guest in an honest country mansion, where there is cheer and welcome for all.
Talbot could but inwardly confess that Aurora became her new position. How everybody loved her! What an atmosphere of happiness she created about her wherever she went! How joyously14 the dogs barked and leaped at sight of her, straining their chains in the desperate effort to approach her! How fearlessly the thorough-bred mares and foals ran to the paddock-gates to bid her welcome, bending down their velvet15 nostrils16 to nestle upon her shoulder, or respond to the touch of her caressing17 hand! Seeing all this, how could Talbot refrain from remembering that the same sunlight might have shone upon that dreary18 castle far away by the surging Western Sea? She might have been his, this beautiful creature; but at what price? At the price of honor; at the price of every principle of his mind, which had set up for himself a holy and perfect standard — a pure and spotless ideal for the wife of his choice. Forbid it, manhood! He might have weakly yielded; he might have been happy, with the blind happiness of a lotus-eater, but not the reasonable bliss19 of a Christian20. Thank Heaven for the strength which had been given him to escape from the silken net! Thank Heaven for the power which had been granted to him to fight the battle!
Standing21 by Aurora’s side in one of the wide windows at Mellish Park, looking far out over the belted lawn to the glades22 in which the deer lay basking23 drowsily24 in the April sunlight, he could not repress the thought uppermost in his mind.
“I am — very glad — to see you so happy, Mrs. Mellish.”
She looked at him with frank, truthful25 eyes, in whose brightness there was not one latent shadow.
“Yes,” she said, “I am very, very happy. My husband is very good to me. He loves — and trusts me.”
She could not resist that one little stab — the only vengeance26 she ever took upon him, but a stroke that pierced him to the heart.
“Aurora! Aurora! Aurora!” he cried.
That half-stifled cry revealed the secret of wounds that were not yet healed. Mrs. Mellish turned pale at the traitorous27 sound. This man must be cured. The happy wife, secure in her own strong-hold of love and confidence, could not bear to see this poor fellow still adrift.
She by no means despaired of his cure, for experience had taught her that although love’s passionate28 fever takes several forms there are very few of them incurable29. Had she not passed safely through the ordeal30 herself, without one scar to bear witness of the old wounds?
She left Captain Bulstrode staring moodily31 out of the window, and went away to plan the saving of this poor shipwrecked soul.
She ran, in the first place, to tell Mr. John Mellish of her discovery, as it was her custom to carry to him every scrap32 of intelligence, great and small.
“My dearest old Jack,” she said — it was another of her customs to address him by every species of exaggeratedly endearing appellation33; it may be that she did this for the quieting of her own conscience, being well aware that she tyrannized over him —“my darling boy, I have made a discovery.”
“About the filly?”
“About Talbot Bulstrode.”
John’s blue eyes twinkled maliciously34. He was half prepared for what was coming.
“What is it, Lolly?”
Lolly was a corruption35 of Aurora, devised by John Mellish.
“Why, I’m really afraid, my precious darling, that he has n’t quite got over —”
“My taking you away from him!” roared John. “I thought as much. Poor devil — poor Talbot! I could see that he would have liked to fight me on the stand at York. Upon my word, I pity him!” and, in token of his compassion36, Mr. Mellish burst into that old joyous13, boisterous37, but musical laugh, which Talbot might almost have heard at the other end of the house.
This was a favorite delusion38 of John’s. He firmly believed that he had won Aurora’s affection in fair competition with Captain Bulstrode, pleasantly ignoring that the captain had resigned all pretensions39 to Miss Floyd’s hand nine or ten months before his own offer had been accepted.
The genial40, sanguine41 creature, had a habit of deceiving himself in this manner. He saw all things in the universe just as he wished to see them — all men and women good and honest; life one long, pleasant voyage, in a well-fitted ship, with only first-class passengers on board. He was one of those men who are likely to cut their throats or take prussic acid upon the day they first encounter the black visage of Care.
“And what are we to do with this poor fellow, Lolly?”
“Marry him!” exclaimed Mrs. Mellish.
“Both of us?” said John, simply.
“My dearest pet, what an obtuse42 old darling you are! No; marry him to Lucy Floyd, my first cousin once removed, and keep the Bulstrode estate in the family.”
“Marry him to Lucy!”
“Yes; why not? She has studied enough, and learned history, and geography, and astronomy, and botany, and geology, and conchology, and entomology enough; and she has covered I don’t know how many China jars with impossible birds and flowers; and she has illuminated43 missals, and read High-Church novels; so the next best thing she can do is to marry Talbot Bulstrode.”
John had his own reasons for agreeing with Aurora in this matter. He remembered that secret of poor Lucy’s which he had discovered more than a year before at Felden Woods — the secret which had been revealed to him by some mysterious sympathetic power belonging to hopeless love. So Mr. Mellish declared his hearty concurrence44 in Aurora’s scheme, and the two amateur match-makers set to work to devise a complicated man-trap, in the which Talbot was to be entangled45; never for a moment imagining that, while they were racking their brains in the endeavor to bring this piece of machinery46 to perfection, the intended victim was quietly strolling across the sunlit lawn toward the very fate they desired for him.
Yes, Talbot Bulstrode lounged with languid step to meet his destiny in a wood upon the borders of the Park — a part of the Park, indeed, inasmuch as it was within the boundary fence of John’s domain47. The wood-anemones48 trembled in the spring breezes deep in those shadowy arcades49; pale primroses51 showed their mild faces amid their sheltering leaves; and in shady nooks, beneath low spreading boughs52 of elm and beech53, oak and ash, the violets hid their purple beauty from the vulgar eye. A lovely spot, soothing54 by its harmonious55 influence; a very forest sanctuary56, without whose dim arcades man cast his burden down, to enter in a child. Captain Bulstrode had felt in no very pleasant humor as he walked across the lawn, but some softening57 influence stole upon him on the threshold of that sylvan58 shelter which made him feel a better man. He began to question himself as to how he was playing his part in the great drama of life.
“Good Heavens!” he thought, “what a shameful59 coward, what a negative wretch60 I have become by this one grief of my manhood! An indifferent son, a careless brother, a useless, purposeless creature, content to dawdle61 away my life in feeble pottering with political economy. Shall I ever be in earnest again? Is this dreary doubt of every living creature to go with me to my grave? Less than two years ago my heart sickened at the thought that I had lived to two-and-thirty years of age and had never been loved. Since then — since then — since then I have lived through life’s brief fever; I have fought manhood’s worst and sharpest battle, and find myself — where? Exactly where I was before — still companion-less upon the dreary journey, only a little nearer to the end.”
He walked slowly onward62 into the woodland aisle63, other aisles64 branching away from him right and left into deep glades and darkening shadow. A month or so later, and the mossy ground beneath his feet would be one purple carpet of hyacinths, the very air thick with a fatal scented65 vapor66 from the perfumed bulbs.
“I asked too much,” said Talbot, in that voiceless argument we are perpetually carrying on with ourselves; “I asked too much — I yielded to the spell of the siren, and was angry because I missed the white wings of the angel. I was bewitched by the fascinations67 of a beautiful woman, when I should have sought for a noble-minded wife.”
He went deeper and deeper into the wood, going to his fate, as another man was to do before the coming summer was over; but to what a different fate! The long arcades of beech and elm had reminded him from the first of the solemn aisles of a cathedral. The saint was only needed. And, coming suddenly to a spot where a new arcade50 branched off abruptly69 on his right hand, he saw, in one of the sylvan niches70, as fair a saint as had ever been modelled by the hand of artist and believer — the same golden-haired angel he had seen in the long drawing-room at Felden Woods — Lucy Floyd, with the pale aureola about her head, her large straw hat in her lap, filled with anemones and violets, and the third volume of a novel in her hand.
How much in life often hangs, or seems to us to hang, upon what is called by playwrights71 “a situation!” But for this sudden encounter, but for coming thus upon this pretty picture, Talbot Bulstrode might have dropped into his grave ignorant to the last of Lucy’s love for him. But, given a sunshiny April morning (April’s fairest bloom, remember, when the capricious nymph is mending her manners, aware that her lovelier sister May is at hand, and anxious to make a good impression before she drops her farewell courtesy, and weeps her last brief shower of farewell tears)— given a balmy spring morning, solitude72, a wood, wild flowers, golden hair, and blue eyes, and is the problem difficult to solve?
Talbot Bulstrode, leaning against the broad trunk of a beech, looked down at the fair face, which crimsoned73 under his eyes, and the first glimmering74 hint of Lucy’s secret began to dawn upon him. At that moment he had no thought of profiting by the discovery, no thought of what he was afterward75 led on to say. His mind was filled with the storm of emotion that had burst from him in that wild cry to Aurora. Rage and jealousy76, regret, despair, envy, love, and hate — all the conflicting feelings that had struggled like so many demons77 in his soul at sight of Aurora’s happiness, were still striving for mastery in his breast, and the first words he spoke78 revealed the thoughts that were uppermost.
“Your cousin is very happy in her new life, Miss Floyd?” he said.
Lucy looked up at him with surprise. It was the first time he had spoken to her of Aurora.
“Yes,” she answered quietly, “I think she is happy.”
Captain Bulstrode whisked the end of his cane79 across a group of anemones, and decapitated the tremulous blossoms. He was thinking, rather savagely80, what a shame it was that this glorious Aurora could be happy with big, broad-shouldered, jovial-tempered John Mellish. He could not understand the strange anomaly; he could not discover the clew to the secret; he could not comprehend that the devoted81 love of this sturdy Yorkshireman was in itself strong enough to conquer all difficulties, to outweigh82 all differences.
Little by little he and Lucy began to talk of Aurora, until Miss Floyd told her companion all about that dreary time at Felden Woods during which the life of the heiress was wellnigh despaired of. So she had loved him truly, then, after all; she had loved and had suffered, and had lived down her trouble, and had forgotten him and was happy. The story was all told in that one sentence. He looked blankly back at the irrecoverable past, and was angry with the pride of the Bulstrodes, which had stood between himself and his happiness.
He told sympathizing Lucy something of his sorrow; told her that misapprehension — mistaken pride — had parted him from Aurora. She tried, in her gentle, innocent fashion, to comfort the strong man in his weakness, and in trying revealed — ah! how simply and transparently83 — the old secret, which had so long been hidden from him.
Heaven help the man whose heart is caught at the rebound84 by a fair-haired divinity, with dove-like eyes, and a low, tremulous voice, softly attuned85 to his grief. Talbot Bulstrode saw that he was beloved, and in very gratitude86 made a dismal87 offer of the ashes of that fire which had burnt so fiercely at Aurora’s shrine88. Do not despise this poor Lucy if she accepted her cousin’s forgotten lover with humble89 thankfulness, nay90, with a tumult91 of wild delight, and with joyful92 fear and trembling. She loved him so well, and had loved him so long. Forgive and pity her, for she was one of those pure and innocent creatures whose whole being resolves itself into affection; to whom passion, anger, and pride are unknown; who live only to love, and who love until death. Talbot Bulstrode told Lucy Floyd that he had loved Aurora with the whole strength of his soul, but that now the battle was over, he, the stricken warrior93, needed a consoler for his declining days; would she, could she, give her hand to one who would strive to the uttermost to fulfil a husband’s duty, and to make her happy? Happy! She would have been happy if he had asked her to be his slave — happy if she could have been a scullery-maid at Bulstrode Castle, so that she might have seen the dark face she loved once or twice a day through the obscure panes94 of some kitchen-window.
But she was the most undemonstrative of women, and, except by her blushes, and her drooping95 eyelids96, and the teardrop trembling upon the soft auburn lashes97, she made no reply to the captain’s appeal, until at last, taking her hand in his, he won from her a low consenting murmur98, which meant Yes.
Good Heavens! how hard it is upon such women as these that they feel so much and yet display so little feeling. The dark-eyed, impetuous creatures, who speak out fearlessly, and tell you that they love or hate you, flinging their arms around your neck or throwing the carving-knife at you, as the case may be, get full value for all their emotion; but these gentle creatures love, and make no sign. They sit, like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief, and no one reads the mournful meaning of that sad smile. Concealment99, like the worm i’ the bud, feeds on their damask cheeks, and compassionate100 relatives tell them that they are bilious101, and recommend Cockle’s pills, or some other homely102 remedy, for their pallid103 complexions104. They are always at a disadvantage. Their inner life may be a tragedy, all blood and tears, while their outward existence is some dull domestic drama of every-day life. The only outward sign Lucy Floyd gave of the condition of her heart was that one tremulous, half-whispered affirmative, and yet what a tempest of emotion was going forward within! The muslin folds of her dress rose and fell with the surging billows, but for the very life of her she could have uttered no better response to Talbot’s pleading.
It was only by and by, after she and Captain Bulstrode had wandered slowly back to the house, that her emotion betrayed itself. Aurora met her cousin in the corridor out of which their rooms opened, and, drawing Lucy into her own dressing-room, asked the truant105 where she had been.
“Where have you been, you runaway106 girl? John and I have wanted you half a dozen times.”
Miss Lucy Floyd explained that she had been in the wood with the last new novel — a High-Church novel, in which the heroine rejected the clerical hero because he did not perform the service according to the Rubric. Now, Miss Lucy Floyd made this confession107 with so much confusion and so many blushes that it would have appeared as if there were some lurking108 criminality in the fact of spending an April morning in a wood; and, being farther examined as to why she had staid so long, and whether she had been alone all the time, poor Lucy fell into a pitiful state of embarrassment109, saying that she had been alone, that is to say, part of the time, or at least most of the time, but that Captain Bulstrode —”
But, in trying to pronounce his name — this beloved, this sacred name — Lucy Floyd’s utterance110 failed her; she fairly broke down, and burst into tears.
Aurora laid her cousin’s face upon her breast, and looked down with a womanly, matronly glance into those tearful blue eyes.
“Lucy, my darling,” she said, “is it really and truly as I think — as I wish — Talbot loves you?”
“He has asked me to marry him,” Lucy whispered.
“And you — you have consented — you love him?”
Lucy Floyd only answered by a new burst of tears.
“Why, my darling, how this surprises me! How long has it been so, Lucy? How long have you loved him?”
“From the hour I first saw him,” murmured Lucy; “from the day he first came to Felden. Oh, Aurora! I know how foolish and weak it was; I hate myself for the folly111; but he is so good, so noble, so —”
“My silly darling; and because he is good and noble, and asked you to be his wife, you shed as many tears as if you had been asked to go to his funeral. My loving, tender Lucy, you loved him all the time then; and you were so gentle and good to me — to me, who was selfish enough never to guess! My dearest, you are a hundred times better suited to him than ever I was, and you will be as happy — as happy as I am with that ridiculous old John.”
Aurora’s eyes filled with tears as she spoke.
She was truly and sincerely glad that Talbot was in a fair way to find consolation112, still more glad that her sentimental113 cousin was to be made happy.
Talbot Bulstrode lingered on a few days at Mellish Park — happy, ah! too happy days for Lucy Floyd — and then departed, after receiving the congratulations of John and Aurora.
He was to go straight to Alexander Floyd’s villa114 at Fulham, and plead his cause with Lucy’s father. There was little fear of his meeting other than a favorable reception, for Talbot Bulstrode, of Bulstrode Castle, was a very great match for a daughter of the junior branch of Floyd, Floyd, and Floyd, a young lady whose expectations were considerably115 qualified116 by half a dozen brothers and sisters.
So Captain Bulstrode went back to London as the betrothed117 lover of Lucy Floyd — went back with a subdued118 gladness in his heart all unlike the stormy joys of the past. He was happy in the choice he had made, calmly and dispassionately. He had loved Aurora for her beauty and her fascination68; he was going to marry Lucy because he had seen much of her, had observed her closely, and believed her to be all that a woman should be. Perhaps, if stern truth must be told, Lucy’s chief charm in the captain’s eyes lay in that reverence119 for himself which she so naively120 betrayed. He accepted her worship with a quiet, unconscious serenity121, and thought her the most sensible of women.
Mrs. Alexander was utterly bewildered when Aurora’s sometime lover pleaded for her daughter’s hand. She was too busy a mother among her little flock to be the most penetrating122 of observers, and she had never suspected the state of Lucy’s heart. She was glad, therefore, to find that her daughter did justice to her excellent education, and had too much good sense to refuse so advantageous123 an offer as that of Captain Bulstrode; and she joined with her husband in perfect approval of Talbot’s suit. So, there being no let or hinderance, and as the lovers had long known and esteemed124 each other, it was decided125, at the captain’s request, that the wedding should take place early in June, and that the honeymoon126 should be spent at Bulstrode Castle. At the end of May Mr. and Mrs. Mellish went to Felden on purpose to attend Lucy’s wedding, which took place with great style at Fulham, Archibald Floyd presenting his grand-niece with a check for five thousand pounds after the return from church.
Once during that marriage ceremony Talbot Bulstrode was nigh rubbing his eyes, thinking that the pageant127 must be a dream. A dream surely; for here was a pale, fairhaired girl by his side, while the woman he had chosen two years before stood amid a group behind him, and looked on at the ceremony a pleased spectator. But when he felt the little gloved hand trembling upon his arm as the bride and bridegroom left the altar he remembered that it was no dream, and that life held new and solemn duties for him from that hour.
Now, my two heroines being married, the reader versed128 in the physiology129 of novel-writing may conclude that my story is done, that the green curtain is ready to fall upon the last act of the play, and that I have nothing more to do than to entreat130 indulgence for the shortcomings of the performance and the performers. Yet, after all, does the business of the real life-drama always end upon the altar-steps? Must the play needs be over when the hero and heroine have signed their names in the register? Does man cease to be, to do, and to suffer when he gets married? And is it necessary that the novelist, after devoting three volumes to the description of a courtship of six weeks duration, should reserve for himself only half a page in which to tell us the events of two-thirds of a lifetime? Aurora is married, and settled, and happy; sheltered, as one would imagine, from all dangers, safe under the wing of her stalwart adorer; but it does not therefore follow that the story of her life is done. She has escaped ship-wreck for a while, and has safely landed on a pleasant shore; but the storm may still lower darkly upon the horizon, while the hoarse131 thunder grumbles132 threateningly in the distance.
收听单词发音 |
1
concession
|
|
| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
farce
|
|
| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
aurora
|
|
| n.极光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
preposterous
|
|
| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
beholding
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
jovial
|
|
| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
attainments
|
|
| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
hearty
|
|
| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
joyously
|
|
| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
nostrils
|
|
| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
caressing
|
|
| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
bliss
|
|
| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
glades
|
|
| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
basking
|
|
| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
drowsily
|
|
| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
truthful
|
|
| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
vengeance
|
|
| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
traitorous
|
|
| adj. 叛国的, 不忠的, 背信弃义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
incurable
|
|
| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
ordeal
|
|
| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
moodily
|
|
| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
scrap
|
|
| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
appellation
|
|
| n.名称，称呼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
maliciously
|
|
| adv.有敌意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
corruption
|
|
| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
boisterous
|
|
| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
pretensions
|
|
| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
genial
|
|
| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
sanguine
|
|
| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
obtuse
|
|
| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
illuminated
|
|
| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
concurrence
|
|
| n.同意；并发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
entangled
|
|
| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
machinery
|
|
| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
domain
|
|
| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
anemones
|
|
| n.银莲花( anemone的名词复数 )；海葵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
arcades
|
|
| n.商场( arcade的名词复数 )；拱形走道（两旁有商店或娱乐设施）；连拱廊；拱形建筑物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
arcade
|
|
| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
primroses
|
|
| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
boughs
|
|
| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
beech
|
|
| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
harmonious
|
|
| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
sanctuary
|
|
| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
softening
|
|
| 变软，软化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
sylvan
|
|
| adj.森林的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
shameful
|
|
| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
dawdle
|
|
| vi.浪费时间；闲荡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
onward
|
|
| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
aisle
|
|
| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
aisles
|
|
| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
scented
|
|
| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
vapor
|
|
| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
fascinations
|
|
| n.魅力( fascination的名词复数 )；有魅力的东西；迷恋；陶醉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
fascination
|
|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
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） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
playwrights
|
|
| n.剧作家( playwright的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
crimsoned
|
|
| 变为深红色（crimson的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
glimmering
|
|
| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
demons
|
|
| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
cane
|
|
| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
savagely
|
|
| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
outweigh
|
|
| vt.比...更重，...更重要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
transparently
|
|
| 明亮地，显然地，易觉察地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
rebound
|
|
| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
attuned
|
|
| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
shrine
|
|
| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
tumult
|
|
| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
joyful
|
|
| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
warrior
|
|
| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
panes
|
|
| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
drooping
|
|
| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
eyelids
|
|
| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
lashes
|
|
| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
concealment
|
|
| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
compassionate
|
|
| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
bilious
|
|
| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
pallid
|
|
| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
complexions
|
|
| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
truant
|
|
| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
runaway
|
|
| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
lurking
|
|
| 潜在 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
qualified
|
|
| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
naively
|
|
| adv. 天真地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
serenity
|
|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
advantageous
|
|
| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
honeymoon
|
|
| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
pageant
|
|
| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
versed
|
|
| adj. 精通，熟练 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
physiology
|
|
| n.生理学，生理机能 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
entreat
|
|
| v.恳求，恳请 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
hoarse
|
|
| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
grumbles
|
|
| 抱怨( grumble的第三人称单数 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |