To surround anything, however monstrous1 or ridiculous, with an air of mystery, is to invest it with a secret charm, and power of attraction which to the crowd is irresistible2. False priests, false prophets, false doctors, false patriots3, false prodigies4 of every kind, veiling their proceedings5 in mystery, have always addressed themselves at an immense advantage to the popular credulity, and have been, perhaps, more indebted to that resource in gaining and keeping for a time the upper hand of Truth and Common Sense, than to any half-dozen items in the whole catalogue of imposture6. Curiosity is, and has been from the creation of the world, a master-passion. To awaken7 it, to gratify it by slight degrees, and yet leave something always in suspense8, is to establish the surest hold that can be had, in wrong, on the unthinking portion of mankind.
If a man had stood on London Bridge, calling till he was hoarse9, upon the passers-by, to join with Lord George Gordon, although for an object which no man understood, and which in that very incident had a charm of its own,— the probability is, that he might have influenced a score of people in a month. If all zealous10 Protestants had been publicly urged to join an association for the avowed11 purpose of singing a hymn12 or two occasionally, and hearing some indifferent speeches made, and ultimately of petitioning Parliament not to pass an act for abolishing the penal13 laws against Roman Catholic priests, the penalty of perpetual imprisonment14 denounced against those who educated children in that persuasion15, and the disqualification of all members of the Romish church to inherit real property in the United Kingdom by right of purchase or descent,— matters so far removed from the business and bosoms16 of the mass, might perhaps have called together a hundred people. But when vague rumours18 got abroad, that in this Protestant association a secret power was mustering19 against the government for undefined and mighty21 purposes; when the air was filled with whispers of a confederacy among the Popish powers to degrade and enslave England, establish an inquisition in London, and turn the pens of Smithfield market into stakes and cauldrons; when terrors and alarms which no man understood were perpetually broached22, both in and out of Parliament, by one enthusiast23 who did not understand himself, and bygone bugbears which had lain quietly in their graves for centuries, were raised again to haunt the ignorant and credulous24; when all this was done, as it were, in the dark, and secret invitations to join the Great Protestant Association in defence of religion, life, and liberty, were dropped in the public ways, thrust under the house-doors, tossed in at windows, and pressed into the hands of those who trod the streets by night; when they glared from every wall, and shone on every post and pillar, so that stocks and stones appeared infected with the common fear, urging all men to join together blindfold25 in resistance of they knew not what, they knew not why;— then the mania26 spread indeed, and the body, still increasing every day, grew forty thousand strong.
So said, at least, in this month of March, 1780, Lord George Gordon, the Association’s president. Whether it was the fact or otherwise, few men knew or cared to ascertain27. It had never made any public demonstration28; had scarcely ever been heard of, save through him; had never been seen; and was supposed by many to be the mere29 creature of his disordered brain. He was accustomed to talk largely about numbers of men — stimulated30, as it was inferred, by certain successful disturbances31, arising out of the same subject, which had occurred in Scotland in the previous year; was looked upon as a cracked-brained member of the lower house, who attacked all parties and sided with none, and was very little regarded. It was known that there was discontent abroad — there always is; he had been accustomed to address the people by placard, speech, and pamphlet, upon other questions; nothing had come, in England, of his past exertions32, and nothing was apprehended33 from his present. Just as he has come upon the reader, he had come, from time to time, upon the public, and been forgotten in a day; as suddenly as he appears in these pages, after a blank of five long years, did he and his proceedings begin to force themselves, about this period, upon the notice of thousands of people, who had mingled35 in active life during the whole interval36, and who, without being deaf or blind to passing events, had scarcely ever thought of him before.
‘My lord,’ said Gashford in his ear, as he drew the curtains of his bed betimes; ‘my lord!’
‘Yes — who’s that? What is it?’
‘The clock has struck nine,’ returned the secretary, with meekly37 folded hands. ‘You have slept well? I hope you have slept well? If my prayers are heard, you are refreshed indeed.’
‘To say the truth, I have slept so soundly,’ said Lord George, rubbing his eyes and looking round the room, ‘that I don’t remember quite — what place is this?’
‘My lord!’ cried Gashford, with a smile.
‘Oh!’ returned his superior. ‘Yes. You’re not a Jew then?’
‘A Jew!’ exclaimed the pious38 secretary, recoiling39.
‘I dreamed that we were Jews, Gashford. You and I— both of us — Jews with long beards.’
‘Heaven forbid, my lord! We might as well be Papists.’
‘I suppose we might,’ returned the other, very quickly. ‘Eh? You really think so, Gashford?’
‘Surely I do,’ the secretary cried, with looks of great surprise.
‘Humph!’ he muttered. ‘Yes, that seems reasonable.’
‘I hope my lord —’ the secretary began.
‘Hope!’ he echoed, interrupting him. ‘Why do you say, you hope? There’s no harm in thinking of such things.’
‘Not in dreams,’ returned the Secretary.
‘In dreams! No, nor waking either.’
—’“Called, and chosen, and faithful,”’ said Gashford, taking up Lord George’s watch which lay upon a chair, and seeming to read the inscription40 on the seal, abstractedly.
It was the slightest action possible, not obtruded41 on his notice, and apparently42 the result of a moment’s absence of mind, not worth remark. But as the words were uttered, Lord George, who had been going on impetuously, stopped short, reddened, and was silent. Apparently quite unconscious of this change in his demeanour, the wily Secretary stepped a little apart, under pretence43 of pulling up the window-blind, and returning when the other had had time to recover, said:
‘The holy cause goes bravely on, my lord. I was not idle, even last night. I dropped two of the handbills before I went to bed, and both are gone this morning. Nobody in the house has mentioned the circumstance of finding them, though I have been downstairs full half-an-hour. One or two recruits will be their first fruit, I predict; and who shall say how many more, with Heaven’s blessing44 on your inspired exertions!’
‘It was a famous device in the beginning,’ replied Lord George; ‘an excellent device, and did good service in Scotland. It was quite worthy45 of you. You remind me not to be a sluggard46, Gashford, when the vineyard is menaced with destruction, and may be trodden down by Papist feet. Let the horses be saddled in half-an-hour. We must be up and doing!’
He said this with a heightened colour, and in a tone of such enthusiasm, that the secretary deemed all further prompting needless, and withdrew.
—‘Dreamed he was a Jew,’ he said thoughtfully, as he closed the bedroom door. ‘He may come to that before he dies. It’s like enough. Well! After a time, and provided I lost nothing by it, I don’t see why that religion shouldn’t suit me as well as any other. There are rich men among the Jews; shaving is very troublesome;— yes, it would suit me well enough. For the present, though, we must be Christian48 to the core. Our prophetic motto will suit all creeds49 in their turn, that’s a comfort.’ Reflecting on this source of consolation50, he reached the sitting-room51, and rang the bell for breakfast.
Lord George was quickly dressed (for his plain toilet was easily made), and as he was no less frugal52 in his repasts than in his Puritan attire53, his share of the meal was soon dispatched. The secretary, however, more devoted54 to the good things of this world, or more intent on sustaining his strength and spirits for the sake of the Protestant cause, ate and drank to the last minute, and required indeed some three or four reminders55 from John Grueby, before he could resolve to tear himself away from Mr Willet’s plentiful56 providing.
At length he came downstairs, wiping his greasy57 mouth, and having paid John Willet’s bill, climbed into his saddle. Lord George, who had been walking up and down before the house talking to himself with earnest gestures, mounted his horse; and returning old John Willet’s stately bow, as well as the parting salutation of a dozen idlers whom the rumour17 of a live lord being about to leave the Maypole had gathered round the porch, they rode away, with stout58 John Grueby in the rear.
If Lord George Gordon had appeared in the eyes of Mr Willet, overnight, a nobleman of somewhat quaint59 and odd exterior60, the impression was confirmed this morning, and increased a hundredfold. Sitting bolt upright upon his bony steed, with his long, straight hair, dangling61 about his face and fluttering in the wind; his limbs all angular and rigid62, his elbows stuck out on either side ungracefully, and his whole frame jogged and shaken at every motion of his horse’s feet; a more grotesque63 or more ungainly figure can hardly be conceived. In lieu of whip, he carried in his hand a great gold-headed cane64, as large as any footman carries in these days, and his various modes of holding this unwieldy weapon — now upright before his face like the sabre of a horse-soldier, now over his shoulder like a musket65, now between his finger and thumb, but always in some uncouth66 and awkward fashion — contributed in no small degree to the absurdity67 of his appearance. Stiff, lank34, and solemn, dressed in an unusual manner, and ostentatiously exhibiting — whether by design or accident — all his peculiarities68 of carriage, gesture, and conduct, all the qualities, natural and artificial, in which he differed from other men; he might have moved the sternest looker-on to laughter, and fully47 provoked the smiles and whispered jests which greeted his departure from the Maypole inn.
Quite unconscious, however, of the effect he produced, he trotted69 on beside his secretary, talking to himself nearly all the way, until they came within a mile or two of London, when now and then some passenger went by who knew him by sight, and pointed70 him out to some one else, and perhaps stood looking after him, or cried in jest or earnest as it might be, ‘Hurrah Geordie! No Popery!’ At which he would gravely pull off his hat, and bow. When they reached the town and rode along the streets, these notices became more frequent; some laughed, some hissed71, some turned their heads and smiled, some wondered who he was, some ran along the pavement by his side and cheered. When this happened in a crush of carts and chairs and coaches, he would make a dead stop, and pulling off his hat, cry, ‘Gentlemen, No Popery!’ to which the gentlemen would respond with lusty voices, and with three times three; and then, on he would go again with a score or so of the raggedest, following at his horse’s heels, and shouting till their throats were parched72.
The old ladies too — there were a great many old ladies in the streets, and these all knew him. Some of them — not those of the highest rank, but such as sold fruit from baskets and carried burdens — clapped their shrivelled hands, and raised a weazen, piping, shrill73 ‘Hurrah, my lord.’ Others waved their hands or handkerchiefs, or shook their fans or parasols, or threw up windows and called in haste to those within, to come and see. All these marks of popular esteem74, he received with profound gravity and respect; bowing very low, and so frequently that his hat was more off his head than on; and looking up at the houses as he passed along, with the air of one who was making a public entry, and yet was not puffed75 up or proud.
So they rode (to the deep and unspeakable disgust of John Grueby) the whole length of Whitechapel, Leadenhall Street, and Cheapside, and into St Paul’s Churchyard. Arriving close to the cathedral, he halted; spoke76 to Gashford; and looking upward at its lofty dome77, shook his head, as though he said, ‘The Church in Danger!’ Then to be sure, the bystanders stretched their throats indeed; and he went on again with mighty acclamations from the mob, and lower bows than ever.
So along the Strand78, up Swallow Street, into the Oxford79 Road, and thence to his house in Welbeck Street, near Cavendish Square, whither he was attended by a few dozen idlers; of whom he took leave on the steps with this brief parting, ‘Gentlemen, No Popery. Good day. God bless you.’ This being rather a shorter address than they expected, was received with some displeasure, and cries of ‘A speech! a speech!’ which might have been complied with, but that John Grueby, making a mad charge upon them with all three horses, on his way to the stables, caused them to disperse80 into the adjoining fields, where they presently fell to pitch and toss, chuck-farthing, odd or even, dog-fighting, and other Protestant recreations.
In the afternoon Lord George came forth81 again, dressed in a black velvet82 coat, and trousers and waistcoat of the Gordon plaid, all of the same Quaker cut; and in this costume, which made him look a dozen times more strange and singular than before, went down on foot to Westminster. Gashford, meanwhile, bestirred himself in business matters; with which he was still engaged when, shortly after dusk, John Grueby entered and announced a visitor.
‘Let him come in,’ said Gashford.
‘Here! come in!’ growled83 John to somebody without; ‘You’re a Protestant, an’t you?’
‘I should think so,’ replied a deep, gruff voice.
‘You’ve the looks of it,’ said John Grueby. ‘I’d have known you for one, anywhere.’ With which remark he gave the visitor admission, retired84, and shut the door.
The man who now confronted Gashford, was a squat85, thickset personage, with a low, retreating forehead, a coarse shock head of hair, and eyes so small and near together, that his broken nose alone seemed to prevent their meeting and fusing into one of the usual size. A dingy86 handkerchief twisted like a cord about his neck, left its great veins87 exposed to view, and they were swollen88 and starting, as though with gulping89 down strong passions, malice90, and ill-will. His dress was of threadbare velveteen — a faded, rusty91, whitened black, like the ashes of a pipe or a coal fire after a day’s extinction92; discoloured with the soils of many a stale debauch93, and reeking94 yet with pot-house odours. In lieu of buckles95 at his knees, he wore unequal loops of packthread; and in his grimy hands he held a knotted stick, the knob of which was carved into a rough likeness96 of his own vile97 face. Such was the visitor who doffed98 his three-cornered hat in Gashford’s presence, and waited, leering, for his notice.
‘Ah! Dennis!’ cried the secretary. ‘Sit down.’
‘I see my lord down yonder —’ cried the man, with a jerk of his thumb towards the quarter that he spoke of, ‘and he says to me, says my lord, “If you’ve nothing to do, Dennis, go up to my house and talk with Muster20 Gashford.” Of course I’d nothing to do, you know. These an’t my working hours. Ha ha! I was a-taking the air when I see my lord, that’s what I was doing. I takes the air by night, as the howls does, Muster Gashford.’
And sometimes in the day-time, eh?’ said the secretary —‘when you go out in state, you know.’
‘Ha ha!’ roared the fellow, smiting99 his leg; ‘for a gentleman as ‘ull say a pleasant thing in a pleasant way, give me Muster Gashford agin’ all London and Westminster! My lord an’t a bad ‘un at that, but he’s a fool to you. Ah to be sure,— when I go out in state.’
‘And have your carriage,’ said the secretary; ‘and your chaplain, eh? and all the rest of it?’
‘You’ll be the death of me,’ cried Dennis, with another roar, ‘you will. But what’s in the wind now, Muster Gashford,’ he asked hoarsely100, ‘Eh? Are we to be under orders to pull down one of them Popish chapels101 — or what?’
‘Hush!’ said the secretary, suffering the faintest smile to play upon his face. ‘Hush! God bless me, Dennis! We associate, you know, for strictly102 peaceable and lawful103 purposes.’
‘I know, bless you,’ returned the man, thrusting his tongue into his cheek; ‘I entered a’ purpose, didn’t I!’
‘No doubt,’ said Gashford, smiling as before. And when he said so, Dennis roared again, and smote104 his leg still harder, and falling into fits of laughter, wiped his eyes with the corner of his neckerchief, and cried, ‘Muster Gashford agin’ all England hollow!’
‘Lord George and I were talking of you last night,’ said Gashford, after a pause. ‘He says you are a very earnest fellow.’
‘So I am,’ returned the hangman.
‘And that you truly hate the Papists.’
‘So I do,’ and he confirmed it with a good round oath. ‘Lookye here, Muster Gashford,’ said the fellow, laying his hat and stick upon the floor, and slowly beating the palm of one hand with the fingers of the other; ‘Ob-serve. I’m a constitutional officer that works for my living, and does my work creditable. Do I, or do I not?’
‘Unquestionably.’
‘Very good. Stop a minute. My work, is sound, Protestant, constitutional, English work. Is it, or is it not?’
‘No man alive can doubt it.’
‘Nor dead neither. Parliament says this here — says Parliament, “If any man, woman, or child, does anything which goes again a certain number of our acts”— how many hanging laws may there be at this present time, Muster Gashford? Fifty?’
‘I don’t exactly know how many,’ replied Gashford, leaning back in his chair and yawning; ‘a great number though.’
‘Well, say fifty. Parliament says, “If any man, woman, or child, does anything again any one of them fifty acts, that man, woman, or child, shall be worked off by Dennis.” George the Third steps in when they number very strong at the end of a sessions, and says, “These are too many for Dennis. I’ll have half for myself and Dennis shall have half for himself;” and sometimes he throws me in one over that I don’t expect, as he did three year ago, when I got Mary Jones, a young woman of nineteen who come up to Tyburn with a infant at her breast, and was worked off for taking a piece of cloth off the counter of a shop in Ludgate Hill, and putting it down again when the shopman see her; and who had never done any harm before, and only tried to do that, in consequence of her husband having been pressed three weeks previous, and she being left to beg, with two young children — as was proved upon the trial. Ha ha!— Well! That being the law and the practice of England, is the glory of England, an’t it, Muster Gashford?’
‘Certainly,’ said the secretary.
‘And in times to come,’ pursued the hangman, ‘if our grandsons should think of their grandfathers’ times, and find these things altered, they’ll say, “Those were days indeed, and we’ve been going down hill ever since.” Won’t they, Muster Gashford?’
‘I have no doubt they will,’ said the secretary.
‘Well then, look here,’ said the hangman. ‘If these Papists gets into power, and begins to boil and roast instead of hang, what becomes of my work! If they touch my work that’s a part of so many laws, what becomes of the laws in general, what becomes of the religion, what becomes of the country!— Did you ever go to church, Muster Gashford?’
‘Ever!’ repeated the secretary with some indignation; ‘of course.’
‘Well,’ said the ruffian, ‘I’ve been once — twice, counting the time I was christened — and when I heard the Parliament prayed for, and thought how many new hanging laws they made every sessions, I considered that I was prayed for. Now mind, Muster Gashford,’ said the fellow, taking up his stick and shaking it with a ferocious105 air, ‘I mustn’t have my Protestant work touched, nor this here Protestant state of things altered in no degree, if I can help it; I mustn’t have no Papists interfering106 with me, unless they come to be worked off in course of law; I mustn’t have no biling, no roasting, no frying — nothing but hanging. My lord may well call me an earnest fellow. In support of the great Protestant principle of having plenty of that, I’ll,’ and here he beat his club upon the ground, ‘burn, fight, kill — do anything you bid me, so that it’s bold and devilish — though the end of it was, that I got hung myself.— There, Muster Gashford!’
He appropriately followed up this frequent prostitution of a noble word to the vilest107 purposes, by pouring out in a kind of ecstasy108 at least a score of most tremendous oaths; then wiped his heated face upon his neckerchief, and cried, ‘No Popery! I’m a religious man, by G—!’
Gashford had leant back in his chair, regarding him with eyes so sunken, and so shadowed by his heavy brows, that for aught the hangman saw of them, he might have been stone blind. He remained smiling in silence for a short time longer, and then said, slowly and distinctly:
‘You are indeed an earnest fellow, Dennis — a most valuable fellow — the staunchest man I know of in our ranks. But you must calm yourself; you must be peaceful, lawful, mild as any lamb. I am sure you will be though.’
‘Ay, ay, we shall see, Muster Gashford, we shall see. You won’t have to complain of me,’ returned the other, shaking his head.
‘I am sure I shall not,’ said the secretary in the same mild tone, and with the same emphasis. ‘We shall have, we think, about next month, or May, when this Papist relief bill comes before the house, to convene109 our whole body for the first time. My lord has thoughts of our walking in procession through the streets — just as an innocent display of strength — and accompanying our petition down to the door of the House of Commons.’
‘The sooner the better,’ said Dennis, with another oath.
‘We shall have to draw up in divisions, our numbers being so large; and, I believe I may venture to say,’ resumed Gashford, affecting not to hear the interruption, ‘though I have no direct instructions to that effect — that Lord George has thought of you as an excellent leader for one of these parties. I have no doubt you would be an admirable one.’
‘Try me,’ said the fellow, with an ugly wink110.
‘You would be cool, I know,’ pursued the secretary, still smiling, and still managing his eyes so that he could watch him closely, and really not be seen in turn, ‘obedient to orders, and perfectly111 temperate112. You would lead your party into no danger, I am certain.’
‘I’d lead them, Muster Gashford,’— the hangman was beginning in a reckless way, when Gashford started forward, laid his finger on his lips, and feigned113 to write, just as the door was opened by John Grueby.
‘Oh!’ said John, looking in; ‘here’s another Protestant.’
‘Some other room, John,’ cried Gashford in his blandest114 voice. ‘I am engaged just now.’
But John had brought this new visitor to the door, and he walked in unbidden, as the words were uttered; giving to view the form and features, rough attire, and reckless air, of Hugh.
收听单词发音 |
1
monstrous
|
|
| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
irresistible
|
|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
patriots
|
|
| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
prodigies
|
|
| n.奇才，天才（尤指神童）( prodigy的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
imposture
|
|
| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
awaken
|
|
| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
hoarse
|
|
| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
zealous
|
|
| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
avowed
|
|
| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
hymn
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
penal
|
|
| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
imprisonment
|
|
| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
persuasion
|
|
| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
rumour
|
|
| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
rumours
|
|
| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
mustering
|
|
| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的现在分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
muster
|
|
| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
broached
|
|
| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
enthusiast
|
|
| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
credulous
|
|
| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
blindfold
|
|
| vt.蒙住…的眼睛；adj.盲目的；adv.盲目地；n.蒙眼的绷带[布等]； 障眼物，蒙蔽人的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
mania
|
|
| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
ascertain
|
|
| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
demonstration
|
|
| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
stimulated
|
|
| a.刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
disturbances
|
|
| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
exertions
|
|
| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
apprehended
|
|
| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
lank
|
|
| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
meekly
|
|
| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
pious
|
|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
recoiling
|
|
| v.畏缩( recoil的现在分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
inscription
|
|
| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
obtruded
|
|
| v.强行向前，强行，强迫( obtrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
pretence
|
|
| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
sluggard
|
|
| n.懒人；adj.懒惰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
creeds
|
|
| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
frugal
|
|
| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
attire
|
|
| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
reminders
|
|
| n.令人回忆起…的东西( reminder的名词复数 )；提醒…的东西；（告知该做某事的）通知单；提示信 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
plentiful
|
|
| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
greasy
|
|
| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
exterior
|
|
| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
dangling
|
|
| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
cane
|
|
| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
musket
|
|
| n.滑膛枪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
uncouth
|
|
| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
absurdity
|
|
| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
peculiarities
|
|
| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
trotted
|
|
| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
hissed
|
|
| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
parched
|
|
| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
shrill
|
|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
puffed
|
|
| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
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： |
|
|
|
|
77
dome
|
|
| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
strand
|
|
| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
disperse
|
|
| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
growled
|
|
| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
squat
|
|
| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
dingy
|
|
| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
swollen
|
|
| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
gulping
|
|
| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的现在分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
rusty
|
|
| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
extinction
|
|
| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
debauch
|
|
| v.使堕落，放纵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
reeking
|
|
| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
buckles
|
|
| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
likeness
|
|
| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
vile
|
|
| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
doffed
|
|
| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
smiting
|
|
| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
hoarsely
|
|
| adv.嘶哑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
chapels
|
|
| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
strictly
|
|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
lawful
|
|
| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
smote
|
|
| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
ferocious
|
|
| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
interfering
|
|
| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
vilest
|
|
| adj.卑鄙的( vile的最高级 )；可耻的；极坏的；非常讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
108
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
convene
|
|
| v.集合，召集，召唤，聚集，集合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
wink
|
|
| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
temperate
|
|
| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
feigned
|
|
| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
blandest
|
|
| adj.（食物）淡而无味的( bland的最高级 )；平和的；温和的；无动于衷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |