Verena Tarrant came in the very next day from Cambridge to Charles Street; that quarter of Boston is in direct communication with the academic suburb. It hardly seemed direct to poor Verena, perhaps, who, in the crowded street-car which deposited her finally at Miss Chancellor1’s door, had to stand up all the way, half suspended by a leathern strap2 from the glazed3 roof of the stifling4 vehicle, like some blooming cluster dangling5 in a hothouse. She was used, however, to these perpendicular6 journeys, and though, as we have seen, she was not inclined to accept without question the social arrangements of her time, it never would have occurred to her to criticise7 the railways of her native land. The promptness of her visit to Olive Chancellor had been an idea of her mother’s, and Verena listened open-eyed while this lady, in the seclusion8 of the little house in Cambridge, while Selah Tarrant was “off,” as they said, with his patients, sketched9 out a line of conduct for her. The girl was both submissive and unworldly, and she listened to her mother’s enumeration10 of the possible advantages of an intimacy11 with Miss Chancellor as she would have listened to any other fairy-tale. It was still a part of the fairy-tale when this zealous12 parent put on with her own hands Verena’s smart hat and feather, buttoned her little jacket (the buttons were immense and gilt), and presented her with twenty cents to pay her car-fare.
There was never any knowing in advance how Mrs. Tarrant would take a thing, and even Verena, who, filially, was much less argumentative than in her civic13 and, as it were, public capacity, had a perception that her mother was queer. She was queer, indeed — a flaccid, relaxed, unhealthy, whimsical woman, who still had a capacity to cling. What she clung to was “society,” and a position in the world which a secret whisper told her she had never had and a voice more audible reminded her she was in danger of losing. To keep it, to recover it, to reconsecrate it, was the ambition of her heart; this was one of the many reasons why Providence14 had judged her worthy15 of having so wonderful a child. Verena was born not only to lead their common sex out of bondage16, but to remodel17 a visiting-list which bulged18 and contracted in the wrong places, like a country-made garment. As the daughter of Abraham Greenstreet, Mrs. Tarrant had passed her youth in the first Abolitionist circles, and she was aware how much such a prospect19 was clouded by her union with a young man who had begun life as an itinerant20 vendor21 of lead-pencils (he had called at Mr. Greenstreet’s door in the exercise of this function), had afterwards been for a while a member of the celebrated22 Cayuga community, where there were no wives, or no husbands, or something of that sort (Mrs. Tarrant could never remember), and had still later (though before the development of the healing faculty) achieved distinction in the spiritualistic world. (He was an extraordinarily23 favoured medium, only he had had to stop for reasons of which Mrs. Tarrant possessed24 her version.) Even in a society much occupied with the effacement25 of prejudice there had been certain dim presumptions26 against this versatile27 being, who naturally had not wanted arts to ingratiate himself with Miss Greenstreet, her eyes, like his own, being fixed28 exclusively on the future. The young couple (he was considerably29 her elder) had gazed on the future together until they found that the past had completely forsaken30 them and that the present offered but a slender foothold. Mrs. Tarrant, in other words, incurred31 the displeasure of her family, who gave her husband to understand that, much as they desired to remove the shackles32 from the slave, there were kinds of behaviour which struck them as too unfettered. These had prevailed, to their thinking, at Cayuga, and they naturally felt it was no use for him to say that his residence there had been (for him — the community still existed) but a momentary33 episode, inasmuch as there was little more to be urged for the spiritual picnics and vegetarian34 camp-meetings in which the discountenanced pair now sought consolation35.
Such were the narrow views of people hitherto supposed capable of opening their hearts to all salutary novelties, but now put to a genuine test, as Mrs. Tarrant felt. Her husband’s tastes rubbed off on her soft, moist moral surface, and the couple lived in an atmosphere of novelty, in which, occasionally, the accommodating wife encountered the fresh sensation of being in want of her dinner. Her father died, leaving, after all, very little money; he had spent his modest fortune upon the blacks. Selah Tarrant and his companion had strange adventures; she found herself completely enrolled36 in the great irregular army of nostrum-mongers, domiciled in humanitary Bohemia. It absorbed her like a social swamp; she sank into it a little more every day, without measuring the inches of her descent. Now she stood there up to her chin; it may probably be said of her that she had touched bottom. When she went to Miss Birdseye’s it seemed to her that she re-entered society. The door that admitted her was not the door that admitted some of the others (she should never forget the tipped-up nose of Mrs. Farrinder), and the superior portal remained ajar, disclosing possible vistas37. She had lived with long-haired men and short-haired women, she had contributed a flexible faith and an irremediable want of funds to a dozen social experiments, she had partaken of the comfort of a hundred religions, had followed innumerable dietary reforms, chiefly of the negative order, and had gone of an evening to a séance or a lecture as regularly as she had eaten her supper. Her husband always had tickets for lectures; in moments of irritation38 at the want of a certain sequence in their career, she had remarked to him that it was the only thing he did have. The memory of all the winter nights they had tramped through the slush (the tickets, alas39! were not car-tickets) to hear Mrs. Ada T. P. Foat discourse40 on the “Summer-land,” came back to her with bitterness. Selah was quite enthusiastic at one time about Mrs. Foat, and it was his wife’s belief that he had been “associated” with her (that was Selah’s expression in referring to such episodes) at Cayuga. The poor woman, matrimonially, had a great deal to put up with; it took, at moments, all her belief in his genius to sustain her. She knew that he was very magnetic (that, in fact, was his genius), and she felt that it was his magnetism41 that held her to him. He had carried her through things where she really didn’t know what to think; there were moments when she suspected that she had lost the strong moral sense for which the Greenstreets were always so celebrated.
Of course a woman who had had the bad taste to marry Selah Tarrant would not have been likely under any circumstances to possess a very straight judgement; but there is no doubt that this poor lady had grown dreadfully limp. She had blinked and compromised and shuffled42; she asked herself whether, after all, it was any more than natural that she should have wanted to help her husband, in those exciting days of his mediumship, when the table, sometimes, wouldn’t rise from the ground, the sofa wouldn’t float through the air, and the soft hand of a lost loved one was not so alert as it might have been to visit the circle. Mrs. Tarrant’s hand was soft enough for the most supernatural effect, and she consoled her conscience on such occasions by reflecting that she ministered to a belief in immortality43. She was glad, somehow, for Verena’s sake, that they had emerged from the phase of spirit-intercourse44; her ambition for her daughter took another form than desiring that she, too, should minister to a belief in immortality. Yet among Mrs. Tarrant’s multifarious memories these reminiscences of the darkened room, the waiting circle, the little taps on table and wall, the little touches on cheek and foot, the music in the air, the rain of flowers, the sense of something mysteriously flitting, were most tenderly cherished. She hated her husband for having magnetised her so that she consented to certain things, and even did them, the thought of which today would suddenly make her face burn; hated him for the manner in which, somehow, as she felt, he had lowered her social tone; yet at the same time she admired him for an impudence45 so consummate46 that it had ended (in the face of mortifications, exposures, failures, all the misery47 of a hand-to-mouth existence) by imposing48 itself on her as a kind of infallibility. She knew he was an awful humbug49, and yet her knowledge had this imperfection, that he had never confessed it — a fact that was really grand when one thought of his opportunities for doing so. He had never allowed that he wasn’t straight; the pair had so often been in the position of the two augurs50 behind the altar, and yet he had never given her a glance that the whole circle mightn’t have observed. Even in the privacy of domestic intercourse he had phrases, excuses, explanations, ways of putting things, which, as she felt, were too sublime51 for just herself; they were pitched, as Selah’s nature was pitched, altogether in the key of public life.
So it had come to pass, in her distended52 and demoralised conscience, that with all the things she despised in her life and all the things she rather liked, between being worn out with her husband’s inability to earn a living and a kind of terror of his consistency53 (he had a theory that they lived delightfully), it happened, I say, that the only very definite criticism she made of him today was that he didn’t know how to speak. That was where the shoe pinched — that was where Selah was slim. He couldn’t hold the attention of an audience, he was not acceptable as a lecturer. He had plenty of thoughts, but it seemed as if he couldn’t fit them into each other. Public speaking had been a Greenstreet tradition, and if Mrs. Tarrant had been asked whether in her younger years she had ever supposed she should marry a mesmeric healer, she would have replied: “Well, I never thought I should marry a gentleman who would be silent on the platform!” This was her most general humiliation54; it included and exceeded every other, and it was a poor consolation that Selah possessed as a substitute — his career as a healer, to speak of none other, was there to prove it — the eloquence55 of the hand. The Greenstreets had never set much store on manual activity; they believed in the influence of the lips. It may be imagined, therefore, with what exultation56, as time went on, Mrs. Tarrant found herself the mother of an inspired maiden57, a young lady from whose lips eloquence flowed in streams. The Greenstreet tradition would not perish, and the dry places of her life would, perhaps, be plentifully58 watered. It must be added that, of late, this sandy surface had been irrigated59, in moderation, from another source. Since Selah had addicted60 himself to the mesmeric mystery, their home had been a little more what the home of a Greenstreet should be. He had “considerable many” patients, he got about two dollars a sitting, and he had effected some most gratifying cures. A lady in Cambridge had been so much indebted to him that she had recently persuaded them to take a house near her, in order that Doctor Tarrant might drop in at any time. He availed himself of this convenience — they had taken so many houses that another, more or less, didn’t matter — and Mrs. Tarrant began to feel as if they really had “struck” something.
Even to Verena, as we know, she was confused and confusing; the girl had not yet had an opportunity to ascertain61 the principles on which her mother’s limpness was liable suddenly to become rigid62. This phenomenon occurred when the vapours of social ambition mounted to her brain, when she extended an arm from which a crumpled63 dressing-gown fluttered back to seize the passing occasion. Then she surprised her daughter by a volubility of exhortation64 as to the duty of making acquaintances, and by the apparent wealth of her knowledge of the mysteries of good society. She had, in particular, a way of explaining confidentially65 — and in her desire to be graphic66 she often made up the oddest faces — the interpretation67 that you must sometimes give to the manners of the best people, and the delicate dignity with which you should meet them, which made Verena wonder what secret sources of information she possessed. Verena took life, as yet, very simply; she was not conscious of so many differences of social complexion68. She knew that some people were rich and others poor, and that her father’s house had never been visited by such abundance as might make one ask one’s self whether it were right, in a world so full of the disinherited, to roll in luxury. But except when her mother made her slightly dizzy by a resentment69 of some slight that she herself had never perceived, or a flutter over some opportunity that appeared already to have passed (while Mrs. Tarrant was looking for something to “put on”), Verena had no vivid sense that she was not as good as any one else, for no authority appealing really to her imagination had fixed the place of mesmeric healers in the scale of fashion. It was impossible to know in advance how Mrs. Tarrant would take things. Sometimes she was abjectly70 indifferent; at others she thought that every one who looked at her wished to insult her. At moments she was full of suspicion of the ladies (they were mainly ladies) whom Selah mesmerised; then again she appeared to have given up everything but her slippers71 and the evening-paper (from this publication she derived72 inscrutable solace), so that if Mrs. Foat in person had returned from the summer-land (to which she had some time since taken her flight), she would not have disturbed Mrs. Tarrant’s almost cynical73 equanimity74.
It was, however, in her social subtleties75 that she was most beyond her daughter; it was when she discovered extraordinary though latent longings76 on the part of people they met to make their acquaintance, that the girl became conscious of how much she herself had still to learn. All her desire was to learn, and it must be added that she regarded her mother, in perfect good faith, as a wonderful teacher. She was perplexed77 sometimes by her worldliness; that, somehow, was not a part of the higher life which every one in such a house as theirs must wish above all things to lead; and it was not involved in the reign78 of justice, which they were all trying to bring about, that such a strict account should be kept of every little snub. Her father seemed to Verena to move more consecutively79 on the high plane; though his indifference80 to old-fashioned standards, his perpetual invocation of the brighter day, had not yet led her to ask herself whether, after all, men are more disinterested81 than women. Was it interest that prompted her mother to respond so warmly to Miss Chancellor, to say to Verena, with an air of knowingness, that the thing to do was to go in and see her immediately? No italics can represent the earnestness of Mrs. Tarrant’s emphasis. Why hadn’t she said, as she had done in former cases, that if people wanted to see them they could come out to their home; that she was not so low down in the world as not to know there was such a ceremony as leaving cards? When Mrs. Tarrant began on the question of ceremonies she was apt to go far; but she had waived82 it in this case; it suited her more to hold that Miss Chancellor had been very gracious, that she was a most desirable friend, that she had been more affected83 than any one by Verena’s beautiful outpouring; that she would open to her the best saloons in Boston; that when she said “Come soon” she meant the very next day, that this was the way to take it, anyhow (one must know when to go forward gracefully); and that in short she, Mrs. Tarrant, knew what she was talking about.
Verena accepted all this, for she was young enough to enjoy any journey in a horse-car, and she was ever-curious about the world; she only wondered a little how her mother knew so much about Miss Chancellor just from looking at her once. What Verena had mainly observed in the young lady who came up to her that way the night before was that she was rather dolefully dressed, that she looked as if she had been crying (Verena recognised that look quickly, she had seen it so much), and that she was in a hurry to get away. However, if she was as remarkable84 as her mother said, one would very soon see it; and meanwhile there was nothing in the girl’s feeling about herself, in her sense of her importance, to make it a painful effort for her to run the risk of a mistake. She had no particular feeling about herself; she only cared, as yet, for outside things. Even the development of her “gift” had not made her think herself too precious for mere85 experiments; she had neither a particle of diffidence nor a particle of vanity. Though it would have seemed to you eminently86 natural that a daughter of Selah Tarrant and his wife should be an inspirational speaker, yet, as you knew Verena better, you would have wondered immensely how she came to issue from such a pair. Her ideas of enjoyment87 were very simple; she enjoyed putting on her new hat, with its redundancy of feather, and twenty cents appeared to her a very large sum.
1 chancellor | |
n.(英)大臣;法官;(德、奥)总理;大学校长 | |
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2 strap | |
n.皮带,带子;v.用带扣住,束牢;用绷带包扎 | |
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3 glazed | |
adj.光滑的,像玻璃的;上过釉的;呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式);上釉于,上光;(目光)变得呆滞无神 | |
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4 stifling | |
a.令人窒息的 | |
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5 dangling | |
悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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6 perpendicular | |
adj.垂直的,直立的;n.垂直线,垂直的位置 | |
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7 criticise | |
v.批评,评论;非难 | |
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8 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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9 sketched | |
v.草拟(sketch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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10 enumeration | |
n.计数,列举;细目;详表;点查 | |
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11 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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12 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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13 civic | |
adj.城市的,都市的,市民的,公民的 | |
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14 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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15 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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16 bondage | |
n.奴役,束缚 | |
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17 remodel | |
v.改造,改型,改变 | |
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18 bulged | |
凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 ); 充满; 塞满(某物) | |
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19 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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20 itinerant | |
adj.巡回的;流动的 | |
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21 vendor | |
n.卖主;小贩 | |
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22 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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23 extraordinarily | |
adv.格外地;极端地 | |
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24 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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25 effacement | |
n.抹消,抹杀 | |
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26 presumptions | |
n.假定( presumption的名词复数 );认定;推定;放肆 | |
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27 versatile | |
adj.通用的,万用的;多才多艺的,多方面的 | |
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28 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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29 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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30 Forsaken | |
adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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31 incurred | |
[医]招致的,遭受的; incur的过去式 | |
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32 shackles | |
手铐( shackle的名词复数 ); 脚镣; 束缚; 羁绊 | |
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33 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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34 vegetarian | |
n.素食者;adj.素食的 | |
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35 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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36 enrolled | |
adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 );登记,招收,使入伍(或入会、入学等),参加,成为成员;记入名册;卷起,包起 | |
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37 vistas | |
长条形景色( vista的名词复数 ); 回顾; 展望; (未来可能发生的)一系列情景 | |
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38 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
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39 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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40 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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41 magnetism | |
n.磁性,吸引力,磁学 | |
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42 shuffled | |
v.洗(纸牌)( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 );拖着脚步走;粗心地做;摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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43 immortality | |
n.不死,不朽 | |
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44 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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45 impudence | |
n.厚颜无耻;冒失;无礼 | |
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46 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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47 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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48 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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49 humbug | |
n.花招,谎话,欺骗 | |
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50 augurs | |
n.(古罗马的)占兆官( augur的名词复数 );占卜师,预言者v.预示,预兆,预言( augur的第三人称单数 );成为预兆;占卜 | |
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51 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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52 distended | |
v.(使)膨胀,肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53 consistency | |
n.一贯性,前后一致,稳定性;(液体的)浓度 | |
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54 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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55 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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56 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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57 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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58 plentifully | |
adv. 许多地,丰饶地 | |
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59 irrigated | |
[医]冲洗的 | |
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60 addicted | |
adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
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61 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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62 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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63 crumpled | |
adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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64 exhortation | |
n.劝告,规劝 | |
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65 confidentially | |
ad.秘密地,悄悄地 | |
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66 graphic | |
adj.生动的,形象的,绘画的,文字的,图表的 | |
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67 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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68 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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69 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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70 abjectly | |
凄惨地; 绝望地; 糟透地; 悲惨地 | |
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71 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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72 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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73 cynical | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
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74 equanimity | |
n.沉着,镇定 | |
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75 subtleties | |
细微( subtlety的名词复数 ); 精细; 巧妙; 细微的差别等 | |
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76 longings | |
渴望,盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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77 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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78 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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79 consecutively | |
adv.连续地 | |
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80 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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81 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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82 waived | |
v.宣布放弃( waive的过去式和过去分词 );搁置;推迟;放弃(权利、要求等) | |
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83 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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84 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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85 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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86 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
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87 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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