Tarrant, however, kept an eye in that direction; he was solemnly civil to Miss Chancellor1, handed her the dishes at table over and over again, and ventured to intimate that the apple-fritters were very fine; but, save for this, alluded2 to nothing more trivial than the regeneration of humanity and the strong hope he felt that Miss Birdseye would again have one of her delightful3 gatherings4. With regard to this latter point he explained that it was not in order that he might again present his daughter to the company, but simply because on such occasions there was a valuable interchange of hopeful thought, a contact of mind with mind. If Verena had anything suggestive to contribute to the social problem, the opportunity would come — that was part of their faith. They couldn’t reach out for it and try and push their way; if they were wanted, their hour would strike; if they were not, they would just keep still and let others press forward who seemed to be called. If they were called, they would know it; and if they weren’t, they could just hold on to each other as they had always done. Tarrant was very fond of alternatives, and he mentioned several others; it was never his fault if his listeners failed to think him impartial5. They hadn’t much, as Miss Chancellor could see; she could tell by their manner of life that they hadn’t raked in the dollars; but they had faith that, whether one raised one’s voice or simply worked on in silence, the principal difficulties would straighten themselves out; and they had also a considerable experience of great questions. Tarrant spoke6 as if, as a family, they were prepared to take charge of them on moderate terms. He always said “ma’am” in speaking to Olive, to whom, moreover, the air had never been so filled with the sound of her own name. It was always in her ear, save when Mrs. Tarrant and Verena conversed7 in prolonged and ingenuous8 asides; this was still for her benefit, but the pronoun sufficed them. She had wished to judge Doctor Tarrant (not that she believed he had come honestly by his title), to make up her mind. She had done these things now, and she expressed to herself the kind of man she believed him to be in reflecting that if she should offer him ten thousand dollars to renounce9 all claim to Verena, keeping — he and his wife — clear of her for the rest of time, he would probably say, with his fearful smile, “Make it twenty, money down, and I’ll do it.” Some image of this transaction, as one of the possibilities of the future, outlined itself for Olive among the moral incisions10 of that evening. It seemed implied in the very place, the bald bareness of Tarrant’s temporary lair11, a wooden cottage, with a rough front yard, a little naked piazza12, which seemed rather to expose than to protect, facing upon an unpaved road, in which the footway was overlaid with a strip of planks13. These planks were embedded14 in ice or in liquid thaw15, according to the momentary16 mood of the weather, and the advancing pedestrian traversed them in the attitude, and with a good deal of the suspense17, of a rope-dancer. There was nothing in the house to speak of; nothing, to Olive’s sense, but a smell of kerosene18; though she had a consciousness of sitting down somewhere — the object creaked and rocked beneath her — and of the table at tea being covered with a cloth stamped in bright colours.
As regards the pecuniary19 transaction with Selah, it was strange how she should have seen it through the conviction that Verena would never give up her parents. Olive was sure that she would never turn her back upon them, would always share with them. She would have despised her had she thought her capable of another course; yet it baffled her to understand why, when parents were so trashy, this natural law should not be suspended. Such a question brought her back, however, to her perpetual enigma20, the mystery she had already turned over in her mind for hours together — the wonder of such people being Verena’s progenitors21 at all. She had explained it, as we explain all exceptional things, by making the part, as the French say, of the miraculous22. She had come to consider the girl as a wonder of wonders, to hold that no human origin, however congruous it might superficially appear, would sufficiently23 account for her; that her springing up between Selah and his wife was an exquisite24 whim25 of the creative force; and that in such a case a few shades more or less of the inexplicable26 didn’t matter. It was notorious that great beauties, great geniuses, great characters, take their own times and places for coming into the world, leaving the gaping27 spectators to make them “fit in,” and holding from far-off ancestors, or even, perhaps, straight from the divine generosity28, much more than from their ugly or stupid progenitors. They were incalculable phenomena29, anyway, as Selah would have said. Verena, for Olive, was the very type and model of the “gifted being”; her qualities had not been bought and paid for; they were like some brilliant birthday-present, left at the door by an unknown messenger, to be delightful for ever as an inexhaustible legacy30, and amusing for ever from the obscurity of its source. They were superabundantly crude as yet — happily for Olive, who promised herself, as we know, to train and polish them — but they were as genuine as fruit and flowers, as the glow of the fire or the plash of water. For her scrutinising friend Verena had the disposition31 of the artist, the spirit to which all charming forms come easily and naturally. It required an effort at first to imagine an artist so untaught, so mistaught, so poor in experience; but then it required an effort also to imagine people like the old Tarrants, or a life so full as her life had been of ugly things. Only an exquisite creature could have resisted such associations, only a girl who had some natural light, some divine spark of taste. There were people like that, fresh from the hand of Omnipotence32; they were far from common, but their existence was as incontestable as it was beneficent.
Tarrant’s talk about his daughter, her prospects33, her enthusiasm, was terribly painful to Olive; it brought back to her what she had suffered already from the idea that he laid his hands upon her to make her speak. That he should be mixed up in any way with this exercise of her genius was a great injury to the cause, and Olive had already determined34 that in future Verena should dispense35 with his co-operation. The girl had virtually confessed that she lent herself to it only because it gave him pleasure, and that anything else would do as well, anything that would make her quiet a little before she began to “give out.” Olive took upon herself to believe that she could make her quiet, though, certainly, she had never had that effect upon any one; she would mount the platform with Verena if necessary, and lay her hands upon her head. Why in the world had a perverse36 fate decreed that Tarrant should take an interest in the affairs of Woman — as if she wanted his aid to arrive at her goal; a charlatan37 of the poor, lean, shabby sort, without the humour, brilliancy, prestige, which sometimes throw a drapery over shallowness? Mr. Pardon evidently took an interest as well, and there was something in his appearance that seemed to say that his sympathy would not be dangerous. He was much at his ease, plainly, beneath the roof of the Tarrants, and Olive reflected that though Verena had told her much about him, she had not given her the idea that he was as intimate as that. What she had mainly said was that he sometimes took her to the theatre. Olive could enter, to a certain extent, into that; she herself had had a phase (some time after her father’s death — her mother’s had preceded his — when she bought the little house in Charles Street and began to live alone), during which she accompanied gentlemen to respectable places of amusement. She was accordingly not shocked at the idea of such adventures on Verena’s part; than which, indeed, judging from her own experience, nothing could well have been less adventurous39. Her recollections of these expeditions were as of something solemn and edifying40 — of the earnest interest in her welfare exhibited by her companion (there were few occasions on which the young Bostonian appeared to more advantage), of the comfort of other friends sitting near, who were sure to know whom she was with, of serious discussion between the acts in regard to the behaviour of the characters in the piece, and of the speech at the end with which, as the young man quitted her at her door, she rewarded his civility —“I must thank you for a very pleasant evening.” She always felt that she made that too prim41; her lips stiffened42 themselves as she spoke. But the whole affair had always a primness43; this was discernible even to Olive’s very limited sense of humour. It was not so religious as going to evening-service at King’s Chapel44; but it was the next thing to it. Of course all girls didn’t do it; there were families that viewed such a custom with disfavour. But this was where the girls were of the romping45 sort; there had to be some things they were known not to do. As a general thing, moreover, the practice was confined to the decorous; it was a sign of culture and quiet tastes. All this made it innocent for Verena, whose life had exposed her to much worse dangers; but the thing referred itself in Olive’s mind to a danger which cast a perpetual shadow there — the possibility of the girl’s embarking46 with some ingenuous youth on an expedition that would last much longer than an evening. She was haunted, in a word, with the fear that Verena would marry, a fate to which she was altogether unprepared to surrender her; and this made her look with suspicion upon all male acquaintance.
Mr. Pardon was not the only one she knew; she had an example of the rest in the persons of two young Harvard law-students, who presented themselves after tea on this same occasion. As they sat there Olive wondered whether Verena had kept something from her, whether she were, after all (like so many other girls in Cambridge), a college-“belle,” an object of frequentation to undergraduates. It was natural that at the seat of a big university there should be girls like that, with students dangling47 after them, but she didn’t want Verena to be one of them. There were some that received the Seniors and Juniors; others that were accessible to Sophomores48 and Freshmen49. Certain young ladies distinguished50 the professional students; there was a group, even, that was on the best terms with the young men who were studying for the Unitarian ministry51 in that queer little barrack at the end of Divinity Avenue. The advent38 of the new visitors made Mrs. Tarrant bustle52 immensely; but after she had caused every one to change places two or three times with every one else the company subsided53 into a circle which was occasionally broken by wandering movements on the part of her husband, who, in the absence of anything to say on any subject whatever, placed himself at different points in listening attitudes, shaking his head slowly up and down, and gazing at the carpet with an air of supernatural attention. Mrs. Tarrant asked the young men from the Law School about their studies, and whether they meant to follow them up seriously; said she thought some of the laws were very unjust, and she hoped they meant to try and improve them. She had suffered by the laws herself, at the time her father died; she hadn’t got half the prop’ty she should have got if they had been different. She thought they should be for public matters, not for people’s private affairs; the idea always seemed to her to keep you down if you were down, and to hedge you in with difficulties. Sometimes she thought it was a wonder how she had developed in the face of so many; but it was a proof that freedom was everywhere, if you only knew how to look for it.
The two young men were in the best humour; they greeted these sallies with a merriment of which, though it was courteous54 in form, Olive was by no means unable to define the spirit. They talked naturally more with Verena than with her mother; and while they were so engaged Mrs. Tarrant explained to her who they were, and how one of them, the smaller, who was not quite so spruce, had brought the other, his particular friend, to introduce him. This friend, Mr. Burrage, was from New York; he was very fashionable, he went out a great deal in Boston (“I have no doubt you know some of the places,” said Mrs. Tarrant); his “fam’ly” was very rich.
“Well, he knows plenty of that sort,” Mrs. Tarrant went on, “but he felt unsatisfied; he didn’t know any one like us. He told Mr. Gracie (that’s the little one) that he felt as if he must; it seemed as if he couldn’t hold out. So we told Mr. Gracie, of course, to bring him right round. Well, I hope he’ll get something from us, I’m sure. He has been reported to be engaged to Miss Winkworth; I have no doubt you know who I mean. But Mr. Gracie says he hasn’t looked at her more than twice. That’s the way rumours55 fly round in that set, I presume. Well, I am glad we are not in it, wherever we are! Mr. Gracie is very different; he is intensely plain, but I believe he is very learned. You don’t think him plain? Oh, you don’t know? Well, I suppose you don’t care, you must see so many. But I must say, when a young man looks like that, I call him painfully plain. I heard Doctor Tarrant make the remark the last time he was here. I don’t say but what the plainest are the best. Well, I had no idea we were going to have a party when I asked you. I wonder whether Verena hadn’t better hand the cake; we generally find the students enjoy it so much.”
This office was ultimately delegated to Selah, who, after a considerable absence, reappeared with a dish of dainties, which he presented successively to each member of the company. Olive saw Verena lavish56 her smiles on Mr. Gracie and Mr. Burrage; the liveliest relation had established itself, and the latter gentleman in especial abounded57 in appreciative58 laughter. It might have been fancied, just from looking at the group, that Verena’s vocation59 was to smile and talk with young men who bent60 towards her; might have been fancied, that is, by a person less sure of the contrary than Olive, who had reason to know that a “gifted being” is sent into the world for a very different purpose, and that making the time pass pleasantly for conceited61 young men is the last duty you are bound to think of if you happen to have a talent for embodying62 a cause. Olive tried to be glad that her friend had the richness of nature that makes a woman gracious without latent purposes; she reflected that Verena was not in the smallest degree a flirt63, that she was only enchantingly and universally genial64, that nature had given her a beautiful smile, which fell impartially65 on every one, man and woman, alike. Olive may have been right, but it shall be confided66 to the reader that in reality she never knew, by any sense of her own, whether Verena were a flirt or not. This young lady could not possibly have told her (even if she herself knew, which she didn’t), and Olive, destitute67 of the quality, had no means of taking the measure in another of the subtle feminine desire to please. She could see the difference between Mr. Gracie and Mr. Burrage; her being bored by Mrs. Tarrant’s attempting to point it out is perhaps a proof of that. It was a curious incident of her zeal68 for the regeneration of her sex that manly69 things were, perhaps on the whole, what she understood best. Mr. Burrage was rather a handsome youth, with a laughing, clever face, a certain sumptuosity70 of apparel, an air of belonging to the “fast set”— a precocious71, good-natured man of the world, curious of new sensations and containing, perhaps, the making of a dilettante72. Being, doubtless, a little ambitious, and liking73 to flatter himself that he appreciated worth in lowly forms, he had associated himself with the ruder but at the same time acuter personality of a genuine son of New England, who had a harder head than his own and a humour in reality more cynical74, and who, having earlier knowledge of the Tarrants, had undertaken to show him something indigenous75 and curious, possibly even fascinating. Mr. Gracie was short, with a big head; he wore eye-glasses, looked unkempt, almost rustic76, and said good things with his ugly lips. Verena had replies for a good many of them, and a pretty colour came into her face as she talked. Olive could see that she produced herself quite as well as one of these gentlemen had foretold77 the other that she would. Miss Chancellor knew what had passed between them as well as if she had heard it; Mr. Gracie had promised that he would lead her on, that she should justify78 his description and prove the raciest of her class. They would laugh about her as they went away, lighting79 their cigars, and for many days afterwards their discourse80 would be enlivened with quotations81 from the “women’s rights girl.”
It was amazing how many ways men had of being antipathetic; these two were very different from Basil Ransom82, and different from each other, and yet the manner of each conveyed an insult to one’s womanhood. The worst of the case was that Verena would be sure not to perceive this outrage83 — not to dislike them in consequence. There were so many things that she hadn’t yet learned to dislike, in spite of her friend’s earnest efforts to teach her. She had the idea vividly84 (that was the marvel) of the cruelty of man, of his immemorial injustice85; but it remained abstract, platonic86; she didn’t detest87 him in consequence. What was the use of her having that sharp, inspired vision of the history of the sex (it was, as she had said herself, exactly like Joan of Arc’s absolutely supernatural apprehension88 of the state of France) if she wasn’t going to carry it out, if she was going to behave as the ordinary pusillanimous89, conventional young lady? It was all very well for her to have said that first day that she would renounce: did she look, at such a moment as this, like a young woman who had renounced90? Suppose this glittering, laughing Burrage youth, with his chains and rings and shining shoes, should fall in love with her and try to bribe91 her, with his great possessions, to practise renunciations of another kind — to give up her holy work and to go with him to New York, there to live as his wife, partly bullied92, partly pampered93, in the accustomed Burrage manner? There was as little comfort for Olive as there had been on the whole alarm in the recollection of that off-hand speech of Verena’s about her preference for “free unions.” This had been mere94 maiden95 flippancy96; she had not known the meaning of what she said. Though she had grown up among people who took for granted all sorts of queer laxities, she had kept the consummate97 innocence98 of the American girl, that innocence which was the greatest of all, for it had survived the abolition99 of walls and locks; and of the various remarks that had dropped from Verena expressing this quality that startling observation certainly expressed it most. It implied, at any rate, that unions of some kind or other had her approval, and did not exclude the dangers that might arise from encounters with young men in search of sensations.
1 chancellor | |
n.(英)大臣;法官;(德、奥)总理;大学校长 | |
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2 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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4 gatherings | |
聚集( gathering的名词复数 ); 收集; 采集; 搜集 | |
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5 impartial | |
adj.(in,to)公正的,无偏见的 | |
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6 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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7 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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8 ingenuous | |
adj.纯朴的,单纯的;天真的;坦率的 | |
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9 renounce | |
v.放弃;拒绝承认,宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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10 incisions | |
n.切开,切口( incision的名词复数 ) | |
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11 lair | |
n.野兽的巢穴;躲藏处 | |
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12 piazza | |
n.广场;走廊 | |
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13 planks | |
(厚)木板( plank的名词复数 ); 政纲条目,政策要点 | |
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14 embedded | |
a.扎牢的 | |
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15 thaw | |
v.(使)融化,(使)变得友善;n.融化,缓和 | |
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16 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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17 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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18 kerosene | |
n.(kerosine)煤油,火油 | |
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19 pecuniary | |
adj.金钱的;金钱上的 | |
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20 enigma | |
n.谜,谜一样的人或事 | |
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21 progenitors | |
n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 );先驱;前辈;原本 | |
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22 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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23 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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24 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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25 whim | |
n.一时的兴致,突然的念头;奇想,幻想 | |
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26 inexplicable | |
adj.无法解释的,难理解的 | |
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27 gaping | |
adj.口的;张口的;敞口的;多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 );张开,张大 | |
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28 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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29 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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30 legacy | |
n.遗产,遗赠;先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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31 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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32 omnipotence | |
n.全能,万能,无限威力 | |
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33 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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34 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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35 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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36 perverse | |
adj.刚愎的;坚持错误的,行为反常的 | |
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37 charlatan | |
n.骗子;江湖医生;假内行 | |
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38 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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39 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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40 edifying | |
adj.有教训意味的,教训性的,有益的v.开导,启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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41 prim | |
adj.拘泥形式的,一本正经的;n.循规蹈矩,整洁;adv.循规蹈矩地,整洁地 | |
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42 stiffened | |
加强的 | |
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43 primness | |
n.循规蹈矩,整洁 | |
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44 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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45 romping | |
adj.嬉戏喧闹的,乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 );(尤指在赛跑或竞选等中)轻易获胜 | |
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46 embarking | |
乘船( embark的现在分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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47 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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48 sophomores | |
n.(中等、专科学校或大学的)二年级学生( sophomore的名词复数 ) | |
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49 freshmen | |
n.(中学或大学的)一年级学生( freshman的名词复数 ) | |
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50 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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51 ministry | |
n.(政府的)部;牧师 | |
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52 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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53 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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54 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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55 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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56 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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57 abounded | |
v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58 appreciative | |
adj.有鉴赏力的,有眼力的;感激的 | |
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59 vocation | |
n.职业,行业 | |
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60 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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61 conceited | |
adj.自负的,骄傲自满的 | |
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62 embodying | |
v.表现( embody的现在分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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63 flirt | |
v.调情,挑逗,调戏;n.调情者,卖俏者 | |
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64 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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65 impartially | |
adv.公平地,无私地 | |
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66 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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67 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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68 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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69 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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70 sumptuosity | |
奢侈; 奢华; 昂贵; 奢侈品 | |
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71 precocious | |
adj.早熟的;较早显出的 | |
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72 dilettante | |
n.半瓶醋,业余爱好者 | |
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73 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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74 cynical | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
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75 indigenous | |
adj.土产的,土生土长的,本地的 | |
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76 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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77 foretold | |
v.预言,预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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79 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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80 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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81 quotations | |
n.引用( quotation的名词复数 );[商业]行情(报告);(货物或股票的)市价;时价 | |
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82 ransom | |
n.赎金,赎身;v.赎回,解救 | |
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83 outrage | |
n.暴行,侮辱,愤怒;vt.凌辱,激怒 | |
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84 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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85 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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86 platonic | |
adj.精神的;柏拉图(哲学)的 | |
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87 detest | |
vt.痛恨,憎恶 | |
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88 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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89 pusillanimous | |
adj.懦弱的,胆怯的 | |
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90 renounced | |
v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 );宣布放弃;宣布与…决裂;宣布摒弃 | |
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91 bribe | |
n.贿赂;v.向…行贿,买通 | |
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92 bullied | |
adj.被欺负了v.恐吓,威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93 pampered | |
adj.饮食过量的,饮食奢侈的v.纵容,宠,娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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95 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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96 flippancy | |
n.轻率;浮躁;无礼的行动 | |
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97 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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98 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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99 abolition | |
n.废除,取消 | |
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