Basil Ransom1 spent nearly a month at Marmion; in announcing this fact I am very conscious of its extraordinary character. Poor Olive may well have been thrown back into her alarms by his presenting himself there; for after her return from New York she took to her soul the conviction that she had really done with him. Not only did the impulse of revulsion under which Verena had demanded that their departure from Tenth Street should be immediate2 appear to her a proof that it had been sufficient for her young friend to touch Mr. Ransom’s moral texture3 with her finger, as it were, in order to draw back for ever; but what she had learned from her companion of his own manifestations4, his apparent disposition5 to throw up the game, added to her feeling of security. He had spoken to Verena of their little excursion as his last opportunity, let her know that he regarded it not as the beginning of a more intimate acquaintance but as the end even of such relations as already existed between them. He gave her up, for reasons best known to himself; if he wanted to frighten Olive he judged that he had frightened her enough: his Southern chivalry7 suggested to him perhaps that he ought to let her off before he had worried her to death. Doubtless, too, he had perceived how vain it was to hope to make Verena abjure8 a faith so solidly founded; and though he admired her enough to wish to possess her on his own terms, he shrank from the mortification9 which the future would have in keeping for him — that of finding that, after six months of courting and in spite of all her sympathy, her desire to do what people expected of her, she despised his opinions as much as the first day. Olive Chancellor10 was able to a certain extent to believe what she wished to believe, and that was one reason why she had twisted Verena’s flight from New York, just after she let her friend see how much she should like to drink deeper of the cup, into a warrant for living in a fool’s paradise. If she had been less afraid, she would have read things more clearly; she would have seen that we don’t run away from people unless we fear them and that we don’t fear them unless we know that we are unarmed. Verena feared Basil Ransom now (though this time she declined to run); but now she had taken up her weapons, she had told Olive she was exposed, she had asked her to be her defence. Poor Olive was stricken as she had never been before, but the extremity11 of her danger gave her a desperate energy. The only comfort in her situation was that this time Verena had confessed her peril12, had thrown herself into her hands. “I like him — I can’t help it — I do like him. I don’t want to marry him, I don’t want to embrace his ideas, which are unspeakably false and horrible; but I like him better than any gentleman I have seen.” So much as this the girl announced to her friend as soon as the conversation of which I have just given a sketch13 was resumed, as it was very soon, you may be sure, and very often, in the course of the next few days. That was her way of saying that a great crisis had arrived in her life, and the statement needed very little amplification14 to stand as a shy avowal15 that she too had succumbed17 to the universal passion. Olive had had her suspicions, her terrors, before; but she perceived now how idle and foolish they had been, and that this was a different affair from any of the “phases” of which she had hitherto anxiously watched the development. As I say, she felt it to be a considerable mercy that Verena’s attitude was frank, for it gave her something to take hold of; she could no longer be put off with sophistries18 about receiving visits from handsome and unscrupulous young men for the sake of the opportunities it gave one to convert them. She took hold, accordingly, with passion, with fury; after the shock of Ransom’s arrival had passed away she determined19 that he should not find her chilled into dumb submission20. Verena had told her that she wanted her to hold her tight, to rescue her; and there was no fear that, for an instant, she should sleep at her post.
“I like him — I like him; but I want to hate ——”
“You want to hate him!” Olive broke in.
“No, I want to hate my liking21. I want you to keep before me all the reasons why I should — many of them so fearfully important. Don’t let me lose sight of anything! Don’t be afraid I shall not be grateful when you remind me.”
That was one of the singular speeches that Verena made in the course of their constant discussion of the terrible question, and it must be confessed that she made a great many. The strangest of all was when she protested, as she did again and again to Olive, against the idea of their seeking safety in retreat. She said there was a want of dignity in it — that she had been ashamed, afterwards, of what she had done in rushing away from New York. This care for her moral appearance was, on Verena’s part, something new; inasmuch as, though she had struck that note on previous occasions — had insisted on its being her duty to face the accidents and alarms of life — she had never erected22 such a standard in the face of a disaster so sharply possible. It was not her habit either to talk or to think about her dignity, and when Olive found her taking that tone she felt more than ever that the dreadful, ominous23, fatal part of the situation was simply that now, for the first time in all the history of their sacred friendship, Verena was not sincere. She was not sincere when she told her that she wanted to be helped against Mr. Ransom — when she exhorted24 her, that way, to keep everything that was salutary and fortifying25 before her eyes. Olive did not go so far as to believe that she was playing a part and putting her off with words which, glossing26 over her treachery, only made it more cruel; she would have admitted that that treachery was as yet unwitting, that Verena deceived herself first of all, thinking she really wished to be saved. Her phrases about her dignity were insincere, as well as her pretext27 that they must stay to look after Miss Birdseye: as if Doctor Prance28 were not abundantly able to discharge that function and would not be enchanted29 to get them out of the house! Olive had perfectly30 divined by this time that Doctor Prance had no sympathy with their movement, no general ideas; that she was simply shut up to petty questions of physiological31 science and of her own professional activity. She would never have invited her down if she had realised this in advance so much as the doctor’s dry detachment from all their discussions, their readings and practisings, her constant expeditions to fish and botanise, subsequently enabled her to do. She was very narrow, but it did seem as if she knew more about Miss Birdseye’s peculiar32 physical conditions — they were very peculiar — than any one else, and this was a comfort at a time when that admirable woman seemed to be suffering a loss of vitality33.
“The great point is that it must be met some time, and it will be a tremendous relief to have it over. He is determined to have it out with me, and if the battle doesn’t come off today we shall have to fight it tomorrow. I don’t see why this isn’t as good a time as any other. My lecture for the Music Hall is as good as finished, and I haven’t got anything else to do; so I can give all my attention to our personal struggle. It requires a good deal, you would admit, if you knew how wonderfully he can talk. If we should leave this place tomorrow he would come after us to the very next one. He would follow us everywhere. A little while ago we could have escaped him, because he says that then he had no money. He hasn’t got much now, but he has got enough to pay his way. He is so encouraged by the reception of his article by the editor of the Rational Review, that he is sure that in future his pen will be a resource.”
These remarks were uttered by Verena after Basil Ransom had been three days at Marmion, and when she reached this point her companion interrupted her with the inquiry34, “Is that what he proposes to support you with — his pen?”
“Oh yes; of course he admits we should be terribly poor.”
“And this vision of a literary career is based entirely35 upon an article that hasn’t yet seen the light? I don’t see how a man of any refinement36 can approach a woman with so beggarly an account of his position in life.”
“He says he wouldn’t — he would have been ashamed — three months ago; that was why, when we were in New York, and he felt, even then — well (so he says) all he feels now, he made up his mind not to persist, to let me go. But just lately a change has taken place; his state of mind altered completely, in the course of a week, in consequence of the letter that editor wrote him about his contribution, and his paying for it right off. It was a remarkably37 flattering letter. He says he believes in his future now; he has before him a vision of distinction, of influence, and of fortune, not great, perhaps, but sufficient to make life tolerable. He doesn’t think life is very delightful38, in the nature of things; but one of the best things a man can do with it is to get hold of some woman (of course, she must please him very much, to make it worth while) whom he may draw close to him.”
“And couldn’t he get hold of any one but you — among all the exposed millions of our sex?” poor Olive groaned39. “Why must he pick you out, when everything he knew about you showed you to be, exactly, the very last?”
“That’s just what I have asked him, and he only remarks that there is no reasoning about such things. He fell in love with me that first evening, at Miss Birdseye’s. So you see there was some ground for that mystic apprehension40 of yours. It seems as if I pleased him more than any one.”
Olive flung herself over on the couch, burying her face in the cushions, which she tumbled in her despair, and moaning out that he didn’t love Verena, he never had loved her, it was only his hatred41 of their cause that made him pretend it; he wanted to do that an injury, to do it the worst he could think of. He didn’t love her, he hated her, he only wanted to smother42 her, to crush her, to kill her — as she would infallibly see that he would if she listened to him. It was because he knew that her voice had magic in it, and from the moment he caught its first note he had determined to destroy it. It was not tenderness that moved him — it was devilish malignity43; tenderness would be incapable44 of requiring the horrible sacrifice that he was not ashamed to ask, of requiring her to commit perjury45 and blasphemy46, to desert a work, an interest, with which her very heart-strings were interlaced, to give the lie to her whole young past, to her purest, holiest ambitions. Olive put forward no claim of her own, breathed, at first, at least, not a word of remonstrance47 in the name of her personal loss, of their blighted48 union; she only dwelt upon the unspeakable tragedy of a defection from their standard, of a failure on Verena’s part to carry out what she had undertaken, of the horror of seeing her bright career blotted49 out with darkness and tears, of the joy and elation6 that would fill the breast of all their adversaries50 at this illustrious, consummate51 proof of the fickleness52, the futility53, the predestined servility, of women. A man had only to whistle for her, and she who had pretended most was delighted to come and kneel at his feet. Olive’s most passionate54 protest was summed up in her saying that if Verena were to forsake55 them it would put back the emancipation56 of women a hundred years. She did not, during these dreadful days, talk continuously; she had long periods of pale, intensely anxious, watchful57 silence, interrupted by outbreaks of passionate argument, entreaty58, invocation. It was Verena who talked incessantly59, Verena who was in a state entirely new to her, and, as any one could see, in an attitude entirely unnatural60 and overdone61. If she was deceiving herself, as Olive said, there was something very affecting in her effort, her ingenuity62. If she tried to appear to Olive impartial63, coldly judicious64, in her attitude with regard to Basil Ransom, and only anxious to see, for the moral satisfaction of the thing, how good a case, as a lover, he might make out for himself and how much he might touch her susceptibilities, she endeavoured, still more earnestly, to practise this fraud upon her own imagination. She abounded65 in every proof that she should be in despair if she should be overborne, and she thought of arguments even more convincing, if possible, than Olive’s, why she should hold on to her old faith, why she should resist even at the cost of acute temporary suffering. She was voluble, fluent, feverish66; she was perpetually bringing up the subject, as if to encourage her friend, to show how she kept possession of her judgement, how independent she remained.
No stranger situation can be imagined than that of these extraordinary young women at this juncture67; it was so singular on Verena’s part, in particular, that I despair of presenting it to the reader with the air of reality. To understand it, one must bear in mind her peculiar frankness, natural and acquired, her habit of discussing questions, sentiments, moralities, her education, in the atmosphere of lecture-rooms, of séances, her familiarity with the vocabulary of emotion, the mysteries of “the spiritual life.” She had learned to breathe and move in a rarefied air, as she would have learned to speak Chinese if her success in life had depended upon it; but this dazzling trick, and all her artlessly artful facilities, were not a part of her essence, an expression of her innermost preferences. What was a part of her essence was the extraordinary generosity68 with which she could expose herself, give herself away, turn herself inside out, for the satisfaction of a person who made demands of her. Olive, as we know, had made the reflexion that no one was naturally less preoccupied69 with the idea of her dignity, and though Verena put it forward as an excuse for remaining where they were, it must be admitted that in reality she was very deficient70 in the desire to be consistent with herself. Olive had contributed with all her zeal71 to the development of Verena’s gift; but I scarcely venture to think now, what she may have said to herself, in the secrecy72 of deep meditation73, about the consequences of cultivating an abundant eloquence74. Did she say that Verena was attempting to smother her now in her own phrases? did she view with dismay the fatal effect of trying to have an answer for everything? From Olive’s condition during these lamentable75 weeks there is a certain propriety76 — a delicacy77 enjoined78 by the respect for misfortune — in averting79 our head. She neither ate nor slept; she could scarcely speak without bursting into tears; she felt so implacably, insidiously80 baffled. She remembered the magnanimity with which she had declined (the winter before the last) to receive the vow16 of eternal maidenhood81 which she had at first demanded and then put by as too crude a test, but which Verena, for a precious hour, for ever flown, would then have been willing to take. She repented82 of it with bitterness and rage; and then she asked herself, more desperately83 still, whether even if she held that pledge she should be brave enough to enforce it in the face of actual complications. She believed that if it were in her power to say, “No, I won’t let you off; I have your solemn word, and I won’t!” Verena would bow to that decree and remain with her; but the magic would have passed out of her spirit for ever, the sweetness out of their friendship, the efficacy out of their work. She said to her again and again that she had utterly84 changed since that hour she came to her, in New York, after her morning with Mr. Ransom, and sobbed85 out that they must hurry away. Then she had been wounded, outraged86, sickened, and in the interval87 nothing had happened, nothing but that one exchange of letters, which she knew about, to bring her round to a shameless tolerance88. Shameless Verena admitted it to be; she assented89 over and over to this proposition, and explained, as eagerly each time as if it were the first, what it was that had come to pass, what it was that had brought her round. It had simply come over her that she liked him, that this was the true point of view, the only one from which one could consider the situation in a way that would lead to what she called a real solution — a permanent rest. On this particular point Verena never responded, in the liberal way I have mentioned, without asseverating90 at the same time that what she desired most in the world was to prove (the picture Olive had held up from the first) that a woman could live on persistently91, clinging to a great, vivifying, redemptory idea, without the help of a man. To testify to the end against the stale superstition92 — mother of every misery93 — that those gentry94 were as indispensable as they had proclaimed themselves on the house-tops — that, she passionately95 protested, was as inspiring a thought in the present poignant96 crisis as it had ever been.
The one grain of comfort that Olive extracted from the terrors that pressed upon her was that now she knew the worst; she knew it since Verena had told her, after so long and so ominous a reticence97, of the detestable episode at Cambridge. That seemed to her the worst, because it had been thunder in a clear sky; the incident had sprung from a quarter from which, months before, all symptoms appeared to have vanished. Though Verena had now done all she could to make up for her perfidious98 silence by repeating everything that passed between them as she sat with Mr. Ransom in Monadnoc Place or strolled with him through the colleges, it imposed itself upon Olive that that occasion was the key of all that had happened since, that he had then obtained an irremediable hold upon her. If Verena had spoken at the time, she would never have let her go to New York; the sole compensation for that hideous99 mistake was that the girl, recognising it to the full, evidently deemed now that she couldn’t be communicative enough. There were certain afternoons in August, long, beautiful and terrible, when one felt that the summer was rounding its curve, and the rustle100 of the full-leaved trees in the slanting101 golden light, in the breeze that ought to be delicious, seemed the voice of the coming autumn, of the warnings and dangers of life — portentous102, insufferable hours when, as she sat under the softly swaying vine-leaves of the trellis with Miss Birdseye and tried, in order to still her nerves, to read something aloud to her guest, the sound of her own quavering voice made her think more of that baleful day at Cambridge than even of the fact that at that very moment Verena was “off” with Mr. Ransom — had gone to take the little daily walk with him to which it had been arranged that their enjoyment103 of each other’s society should be reduced. Arranged, I say; but that is not exactly the word to describe the compromise arrived at by a kind of tacit exchange of tearful entreaty and tightened104 grasp, after Ransom had made it definite to Verena that he was indeed going to stay a month and she had promised that she would not resort to base evasions105, to flight (which would avail her nothing, he notified her), but would give him a chance, would listen to him a few minutes every day. He had insisted that the few minutes should be an hour, and the way to spend it was obvious. They wandered along the waterside to a rocky, shrub-covered point, which made a walk of just the right duration. Here all the homely106 languor107 of the region, the mild, fragrant108 Cape-quality, the sweetness of white sands, quiet waters, low promontories109 where there were paths among the barberries and tidal pools gleamed in the sunset — here all the spirit of a ripe summer afternoon seemed to hang in the air. There were wood-walks too; they sometimes followed bosky uplands, where accident had grouped the trees with odd effects of “style,” and where in grassy110 intervals111 and fragrant nooks of rest they came out upon sudden patches of Arcady. In such places Verena listened to her companion with her watch in her hand, and she wondered, very sincerely, how he could care for a girl who made the conditions of courtship so odious112. He had recognised, of course, at the very first, that he could not inflict113 himself again upon Miss Chancellor, and after that awkward morning-call I have described he did not again, for the first three weeks of his stay at Marmion, penetrate114 into the cottage whose back windows overlooked the deserted115 shipyard. Olive, as may be imagined, made, on this occasion, no protest for the sake of being ladylike or of preventing him from putting her apparently116 in the wrong. The situation between them was too grim; it was war to the knife, it was a question of which should pull hardest. So Verena took a tryst117 with the young man as if she had been a maid-servant and Basil Ransom a “follower.” They met a little way from the house; beyond it, outside the village.
收听单词发音 |
1
ransom
|
|
| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
texture
|
|
| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
manifestations
|
|
| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
elation
|
|
| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
chivalry
|
|
| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
abjure
|
|
| v.发誓放弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
mortification
|
|
| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
chancellor
|
|
| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
extremity
|
|
| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
peril
|
|
| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
sketch
|
|
| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
amplification
|
|
| n.扩大，发挥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
avowal
|
|
| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
vow
|
|
| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
succumbed
|
|
| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
sophistries
|
|
| n.诡辩术( sophistry的名词复数 )；（一次）诡辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
submission
|
|
| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
ERECTED
|
|
| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
ominous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
exhorted
|
|
| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
fortifying
|
|
| 筑防御工事于( fortify的现在分词 )； 筑堡于； 增强； 强化（食品） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
glossing
|
|
| v.注解( gloss的现在分词 )；掩饰（错误）；粉饰；把…搪塞过去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
pretext
|
|
| n.借口，托词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
prance
|
|
| v.（马）腾跃，(人)神气活现地走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
physiological
|
|
| adj.生理学的，生理学上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
vitality
|
|
| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
refinement
|
|
| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
remarkably
|
|
| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
smother
|
|
| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
malignity
|
|
| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
perjury
|
|
| n.伪证；伪证罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
blasphemy
|
|
| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
remonstrance
|
|
| n抗议，抱怨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
blighted
|
|
| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
blotted
|
|
| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
adversaries
|
|
| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
consummate
|
|
| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
fickleness
|
|
| n.易变；无常；浮躁；变化无常 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
futility
|
|
| n.无用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
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： |
|
|
|
|
55
forsake
|
|
| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
emancipation
|
|
| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
entreaty
|
|
| n.恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
incessantly
|
|
| ad.不停地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
overdone
|
|
| v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
ingenuity
|
|
| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
impartial
|
|
| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
judicious
|
|
| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
abounded
|
|
| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
feverish
|
|
| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
juncture
|
|
| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
generosity
|
|
| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
preoccupied
|
|
| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
deficient
|
|
| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
secrecy
|
|
| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
eloquence
|
|
| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
lamentable
|
|
| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
propriety
|
|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
enjoined
|
|
| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
averting
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的现在分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
insidiously
|
|
| 潜在地，隐伏地，阴险地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
maidenhood
|
|
| n. 处女性, 处女时代 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
82
repented
|
|
| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
desperately
|
|
| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
sobbed
|
|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
outraged
|
|
| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
tolerance
|
|
| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
assented
|
|
| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
asseverating
|
|
| v.郑重声明，断言( asseverate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
91
persistently
|
|
| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
superstition
|
|
| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
gentry
|
|
| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
passionately
|
|
| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
poignant
|
|
| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
reticence
|
|
| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
perfidious
|
|
| adj.不忠的，背信弃义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
rustle
|
|
| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
slanting
|
|
| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
portentous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
tightened
|
|
| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
evasions
|
|
| 逃避( evasion的名词复数 )； 回避； 遁辞； 借口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
languor
|
|
| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
fragrant
|
|
| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
promontories
|
|
| n.岬，隆起，海角( promontory的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
110
grassy
|
|
| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
odious
|
|
| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
inflict
|
|
| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
penetrate
|
|
| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
tryst
|
|
| n.约会；v.与…幽会 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |