THEY entered the room almost at the same moment that the elder came in from his bedroom. There were already in the cell, awaiting the elder, two monks2 of the hermitage, one the Father Librarian, and the other Father Paissy, a very learned man, so they said, in delicate health, though not old. There was also a tall young man, who looked about two and twenty, standing3 in the corner throughout the interview. He had a broad, fresh face, and clever, observant, narrow brown eyes, and was wearing ordinary dress. He was a divinity student, living under the protection of the monastery4. His expression was one of unquestioning, but self-respecting, reverence5. Being in a subordinate and dependent position, and so not on an equality with the guests, he did not greet them with a bow.
Father Zossima was accompanied by a novice6, and by Alyosha. The two monks rose and greeted him with a very deep bow, touching7 the ground with their fingers; then kissed his hand. Blessing8 them, the elder replied with as deep a reverence to them, and asked their blessing. The whole ceremony was performed very seriously and with an appearance of feeling, not like an everyday rite9. But Miusov fancied that it was all done with intentional10 impressiveness. He stood in front of the other visitors. He ought — he had reflected upon it the evening before — from simple politeness, since it was the custom here, to have gone up to receive the elder’s blessing, even if he did not kiss his hand. But when he saw all this bowing and kissing on the part of the monks he instantly changed his mind. With dignified11 gravity he made a rather deep, conventional bow, and moved away to a chair. Fyodor Pavlovitch did the same, mimicking12 Miusov like an ape. Ivan bowed with great dignity and courtesy, but he too kept his hands at his sides, while Kalganov was so confused that he did not bow at all. The elder let fall the hand raised to bless them, and bowing to them again, asked them all to sit down. The blood rushed to Alyosha’s cheeks. He was ashamed. His forebodings were coming true.
Father Zossima sat down on a very old-fashioned mahogany sofa, covered with leather, and made his visitors sit down in a row along the opposite wall on four mahogany chairs, covered with shabby black leather. The monks sat, one at the door and the other at the window. The divinity student, the novice, and Alyosha remained standing. The cell was not very large and had a faded look. It contained nothing but the most necessary furniture, of coarse and poor quality. There were two pots of flowers in the window, and a number of holy pictures in the corner. Before one huge ancient ikon of the virgin13 a lamp was burning. Near it were two other holy pictures in shining settings, and, next them, carved cherubim, china eggs, a Catholic cross of ivory, with a Mater Dolorosa embracing it, and several foreign engravings from the great Italian artists of past centuries. Next to these costly14 and artistic15 engravings were several of the roughest Russian prints of saints and martyrs16, such as are sold for a few farthings at all the fairs. On the other walls were portraits of Russian bishops17, past and present.
Miusov took a cursory19 glance at all these “conventional” surroundings and bent20 an intent look upon the elder. He had a high opinion of his own insight a weakness excusable in him as he was fifty, an age at which a clever man of the world of established position can hardly help taking himself rather seriously. At the first moment he did not like Zossima. There was, indeed, something in the elder’s face which many people besides Miusov might not have liked. He was a short, bent, little man, with very weak legs, and though he was only sixty-five, he looked at least ten years older. His face was very thin and covered with a network of fine wrinkles, particularly numerous about his eyes, which were small, light-coloured, quick, and shining like two bright points. He had a sprinkling of grey hair about his temples. His pointed21 beard was small and scanty22, and his lips, which smiled frequently, were as thin as two threads. His nose was not long, but sharp, like a bird’s beak23.
“To all appearances a malicious24 soul, full of petty pride,” thought Miusov. He felt altogether dissatisfied with his position.
A cheap little clock on the wall struck twelve hurriedly, and served to begin the conversation.
“Precisely to our time,” cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, “but no sign of my son, Dmitri. I apologise for him, sacred elder!” (Alyosha shuddered25 all over at “sacred elder”.) “I am always punctual myself, minute for minute, remembering that punctuality is the courtesy of kings. . . .
“But you are not a king, anyway,” Miusov muttered, losing his self-restraint at once.
“Yes; that’s true. I’m not a king, and, would you believe it, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, I was aware of that myself. But, there! I always say the wrong thing. Your reverence,” he cried, with sudden pathos26, “you behold27 before you a buffoon in earnest! I introduce myself as such. It’s an old habit, alas28! And if I sometimes talk nonsense out of place it’s with an object, with the object of amusing people and making myself agreeable. One must be agreeable, mustn’t one? I was seven years ago in a little town where I had business, and I made friends with some merchants there. We went to the captain of police because we had to see him about something, and to ask him to dine with us. He was a tall, fat, fair, sulky man, the most dangerous type in such cases. It’s their liver. I went straight up to him, and with the ease of a man of the world, you know, ‘Mr. Ispravnik,’ said I, ‘be our Napravnik.’ ‘What do you mean by Napravnik?’ said he. I saw, at the first half-second, that it had missed fire. He stood there so glum29. ‘I wanted to make a joke,’ said I, ‘for the general diversion, as Mr. Napravnik is our well-known Russian orchestra conductor and what we need for the harmony of our undertaking30 is someone of that sort.’ And I explained my comparison very reasonably, didn’t I? ‘Excuse me,’ said he, ‘I am an Ispravnik, and I do not allow puns to be made on my calling.’ He turned and walked away. I followed him, shouting, ‘Yes, yes, you are an Ispravnik, not a Napravnik.’ ‘No,’ he said, ‘since you called me a Napravnik I am one.’ And would you believe it, it ruined our business! And I’m always like that, always like that. Always injuring myself with my politeness. Once, many years ago, I said to an influential31 person: ‘Your wife is a ticklish32 lady,’ in an honourable33 sense, of the moral qualities, so to speak. But he asked me, ‘Why, have you tickled34 her?’ I thought I’d be polite, so I couldn’t help saying, ‘Yes,’ and he gave me a fine tickling35 on the spot. Only that happened long ago, so I’m not ashamed to tell the story. I’m always injuring myself like that.”
“You’re doing it now,” muttered Miusov, with disgust.
Father Zossima scrutinised them both in silence.
“Am I? Would you believe it, I was aware of that, too, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, and let tell you, indeed, I foresaw I should as soon as I began to speak. And do you know I foresaw, too, that you’d be the first to remark on it. The minute I see my joke isn’t coming off, your reverence, both my cheeks feel as though they were drawn36 down to the lower jaw37 and there is almost a spasm38 in them. That’s been so since I was young, when I had to make jokes for my living in noblemen’s families. I am an inveterate39 buffoon, and have been from birth up, your reverence, it’s as though it were a craze in me. I dare say it’s a devil within me. But only a little one. A more serious one would have chosen another lodging40. But not your soul, Pyotr Alexandrovitch; you’re not a lodging worth having either. But I do believe — I believe in God, though I have had doubts of late. But now I sit and await words of wisdom. I’m like the philosopher, Diderot, your reverence. Did you ever hear, most Holy Father, how Diderot went to see the Metropolitan41 Platon, in the time of the Empress Catherine? He went in and said straight out, ‘There is no God.’ To which the great bishop18 lifted up his finger and answered, ‘The fool has said in his heart there is no God and he fell down at his feet on the spot. ‘I believe,’ he cried, ‘and will be christened.’ And so he was. Princess Dashkov was his godmother, and Potyomkin his godfather.”
“Fyodor Pavlovitch, this is unbearable42! You know you’re telling lies and that that stupid anecdote43 isn’t true. Why are you playing the fool?” cried Miusov in a shaking voice.
“I suspected all my life that it wasn’t true,” Fyodor Pavlovitch cried with conviction. “But I’ll tell you the whole truth, gentlemen. Great elder! Forgive me, the last thing about Diderot’s christening I made up just now. I never thought of it before. I made it up to add piquancy44. I play the fool, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, to make myself agreeable. Though I really don’t know myself, sometimes, what I do it for. And as for Diderot, I heard as far as ‘the fool hath said in his heart’ twenty times from the gentry45 about here when I was young. I heard your aunt, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, tell the story. They all believe to this day that the infidel Diderot came to dispute about God with the Metropolitan Platon. . . . ”
Miusov got up, forgetting himself in his impatience46. He was furious, and conscious of being ridiculous.
What was taking place in the cell was really incredible. For forty or fifty years past, from the times of former elders, no visitors had entered that cell without feelings of the profoundest veneration47. Almost everyone admitted to the cell felt that a great favour was being shown him. Many remained kneeling during the whole visit. Of those visitors, many had been men of high rank and learning, some even free thinkers, attracted by curiosity, but all without exception had shown the profoundest reverence and delicacy48, for here there was no question of money, but only, on the one side love and kindness, and on the other penitence49 and eager desire to decide some spiritual problem or crisis. So that such buffoonery amazed and bewildered the spectators, or at least some of them. The monks, with unchanged countenances50, waited, with earnest attention, to hear what the elder would say, but seemed on the point of standing up, like Miusov. Alyosha stood, with hanging head, on the verge51 of tears. What seemed to him strangest of all was that his brother Ivan, on whom alone he had rested his hopes, and who alone had such influence on his father that he could have stopped him, sat now quite unmoved, with downcast eyes, apparently52 waiting with interest to see how it would end, as though he had nothing to do with it. Alyosha did not dare to look at Rakitin, the divinity student, whom he knew almost intimately. He alone in the monastery knew Rakitin’s thoughts.
“Forgive me,” began Miusov, addressing Father Zossima, “for perhaps I seem to be taking part in this shameful53 foolery. I made a mistake in believing that even a man like Fyodor Pavlovitch would understand what was due on a visit to so honoured a personage. I did not suppose I should have to apologise simply for having come with him. . . . ”
Pyotr Alexandrovitch could say no more, and was about to leave the room, overwhelmed with confusion.
“Don’t distress54 yourself, I beg.” The elder got on to his feeble legs, and taking Pyotr Alexandrovitch by both hands, made him sit down again. “I beg you not to disturb yourself. I particularly beg you to be my guest.” And with a bow he went back and sat down again on his little sofa.
“Great elder, speak! Do I annoy you by my vivacity55?” Fyodor Pavlovitch cried suddenly, clutching the arms of his chair in both hands, as though ready to leap up from it if the answer were unfavourable.
“I earnestly beg you, too, not to disturb yourself, and not to be uneasy,” the elder said impressively. “Do not trouble. Make yourself quite at home. And, above all, do not be so ashamed of yourself, for that is at the root of it all.”
“Quite at home? To be my natural self? Oh, that is much too much, but I accept it with grateful joy. Do you know, blessed father, you’d better not invite me to be my natural self. Don’t risk it. . . . I will not go so far as that myself. I warn you for your own sake. Well, the rest is still plunged56 in the mists of uncertainty57, though there are people who’d be pleased to describe me for you. I mean that for you, Pyotr Alexandrovitch. But as for you, holy being, let me tell you, I am brimming over with ecstasy58.”
He got up, and throwing up his hands, declaimed, “Blessed be the womb that bare thee, and the paps that gave thee suck — the paps especially. When you said just now, ‘Don’t be so ashamed of yourself, for that is at the root of it all,’ you pierced right through me by that remark, and read me to the core. Indeed, I always feel when I meet people that I am lower than all, and that they all take me for a buffoon. So I say, ‘Let me really play the buffoon. I am not afraid of your opinion, for you are every one of you worse than I am.’ That is why I am a buffoon. It is from shame, great elder, from shame; it’s simply over-sensitiveness that makes me rowdy. If I had only been sure that everyone would accept me as the kindest and wisest of men, oh, Lord, what a good man I should have been then! Teacher!” he fell suddenly on his knees, “what must I do to gain eternal life?”
It was difficult even now to decide whether he was joking or really moved.
Father Zossima, lifting his eyes, looked at him, and said with a smile:
“You have known for a long time what you must do. You have sense enough: don’t give way to drunkenness and incontinence of speech; don’t give way to sensual lust59; and, above all, to the love of money. And close your taverns60. If you can’t close all, at least two or three. And, above all — don’t lie.”
“You mean about Diderot?”
“No, not about Diderot. Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love, and in order to occupy and distract himself without love he gives way to passions and coarse pleasures, and sinks to bestiality in his vices61, all from continual lying to other men and to himself. The man who lies to himself can be more easily offended than anyone. You know it is sometimes very pleasant to take offence, isn’t it? A man may know that nobody has insulted him, but that he has invented the insult for himself, has lied and exaggerated to make it picturesque62, has caught at a word and made a mountain out of a molehill — he knows that himself, yet he will be the first to take offence, and will revel63 in his resentment64 till he feels great pleasure in it, and so pass to genuine vindictiveness65. But get up, sit down, I beg you. All this, too, is deceitful posturing66. . . . ”
“Blessed man! Give me your hand to kiss.”
Fyodor Pavlovitch skipped up, and imprinted67 a rapid kiss on the elder’s thin hand. “It is, it is pleasant to take offence. You said that so well, as I never heard it before. Yes, I have been all my life taking offence, to please myself, taking offence on aesthetic68 grounds, for it is not so much pleasant as distinguished69 sometimes to be insulted — that you had forgotten, great elder, it is distinguished! I shall make a note of that. But I have been lying, lying positively70 my whole life long, every day and hour of it. Of a truth, I am a lie, and the father of lies. Though I believe I am not the father of lies. I am getting mixed in my texts. Say, the son of lies, and that will be enough. Only . . . my angel . . . may sometimes talk about Diderot! Diderot will do no harm, though sometimes a word will do harm. Great elder, by the way, I was forgetting, though I had been meaning for the last two years to come here on purpose to ask and to find out something. Only do tell Pyotr Alexandrovitch not to interrupt me. Here is my question: Is it true, great Father, that the story is told somewhere in the Lives of the Saints of a holy saint martyred for his faith who, when his head was cut off at last, stood up, picked up his head, and, ‘courteously kissing it,’ walked a long way, carrying it in his hands. Is that true or not, honoured Father?”
“No, it is untrue,” said the elder.
“There is nothing of the kind in all the lives of the saints. What saint do you say the story is told of?” asked the Father Librarian.
“I do not know what saint. I do not know, and can’t tell. I was deceived. I was told the story. I had heard it, and do you know who told it? Pyotr Alexandrovitch Miusov here, was so angry just now about Diderot. He it was who told the story.”
“I have never told it you, I never speak to you at all.”
“It is true you did not tell me, but you told it when I was present. It was three years ago. I mentioned it because by that ridiculous story you shook my faith, Pyotr Alexandrovitch. You knew nothing of it, but I went home with my faith shaken, and I have been getting more and more shaken ever since. Yes, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, you were the cause of a great fall. That was not a Diderot!
Fyodor Pavlovitch got excited and pathetic, though it was perfectly71 clear to everyone by now that he was playing a part again. Yet Miusov was stung by his words.
“What nonsense, and it is all nonsense,” he muttered. “I may really have told it, some time or other . . . but not to you. I was told it myself. I heard it in Paris from a Frenchman. He told me it was read at our mass from the Lives of the Saints . . . he was a very learned man who had made a special study of Russian statistics and had lived a long time in Russia. . . . I have not read the Lives of the Saints myself, and I am not going to read them . . . all sorts of things are said at dinner — we were dining then.”
“Yes, you were dining then, and so I lost my faith!” said Fyodor Pavlovitch, mimicking him.
“What do I care for your faith?” Miusov was on the point of shouting, but he suddenly checked himself, and said with contempt, “You defile72 everything you touch.”
The elder suddenly rose from his seat. “Excuse me, gentlemen, for leaving you a few minutes,” he said, addressing all his guests. “I have visitors awaiting me who arrived before you. But don’t you tell lies all the same,” he added, turning to Fyodor Pavlovitch with a good-humoured face. He went out of the cell. Alyosha and the novice flew to escort him down the steps. Alyosha was breathless: he was glad to get away, but he was glad, too, that the elder was good-humoured and not offended. Father Zossima was going towards the portico73 to bless the people waiting for him there. But Fyodor Pavlovitch persisted, in stopping him at the door of the cell.
“Blessed man!” he cried, with feeling. “Allow me to kiss your hand once more. Yes, with you I could still talk, I could still get on. Do you think I always lie and play the fool like this? Believe me, I have been acting74 like this all the time on purpose to try you. I have been testing you all the time to see whether I could get on with you. Is there room for my humility75 beside your pride? I am ready to give you a testimonial that one can get on with you! But now, I’ll be quiet; I will keep quiet all the time. I’ll sit in a chair and hold my tongue. Now it is for you to speak, Pyotr Alexandrovitch. You are the principal person left now — for ten minutes.”
收听单词发音 |
1
buffoon
|
|
| n.演出时的丑角 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
monks
|
|
| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
monastery
|
|
| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
reverence
|
|
| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
novice
|
|
| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
rite
|
|
| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
intentional
|
|
| adj.故意的，有意（识）的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
mimicking
|
|
| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的现在分词 )；酷似 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
costly
|
|
| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
martyrs
|
|
| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
bishops
|
|
| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
bishop
|
|
| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
cursory
|
|
| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
scanty
|
|
| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
beak
|
|
| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
malicious
|
|
| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
pathos
|
|
| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
behold
|
|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
glum
|
|
| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
undertaking
|
|
| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
influential
|
|
| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
ticklish
|
|
| adj.怕痒的；问题棘手的；adv.怕痒地；n.怕痒，小心处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
tickled
|
|
| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
tickling
|
|
| 反馈，回授，自旋挠痒法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
jaw
|
|
| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
spasm
|
|
| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
inveterate
|
|
| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
lodging
|
|
| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
metropolitan
|
|
| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
unbearable
|
|
| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
anecdote
|
|
| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
piquancy
|
|
| n.辛辣，辣味，痛快 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
gentry
|
|
| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
veneration
|
|
| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
penitence
|
|
| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
countenances
|
|
| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
verge
|
|
| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
shameful
|
|
| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
vivacity
|
|
| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
uncertainty
|
|
| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
lust
|
|
| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
taverns
|
|
| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
vices
|
|
| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
revel
|
|
| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
vindictiveness
|
|
| 恶毒；怀恨在心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
posturing
|
|
| 做出某种姿势( posture的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
imprinted
|
|
| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
aesthetic
|
|
| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
defile
|
|
| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
portico
|
|
| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
humility
|
|
| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |