MR. Tyrold saw, at first, the renewed visits of Edgar at Cleves with extreme satisfaction; but while all his hopes were alive from an intercourse1 almost perpetual, he perceived, with surprise and perplexity, that his daughter became more and more pensive2 after every interview: and as Edgar, this evening, quitted the house, he observed tears start into her eyes as she went up stairs to her own room.
Alarmed and disappointed, he thought it now high time to investigate the state of the affair, and to encourage or prevent future meetings, as it appeared to him to be propitious3 or hopeless.
Penetrated4 with the goodness, while lamenting5 the indifference6 of Edgar, Camilla had just reached her room; when, as she turned round to shut her door, Mr. Tyrold appeared before her.
Hastily, with the back of her hand, brushing off the tears from her eyes, she said, ‘May I go to my uncle, Sir?... can my uncle admit me?’
‘He can always admit you,’ he answered; ‘but, just now, you must forget him a moment, and consign7 yourself to your father.’
He then entered, shut the door, and making her sit down by him, said, ‘What is this sorrow that assails8 my Camilla? Why is the light heart of my dear and happy child thus dejected?’
Speech and truth were always one with Camilla; who, as she could not in this instance declare what were her feelings, remained mute and confounded.
‘Hesitate not, my dear girl,’ cried he kindly9, ‘to unbosom your griefs or your apprehensions10, where they will be received with all the tenderness due to such a confidence, and held sacred from every human inspection11; unless you permit me yourself to entrust12 your best and wisest friend.’
Camilla now trembled, but could not even attempt to speak.
He saw her disorder13, and presently added, ‘I will forbear to probe your feelings, when you have satisfied me in one doubt;–Is the sadness I have of late remarked in you the effect of secret personal disturbance14, or of disappointed expectation?’
Camilla could neither answer nor look up: she was convinced, by this question, that the subject of her melancholy15 was understood, and felt wholly overcome by the deeply distressing16 confusion, with which wounded pride and unaffected virgin18 modesty19 impress a youthful female, in the idea of being suspected of a misplaced, or an unrequited partiality.
Her silence, a suffocating20 sigh, and her earnest endeavour to hide her face, easily explained to Mr. Tyrold all that passed within; and respecting rather than wishing to conquer a shame flowing from fearful delicacy21, ‘I would spare you,’ he said, ‘all investigation22 whatever, could I be certain you are not called into any action; but, in that case, I know not that I can justify23 to myself so implicit24 a confidence, in youth and inexperience so untried in difficulties, so unused to evil or embarrassment25 as yours. Tell me then, my dear Camilla, do you sigh under the weight of any disingenuous26 conduct? or do you suffer from some suspence which you have no means of terminating?’
‘My dearest father, no!’ cried she, sinking upon his breast. ‘I have no suspence!’
‘And how has it been removed, my child?’ said Mr. Tyrold, in a mournful tone; ‘has any deception28, any ungenerous art–’
‘O no, no!... he is incapable29... he is superior... he... ‘ She stopt abruptly30; shocked at the avowal31 these few words at once inferred of her partiality, of its hopelessness, and of its object.
She walked, confused, to a comer of the room, and, leaning against the wainscot, enveloped32 her face in her handkerchief, with the most painful sensations of shame.
Mr. Tyrold remained in deep meditation33. Her regard for Edgar he had already considered as undoubted, and her undisguised acknowledgment excited his tenderest sympathy: but to find she thought it without return, and without hope, penetrated him with grief. Not only his own fond view of the attractions of his daughter, but all he had observed, even from his childhood, in Edgar, had induced him to believe she was irresistibly34 formed to captivate him; and what had lately passed had seemed a confirmation35 of all he had expected. Camilla, nevertheless, exculpated36 him from all blame; and, while touched by her artlessness, and honouring her truth, he felt, at least, some consolation37 to find that Edgar, whom he loved as a son, was untainted by deceit, unaccused of any evil. He concluded that some unfortunate secret entanglement38, or some mystery not yet to be developed, directed compulsatorily his conduct, and checked the dictates39 of his taste and inclination40.
Gently, at length, approaching her, ‘My dearest child,’ he said, ‘I will ask you nothing further; all that is absolutely essential for me to know, I have gathered. You will never, I am certain, forget the noble mother whom you are bound to revere41 in imitating, nor the affectionate father whom your ingenuousness42 renders the most indulgent of your friends. Dry up your tears then, my Camilla, and command your best strength to conceal43 for ever their source, and, most especially... from its cause.’
He then embraced, and left her.
‘Yes, my dearest father,’ cried she, as she shut the door, ‘most perfect and most lenient44 of human beings! yes, I will obey your dictates; I will hide till I can conquer this weak emotion, and no one shall ever know, and Edgar least of all, that a daughter of yours has a feeling she ought to disguise!’
Elevated by the kindness of a father so adored, to deserve his good opinion now included every wish. The least severity would have chilled her confidence, the least reproof45 would have discouraged all effort to self-conquest; but, while his softness had soothed46, his approbation47 had invigorated her; and her feelings received additional energy from the conscious generosity48 with which she had represented Edgar as blameless. Blameless, however, in her own breast, she could not deem him: his looks, his voice, his manner.... words that occasionally dropt from him, and meanings yet more expressive49 which his eyes or his attentions had taken in charge, all, from time to time, had told a flattering tale, which, though timidity and anxious earnestness had obscured from her perfect comprehension, her hopes and her sympathy had prevented from wholly escaping her. Yet what, internally, she could not defend she forgave; and, acquitting50 him of all intentional51 deceit, concluded that what he had felt for her, he had thought too slight and immaterial to deserve repressing on his own part, or notice on her’s . To continue with him her present sisterly conduct was all she had to study, not doubting but that what as yet was effort, would in time become natural.
Strengthened thus in fortitude52, she descended53 chearfully to supper, where Mr. Tyrold, though he saw with pain that her spirits were constrained56, felt the fondest satisfaction in the virtue57 of her exertion58.
Her night passed in the consolation of self-applause. My dear father, thought she, will see I strive to merit his lenity, and that soothing59 consideration with the honourable60 friendship of Edgar, will be sufficient for the happiness of my future life, in the single and tranquil61 state in which it will be spent.
Thus comforted, she again met the eye of Mr. Tyrold the next day at breakfast; in the midst of which repast Edgar entered the parlour. The tea she was drinking was then rather gulped62 than sipped63; yet she maintained an air of unconcern, and returned his salutation with apparent composure.
Edgar, while addressing to Mr. Tyrold his inquiries64 concerning Sir Hugh, saw, from the window, his servant, whom he had out-galloped, thrown with violence from his horse. He rushed out of the parlour; and the first person to rise, with involuntary intent to follow him, was Camilla. But, as she reached the hall-door, she saw that the man was safe, and perceived that her father was the only person who had left the room besides herself. Ashamed, she returned, and found the female party collected at the windows.
Hoping to retrieve65 the error of her eagerness, she seated herself at the table, and affected17 to finish her breakfast.
Eugenia told her they had discovered the cause of the accident, which had been owing to a sharp stone that had penetrated into the horse’s hoof66, and which Edgar was now endeavouring to extract.
A general scream, just then, from the window party, and a cry from Eugenia of ‘O Edgar!’ carried her again to the hall-door with the swiftness of lightning, calling out, ‘Where?... What?... Good Heaven!’....
Molly Mill, accidentally there before her, said, as she approached, that the horse had kicked Mr. Mandlebert upon the shoulder.
Every thing but tenderness and terror was now forgotten by Camilla; she darted67 forward with unrestrained velocity68, and would have given, in a moment, the most transporting amazement69 to Edgar, and to herself the deepest shame, but that Mr. Tyrold, who alone had his face that way, stopt, and led her back to the house, saying, ‘There is no mischief70; a bee stung the poor animal at the instant the stone was extracted, and the surprise and pain made it kick; but, fortunately, without any bad effect. I wish to know how your uncle is; I should be glad you would go and sit with him till I can come.’
With these words he left her; and, though abashed71 and overset, she found no sensation so powerful as joy for the safety of Edgar.
Still, however, too little at ease for conversing72 with her uncle, she went straight to her own chamber73, and flew involuntarily to a window, whence the first object that met her eyes was her father, who was anxiously looking up. She retreated, utterly74 confounded, and threw herself upon a chair at the other end of the room.
Shame now was her only sensation. The indiscretion of her first surprise, she knew, he must forgive, though she blushed at its recollection; but a solicitude75 so pertinacious77, an indulgence so repeated of feelings he had enjoined78 her to combat... how could she hope for his pardon? or how obtain her own, to have forfeited79 an approbation so precious?
She could not go to her uncle; she would have remained where she was still summoned to dinner, if the house-maid, after finishing all her other work, had not a third time returned to inquire if she might clean her room.
She then determined80 to repair to the library, where she was certain only to encounter Eugenia, who would not torment81, or Dr. Orkborne, who would not perceive her: but at the bottom of the stairs she was stopt by Miss Margland, who, with a malicious82 smile, asked if she was going to hold the bason?
‘What bason?’ cried she, surprised.
‘The bason for the surgeon.’
‘What surgeon?’ repeated she, alarmed.
‘Mr. Burton, who is come to bleed Mr. Mandlebert.’
She asked nothing more. She felt extremely faint, but made her way into the park, to avoid further conference.
Here, in the most painful suspence, dying for information, yet shirking whoever could give it her, she remained, till she saw the departure of the surgeon. She then went round by a back way to the apartment of Eugenia, who informed her that the contusion, though not dangerous, was violent, and that Mr. Tyrold had insisted upon immediate83 bleeding. The surgeon had assured them this precaution would prevent any ill consequence; but Sir Hugh, hearing from the servants what had happened, had desired that Edgar would not return home till the next day.
The joy of Camilla, that nothing was more serious, banished84 all that was disagreeable from her thoughts, till she was called back to reflections less consoling, by meeting Mr. Tyrold, as she was returning to her own room; who, with a gravity unusual, desired to speak with her, and preceded her into the chamber.
Trembling, and filled with shame, she followed, shut the door, and remained at it without daring to look up.
‘My dear Camilla,’ cried he with earnestness, ‘let me not hope in vain for that exertion you have promised me, and to which I know you to be fully55 equal. Risk not, my dear girl, to others, those outward marks of sensibility which, to common or unfeeling observers, seem but the effect of an unbecoming remissness85 in the self-command which should dignify86 every female who would do herself honour. I had hoped, in this house at least, you would not have been misunderstood; but I have this moment been undeceived: Miss Margland has just expressed a species of compassion87 for what she presumes to be the present state of your mind, that has given me the severest pain.’
He stopt, for Camilla looked thunderstruck.
Approaching her, then, with a look of concern, and a voice of tenderness, he kindly took her hand, and added: ‘I do not tell you this in displeasure, but to put you upon your guard. You will hear from Eugenia that we shall not dine alone; and from what I have dropt you will gather how little you can hope to escape scrutiny88. Exert yourself to obviate89 all humiliating surmises90, and you will amply be repaid by the balm of self-approbation.’
He then kissed her, and quitted the room.
She now remained in utter despair: the least idea of disgrace totally broke her spirit, and she sat upon the same spot on which Mr. Tyrold had left her, till the ringing of the second dinner bell.
She then gloomily resolved to plead an head-ache, and not to appear.
When a footman tapt at her door, to acquaint her every body was seated at the table, she sent down this excuse: forming to herself the further determination, that the same should suffice for the evening, and for the next morning, that she might avoid the sight of Edgar, in presence either of her father or Miss Margland.
Eugenia, with kind alarm, came to know what was the matter, and informed her, that Sir Hugh had been so much concerned at the accident of Edgar, that he had insisted upon seeing him, and, after heartily91 shaking hands, had promised to think no more of past mistakes and disappointments, as they had now been cleared up to the county, and desired him to take up his abode92 at Cleves for a week.
Camilla heard this with mixt pleasure and pain. She rejoiced that Edgar should be upon his former terms with her beloved uncle; but how preserve the caution demanded from her for so long a period, in the constant sight of her now watchful93 father, and the malicious Miss Margland?
She had added to her own difficulties by this present absconding94, and, with severe self-blame, resolved to descend54 to tea. But, while settling how to act, after her sister had left her, she was struck with hearing the name of Mandlebert pronounced by Mary, the house-maid, who was talking with Molly Mill upon the landing place. Why it had been spoken she knew not; but Molly answered: ‘Dearee me, never mind; I’ll help you to do his room, if Nanny don’t come in time. My little mistress would rather do it herself, than he should want for anything.’
‘Why, it’s natural enough,’ said Mary, ‘for young ladies to like young gentlemen; and there’s none other comes a nigh ’em, which I often thinks dull enough for our young misses. And, to be certain, Mr. Mandlebert would be as pretty a match for one of ’em as a body could desire.’
‘And his man,’ said Molly, ‘is as pretty a gentleman sort of person, to my mind, as his master. I’m sure I’m as glad as my young lady when they comes to the house.’
‘O, as to Miss Eugeny,’ said Mary, ‘I believe, in my conscience, she likes our crack-headed old Doctor as well as e’er a young gentleman in Christendom; for there she’ll sit with him, hour by hour, poring over such a heap of stuff as never was seed, reading, first one, then t’other, God knows what; for I believe never nobody heard the like of it before; and all the time never give the old Doctor a cross word.–’
‘She never given nobody a cross word,’ interrupted Molly; ‘if I was Mr. Mandlebert, I’d sooner have her than any of ’em, for all she’s such a nidging little thing.’
‘For certain,’ said Mary, ‘she’s very good, and a deal of good she does, to all as asks her; but Miss Camilla for my money. She’s all alive and merry, and makes poor master young again to look at her. I wish Mr. Mandlebert would have her, for I have overheard Miss Margland telling Miss Lynmere she was desperate fond of him, and did all she could to get him.’
Camilla felt flushed with the deepest resentment95, and could scarcely command herself to forbear charging Miss Margland with this persecuting96 cruelty.
Nanny, the under house-maid, now joining them, said she had been detained to finish altering a curtain for Miss Margland. ‘And the cross old Frump,’ she added, ‘is in a worse spite than ever, and she kept abusing that sweet Mr. Mandlebert to Miss Lynmere all the while, till she went down to dinner, and she said she was sure it was all Miss Camilla’s doings his staying here again, for she could come over master for any thing: and she said she supposed it was to have another catch at the young ‘Squire’s heart, but she hoped he would not be such a fool.’
‘I’m sure I wish he would,’ cried Molly Mill, ‘if it was only to spite her, she’s such a nasty old viper97. And Miss Camilla’s always so good-natured, and so affable, she’d make him a very agreeable wife, I dare say.’
‘And she’s mortal fond of him, that’s true,’ said Mary, ‘for when they was both here, I always see her a running to the window, to see who was a coming into the park, when he was rode out; and when he was in the house, she never so much as went to peep, if there come six horses, one after t’other. And she was always a saying, “Mary, who’s in the parlour? Mary, who’s below?” while he was here; but before he come, duce a bite did she ask about nobody.’
‘I like when I meets her,’ said Molly Mill, ‘to tell her Mr. Mandlebert’s here, Miss; or Mr. Mandlebert’s there, Miss;–Dearee me, one may almost see one self in her eyes, it makes them shine so.’
Camilla could endure no more; she arose, and walked about the room; and the maids, who had concluded her at dinner, hearing her step, hurried away, to finish their gossiping in the room of Mandlebert.
Camilla now felt wholly sunk; the persecutions of Miss Margland seemed nothing to this blow: they were cruel, she could therefore repine at them; they were unprovoked, she could therefore repel98 them: but to find her secret feelings, thus generally spread, and familiarity commented upon, from her own unguarded conduct, exhausted99, at once, patience, fortitude, and hope, and left her no wish but to quit Cleves while Edgar should remain there.
Certain, however, that her father would not permit her to return to Etherington alone, a visit to Mrs. Arlbery was the sole refuge she could suggest; and she determined to solicit76 his permission to accept immediately the invitation of that lady.
1 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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2 pensive | |
a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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3 propitious | |
adj.吉利的;顺利的 | |
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4 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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5 lamenting | |
adj.悲伤的,悲哀的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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6 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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7 consign | |
vt.寄售(货品),托运,交托,委托 | |
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8 assails | |
v.攻击( assail的第三人称单数 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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9 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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10 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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11 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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12 entrust | |
v.信赖,信托,交托 | |
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13 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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14 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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15 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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16 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
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17 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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18 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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19 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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20 suffocating | |
a.使人窒息的 | |
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21 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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22 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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23 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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24 implicit | |
a.暗示的,含蓄的,不明晰的,绝对的 | |
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25 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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26 disingenuous | |
adj.不诚恳的,虚伪的 | |
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27 gasped | |
v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
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28 deception | |
n.欺骗,欺诈;骗局,诡计 | |
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29 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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30 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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31 avowal | |
n.公开宣称,坦白承认 | |
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32 enveloped | |
v.包围,笼罩,包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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34 irresistibly | |
adv.无法抵抗地,不能自持地;极为诱惑人地 | |
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35 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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36 exculpated | |
v.开脱,使无罪( exculpate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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38 entanglement | |
n.纠缠,牵累 | |
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39 dictates | |
n.命令,规定,要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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40 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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41 revere | |
vt.尊崇,崇敬,敬畏 | |
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42 ingenuousness | |
n.率直;正直;老实 | |
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43 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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44 lenient | |
adj.宽大的,仁慈的 | |
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45 reproof | |
n.斥责,责备 | |
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46 soothed | |
v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
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47 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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48 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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49 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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50 acquitting | |
宣判…无罪( acquit的现在分词 ); 使(自己)作出某种表现 | |
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51 intentional | |
adj.故意的,有意(识)的 | |
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52 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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53 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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54 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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55 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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56 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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57 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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58 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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59 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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60 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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61 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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62 gulped | |
v.狼吞虎咽地吃,吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 );大口地吸(气);哽住 | |
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63 sipped | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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65 retrieve | |
vt.重新得到,收回;挽回,补救;检索 | |
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66 hoof | |
n.(马,牛等的)蹄 | |
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67 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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68 velocity | |
n.速度,速率 | |
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69 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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70 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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71 abashed | |
adj.窘迫的,尴尬的v.使羞愧,使局促,使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72 conversing | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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73 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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74 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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75 solicitude | |
n.焦虑 | |
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76 solicit | |
vi.勾引;乞求;vt.请求,乞求;招揽(生意) | |
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77 pertinacious | |
adj.顽固的 | |
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78 enjoined | |
v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79 forfeited | |
(因违反协议、犯规、受罚等)丧失,失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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81 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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82 malicious | |
adj.有恶意的,心怀恶意的 | |
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83 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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84 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85 remissness | |
n.玩忽职守;马虎;怠慢;不小心 | |
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86 dignify | |
vt.使有尊严;使崇高;给增光 | |
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87 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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88 scrutiny | |
n.详细检查,仔细观察 | |
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89 obviate | |
v.除去,排除,避免,预防 | |
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90 surmises | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的第三人称单数 );揣测;猜想 | |
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91 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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92 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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93 watchful | |
adj.注意的,警惕的 | |
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94 absconding | |
v.(尤指逃避逮捕)潜逃,逃跑( abscond的现在分词 ) | |
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95 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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96 persecuting | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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97 viper | |
n.毒蛇;危险的人 | |
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98 repel | |
v.击退,抵制,拒绝,排斥 | |
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99 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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