MRS. Arlbery accompanied Camilla the next day to Cleves, to ask permission of Mr. Tyrold for the excursion. She would trust the request to none but herself, conscious of powers of persuasion1 unused to repulse2.
Mr. Tyrold was distressed4 by the proposition: he was not satisfied in trusting his unguarded Camilla to the dissipation of a public place, except under the wing of her mother; though he felt eager to remove her from Edgar, and rejoiced in any opportunity to allow her a change of scene, that might revive her natural spirits, and unchain her heart from its unhappy subjection.
Perceiving him undetermined, Mrs. Arlbery called forth6 all her artillery7 of eloquence8 and grace, to forward her conquest. The licence she allowed herself in common of fantastic command, gave way to the more feminine attraction of soft pleading: her satire9, which, though never malignant10, was often alarming, was relinquished11 for a sportive gaiety that diffused12 general animation13; and Mr. Tyrold soon, though not caught like his daughter, ceased to wonder that his daughter had been caught.
In this indecision he took Camilla apart, and bad her tell him, without fear or reserve, her own feelings, her own wishes, her own opinion upon this scheme. She held such a call too serious and too kind for disguise: she hid her face upon his shoulder and wept; he soothed14 and encouraged her to confidence; and in broken accents, she then acknowledged herself unequal, as yet, to fulfilling his injunctions of appearing cheerful and easy, though sensible of their wisdom.
Mr. Tyrold, with a heavy heart, saw how much deeper was her wound, than the airiness of her nature had prepared him to expect, and could no longer hesitate in granting his consent. He saw it was her wish to go; but he saw that the pleasures of a public place had no share in exciting it. To avoid betraying her conscious mortification15 was her sole and innocent motive16; and though he would rather have sent her to a more private spot, and have trusted her to a more retired17 character; he yet thought it possible, that what opportunity presented unsought, might, eventually, prove more beneficial than what his own choice would have dictated18; for public amusements, to the young and unhackneyed, give entertainment without requiring exertion19; and spirits lively as those of Mrs. Arlbery create nearly as much gaiety as they display.
Fixed20, now, for the journey, he carried Camilla to her uncle to take leave. The prospect21 of not seeing her again for six weeks was gloomy to Sir Hugh; though he bore it better at this moment, when his fancy was occupied by arranging preparations for the return of Clermont, than he could have done at almost any other. He put into her hand a fifty pound Bank note for her expences, and when, with mingled22 modesty23 and dejection, she would have returned the whole, as unnecessary even to her wishes, Mr. Tyrold, interfering24, made her accept twenty pounds. Sir Hugh pressed forward the original sum in vain; his brother, though her always averse25 to refuse his smallest desire, thought it here a duty to be firm, that the excursion, which he granted as a relief to her sadness, might not lead to pleasures ever after beyond her reach, nor to their concomitant extravagance. She could not, he knew, reside at Tunbridge with the oeconomy and simplicity26 to which she was accustomed at Etherington; but he charged her to let no temptation make her forget the moderate income of which alone she was certain; assuring her, that where a young woman’s expences exceeded her known expectations, those who were foremost to praise her elegance27, would most fear to form any connection with her, and most despise or deride28 her in any calamity29.
Camilla found no difficulty in promising30 the most exact observance of this instruction; her heart seemed in sackcloth and ashes, and she cared not in what manner her person should be arrayed.
Sir Hugh earnestly enjoined31 her not to fail to be at Cleves upon the arrival of Clermont, intimating that the nuptials32 would immediately take place.
She then sought Eugenia, whom she found with Dr. Orkborne, in a state of mind so perfectly33 calm and composed, as equally to surprise and rejoice her. She saw with pleasure that all Bellamy had inspired was the most artless compassion34; for since his dismission had now positively35 been given, and Clermont was actually summoned, she devoted36 her thoughts solely37 to the approaching event, with the firm, though early wisdom which distinguished38 her character.
Indiana joined them; and, in a low voice, said to Camilla, ‘Pray, cousin, do you know where Mr. Macdersey is? because I am sadly afraid he’s dead.’
Camilla, surprised, desired to know why she had such an apprehension39?
‘Because he told me he’d shoot himself through the brains if I was cruel-and I am sure I had no great choice given me: for, between ourselves, Miss Margland gave all the answers for me, without once stopping to ask me what I should chuse. So if he has really done it, the fault is more her’s than mine.’
She then said that just after Camilla’s departure the preceding day, Mr. Macdersey arrived, and insisted upon seeing her, and speaking to Sir Hugh, as he was ordered into Kent, and could not go so far in suspence. Sir Hugh was not well enough to admit him; and Miss Margland, upon whom the office devolved, took upon her to give him a positive refusal; and though she went into the room while he was there, never once would let her make an answer for herself.
Miss Margland, she added, had frightened Sir Hugh into forbidding him the house, by comparing him with Mr. Bellamy; but Mr. Macdersey had frightened them all enough, in return, as he went away, by saying, that as soon as ever Sir Hugh was well, he would call him out, because of his sending him word down stairs not to come to Cleves any more, for he had been disturbed enough already by another Irish fortune-hunter, that came after another of his nieces; and he was the more sure Mr. Macdersey was one of them, because of his being a real Irishman while Mr. Bellamy was only an Englishman. ‘But don’t you think now, cousin,’ she continued, ‘Miss Margland might as well have let me speak for myself?’
Camilla inquired if she was sorry for the rejection40.
‘N... o,’ she answered, with some hesitation41; ‘for Miss Margland says he’s got no rent-roll; besides, I don’t think he’s so agreeable as Mr. Melmond; only Mr. Melmond’s worth little or no fortune they say: for Miss Margland inquired about it, after Mr. Mandlebert behaved so. Else I can’t say I thought Mr. Melmond disagreeable.’
Mrs. Arlbery now sent to hasten Camilla, who, in returning to the parlour, met Edgar. He had just gathered her intended excursion, and, sick at heart, had left the room. Camilla felt the consciousness of a guilty person at his sight; but he only slightly bowed; and coldly saying, ‘I hope you will have much pleasure at Tunbridge,’ went on to his own room.
And there, replete42 with resentment43 for the whole of her late conduct, he again blessed Dr. Marchmont for his preservation44 from her toils45; and, concluding the excursion was for the sake of the Major, whose regiment46 he knew to be just ordered into Kent, he centered every former hope in the one single wish that he might never see her more.
Camilla, shocked by such obvious displeasure, quitted Cleves with still increasing sadness; and Mrs. Arlbery would heartily47 have repented49 her invitation, but for her dependance upon Sir Sedley Clarendel.
At Etherington they stopt, that Camilla might prepare her package for Tunbridge. Mrs. Arlbery would not alight.
While Camilla, with a maid-servant, was examining her drawers, the chamber50 door was opened by Lionel, for whom she had just inquired, and who, telling her he wanted to speak to her in private, turned the maid out of the room.
Camilla begged him to be quick, as Mrs. Arlbery was waiting.
‘Why then, my dear little girl,’ cried he, ‘the chief substance of the matter is neither more nor less than this: I want a little money.’
‘My dear brother,’ said Camilla, pleasure again kindling51 in her eyes as she opened her pocket-book, ‘you could never have applied52 to me so opportunely53. I have just got twenty pounds, and I do not want twenty shillings. Take it, I beseech54 you, any part, or all.’
Lionel paused and seemed half choaked. ‘Camilla,’ he cried presently, ‘you are an excellent girl. If you were as old and ugly as Miss Margland, I really believe I should think you young and pretty. But this sum is nothing. A drop of water to the ocean.’
Camilla now, drawing back, disappointed and displeased55, asked how it was possible he should want more.
‘More, my dear child? why I want two or three cool hundred.’
‘Two or three hundred?’ repeated she, amazed.
‘Nay56, nay, don’t be frightened. My uncle will give you two or three thousand, you know that. And I really want the money. It’s no joke, I assure you. It’s a case of real distress3.’
‘Distress? impossible! what distress can you have to so prodigious57 an amount?’
‘Prodigious! poor little innocent! dost think two or three hundred prodigious?’
‘And what is become of the large sums extorted58 from my uncle Relvil?’
‘O that was for quite another thing. That was for debts. That’s gone and over. This is for a perfectly different purpose.’
‘And will nothing–O Lionel!-nothing touch you? My poor mother’s quitting England... her separation from my father and her family... my uncle Relvil’s severe attack... will nothing move you to more thoughtful, more praise-worthy conduct?’
‘Camilla, no preaching! I might as well cast myself upon the old ones at once. I come to you in preference, on purpose to avoid sermonising. However, for your satisfaction, and to spur you to serve me, I can assure you I have avoided all new debts since the last little deposit of the poor sick hypochondriac miser59, who is pining away at the loss of a few guineas, that he had neither spirit nor health to have spent for himself.’
‘Is this your reasoning, your repentance60, Lionel, upon such a catastrophe61?’
‘My dear girl, I am heartily concerned at the whole business, only, as it’s over, I don’t like talking of it. This is the last scrape I shall ever be in while I live. But if you won’t help me, I am undone62. You know your influence with my uncle. Do, there’s a dear girl, use it for your brother! I have not a dependance in the world, now, but upon you!’
‘Certainly I will do whatever I can for you,’ said she, sighing; ‘but indeed, my dear Lionel, your manner of going on makes my very heart ache! However, let this twenty pounds be in part, and tell me your very smallest calculation for what must be added?’
‘Two hundred. A farthing less will be of no use; and three will be of thrice the service. But mind!... you must not say it’s for me!’
‘How, then, can I ask for it?’
‘O, vamp up some dismal63 ditty.’
‘No, Lionel!’ exclaimed she, turning away from him; ‘you propose what you know to be impracticable.’
‘Well, then, if you must needs say it’s for me, tell him he must not for his life own it to the old ones.’
‘In the same breath, must I beg and command?’
‘O, I always make that my bargain. I should else be put into the lecture room, and not let loose again till I was made a milksop. They’d talk me so into the vapours, I should not be able to act like a man for a month to come.’
‘A man, Lionel?’
‘Yes, a man of the world, my dear; a knowing one.’
Mrs. Arlbery now sent to hasten her, and he extorted a promise that she would go to Cleves the next morning, and procure64 a draft for the money, if possible, to be ready for his calling at the Grove65 in the afternoon.
She felt this more deeply than she had time or courage to own to Lionel but her increased melancholy66 was all imputed67 to reflection, concerning Mandlebert by Mrs. Arlbery.
* * *
That lady lent her chaise the next morning, with her usual promptitude of good humour, and Camilla went to Cleves, with a reluctance68 that never before accompanied her desire to oblige.
Her visit was received most kindly69 by all the family, as merely an additional leave taking; in which light, though she was too sincere to place it, she suffered it to pass. Having no chance of being alone with her uncle by accident, she was forced to beg him, in a whisper, to request a tête-à-tête with her: and she then, covered with all the confusion of a partner in his extravagance, made the petition of Lionel.
Sir Hugh seemed much surprised, but protested he would rather part with his coat and waistcoat than refuse anything to Camilla. He gave her instantly a draft upon his banker for two hundred pounds; but added, he should take it very kind of her, if she would beg Lionel to ask him for no more this year, as he was really so hard run, he should not else be able to make proper preparations for the wedding, till his next rents became due.
Camilla was now surprised in her turn; and Sir Hugh then confessed, that, between presents and petitions, his nephew had had no less than five hundred pounds from him the preceding year, unknown to his parents; and that for this year, the sum she requested made the seventh hundred; without the least account for what purpose it was given.
Camilla now heartily repented being a partner in a business so rapacious70, so unjustifiable, and so mysterious; but, kindly interrupting her apology, ‘Don’t be concerned, my dear,’ he cried, ‘for there’s no help for these things; though what the young boys do with all their money now-a-days, is odd enough, being what I can’t make out. However, he’ll soon be wiser, so we must not be too severe with him; though I told him, the last time, I had rather he would not ask me so often; which was being almost too sharp, I’m afraid, considering his youngness; for one can’t expect him to be an old man at once.’
Camilla gave voluntarily her word no such application should find her its ambassadress again: and though he would have dispensed71 with the promise, she made it the more readily as a guard against her own facility.
‘At least,’ cried the baronet, ‘say nothing to my poor brother, and more especially to your mother; it being but vexatious to such good parents to hear of such idleness, not knowing what to think of it; for it is a great secret, he says, what he does with it all; for which reason one can’t expect him to tell it. My poor brother, to be sure, had rather he should be studying hic, h?|c, hoc; but, Lord help him! I believe he knows no more of that than I do myself; and I never could make out much meaning of it, any further than it’s being Latin; though I suppose, at the time, Dr. Orkborne might explain it to me, taking it for granted he did what was right.’
Camilla was most willing to agree to concealing72 from her parents what she knew must so painfully afflict73 them, though she determined5 to assume sufficient courage to expostulate most seriously with her brother, against whom she felt sensations of the most painful anger.
Again she now took leave; but upon re-entering the parlour, found Edgar there alone.
Involuntarily she was retiring; but the counsel of her father recurring74 to her, she compelled herself to advance, and say, ‘How good you have been to Eugenia! how greatly are we all indebted for your kind vigilance and exertion!’
Edgar, who was reading, and knew not she was in the house, was surprised, both by her sight and her address, out of all his resolutions; and, with a softness of voice he meant evermore to deny himself, answered, ‘To me? can any of the Tyrold family talk of being indebted to me?-my own obligations to all, to every individual of that name, have been the pride, have been-hitherto-the happiness of my life!–’
The word ‘hitherto,’ which had escaped, affected75 him: he stopt, recollected76 himself, and presently, more drily added, ‘Those obligations would be still much increased, if I might flatter myself that one of that race, to whom I have ventured to play the officious part of a brother, could forget those lectures, she can else, I fear, with difficulty pardon.’
‘You have found me unworthy your counsel,’ answered Camilla, gravely, and looking down; ‘you have therefore concluded I resent it: but we are not always completely wrong, even when wide from being right, I have not been culpable77 of quite so much folly78 as not to feel what I have owed to your good offices; nor am I now guilty of the injustice79 to blame their being withdrawn80. You do surely what is wisest, though not-perhaps-what is kindest.’
To these last words she forced a smile; and, wishing him good morning, hurried away.
Amazed past expression, and touched to the soul, he remained, a few instants, immoveable; then, resolving to follow her, and almost resolving to throw himself at her feet, he opened the door she had shut after her: he saw her still in the hall, but she was in the arms of her father and sisters, who had all descended81, upon hearing she had left Sir Hugh, and of whom she was now taking leave.
Upon his appearance, she said she could no longer keep the carriage; but, as she hastened from the hall, he saw that her eyes were swimming in tears.
Her father saw it too, with less surprise, but more pain. He knew her short and voluntary absence from her friends could not excite them: his heart ached with paternal82 concern for her; and, motioning everybody else to remain in the hall, he walked with her to the carriage himself, saying, in a low voice, as he put her in, ‘Be of better courage, my dearest child. Endeavour to take pleasure where you are going-and to forget what you are leaving: and, if you wish to feel or to give contentment upon earth, remember always, you must seek to make circumstance contribute to happiness, not happiness subservient83 to circumstance.’
Camilla, bathing his hand with her tears, promised this maxim84 should never quit her mind till they met again.
She then drove off.
‘Yes,’ she cried, ‘I must indeed study it; Edgar cares no more what becomes of me! resentment next to antipathy85 has taken place of his friendship and esteem86!’
She wrote down in her pocket-book the last words of her father; she resolved to read them daily, and to make them the current lesson of her future and disappointed life.
* * *
Lionel, too impatient to wait for the afternoon, was already at the Grove, and handed her from the chaise. But, stopping her in the portico87, ‘Well,’ he cried, ‘where’s my draft?’
‘Before I give it you,’ said she, seriously, and walking from the servants, ‘I must entreat88 to speak a few words to you.’
‘You have really got it, then?’ cried he, in a rapture89; ‘you are a charming girl! the most charming girl I know in the world! I won’t take your poor twenty pounds: I would not touch it for the world. But come, where’s the draft? Is it for the two or the three?’
‘For the two; and surely, my dear Lionel–’
‘For the two? O, plague take it!-only for the two?–And when will you get me the odd third?’
‘O brother! O Lionel! what a question! Will you make me repent48, instead of rejoice, in the pleasure I have to assist you?’
‘Why, when he was about it, why could he not as well come down like a gentleman at once? I am sure I always behaved very handsomely to him.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Why, I never frightened him; never put him beside his poor wits, like t’other poor nuncle. I don’t remember I ever did him an ill turn in my life, except wanting Dr. Pothook, there, to flog him a little for not learning his book. It would have been a rare sight if he had!–Don’t you think so?’
‘Rare, indeed, I hope!’
‘Why, now, what could he have done, if the Doctor had really performed it? He could not in justice have found fault, when he put himself to school to him. But he’d have felt a little queer. Don’t you think he would?’
‘You only want to make me laugh, to prevent my speaking to the purpose; but I am not disposed to laugh; and therefore–’
‘O, if you are not disposed to laugh, you are no company for me. Give me my draft, therefore.’
‘If you will not hear, I hope, at least, Lionel, you will think; and that may be much more efficacious. Shall I put up the twenty? I really do not want it. And it is all, all, all I can ever procure you! Remember that!’
‘What?-all?-this all?-what, not even the other little mean hundred?’
‘No, my dear brother! I have promised my uncle no further application–’
‘Why what a stingy, fusty old codger, to draw such a promise from you!’
‘Hold, hold, Lionel! I cannot endure to hear you speak in such a manner of such an uncle! the best, the most benevolent90, the most indulgent–’
‘Lord, child, don’t be so precise and old maidish. Don’t you know it’s a relief to a man’s mind to swear, and say a few cutting things when he’s in a passion? when all the time he would no more do harm to the people he swears at, than you would, that mince91 out all your words as if you were talking treason, and thought every man a spy that heard you. Besides, how is a man the worse for a little friendly curse or two, provided he does not hear it? It’s a very innocent refreshment92 to a man’s mind, my dear; only you know nothing of the world.’
Mrs. Arlbery now approaching, he hastily took the draft, and, after a little hesitation, the twenty pounds, telling her, if she would not ask for him, she must ask for herself, and that he felt no compunction, as he was certain she might draw upon her uncle for every guinea he was worth.
He then heartily embraced her; said she was the best girl in the world, when she did not mount the pulpit, and rode off.
Camilla felt no concern at the loss of her twenty pounds: lowered and unhappy, she was rather glad than sorry that her means for being abroad were diminished, and that to keep her own room would soon be most convenient.
The next day was fixed for the journey.
1 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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2 repulse | |
n.击退,拒绝;vt.逐退,击退,拒绝 | |
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3 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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4 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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5 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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6 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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7 artillery | |
n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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8 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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9 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
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10 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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11 relinquished | |
交出,让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 ); 放弃 | |
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12 diffused | |
散布的,普及的,扩散的 | |
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13 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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14 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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15 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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16 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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17 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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18 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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19 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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20 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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21 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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22 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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23 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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24 interfering | |
adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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25 averse | |
adj.厌恶的;反对的,不乐意的 | |
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26 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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27 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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28 deride | |
v.嘲弄,愚弄 | |
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29 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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30 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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31 enjoined | |
v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32 nuptials | |
n.婚礼;婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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33 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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34 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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35 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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36 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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37 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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38 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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39 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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40 rejection | |
n.拒绝,被拒,抛弃,被弃 | |
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41 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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42 replete | |
adj.饱满的,塞满的;n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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43 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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44 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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45 toils | |
网 | |
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46 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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47 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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48 repent | |
v.悔悟,悔改,忏悔,后悔 | |
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49 repented | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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51 kindling | |
n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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52 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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53 opportunely | |
adv.恰好地,适时地 | |
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54 beseech | |
v.祈求,恳求 | |
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55 displeased | |
a.不快的 | |
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56 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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57 prodigious | |
adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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58 extorted | |
v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 );曲解 | |
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59 miser | |
n.守财奴,吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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60 repentance | |
n.懊悔 | |
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61 catastrophe | |
n.大灾难,大祸 | |
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62 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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63 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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64 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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65 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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66 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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67 imputed | |
v.把(错误等)归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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69 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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70 rapacious | |
adj.贪婪的,强夺的 | |
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71 dispensed | |
v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 );施与;配(药) | |
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72 concealing | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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73 afflict | |
vt.使身体或精神受痛苦,折磨 | |
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74 recurring | |
adj.往复的,再次发生的 | |
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75 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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76 recollected | |
adj.冷静的;镇定的;被回忆起的;沉思默想的v.记起,想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77 culpable | |
adj.有罪的,该受谴责的 | |
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78 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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79 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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80 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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81 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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82 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
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83 subservient | |
adj.卑屈的,阿谀的 | |
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84 maxim | |
n.格言,箴言 | |
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85 antipathy | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
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86 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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87 portico | |
n.柱廊,门廊 | |
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88 entreat | |
v.恳求,恳请 | |
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89 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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90 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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91 mince | |
n.切碎物;v.切碎,矫揉做作地说 | |
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92 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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