WHEN Camilla descended1, she found Sir Sedley Clarendel and General Kinsale in attendance; and saw, from the parlour window, Miss Dennel sauntering before the house, with the newly made acquaintance of the preceding evening.
The Baronet, who was to drive Mrs. Arlbery, enquired2 if Camilla would not prefer, also, an open carriage. Mrs. Arlbery seconded the motion. Miss Dennel, then, running to her father, exclaimed, ‘Pray, papa, let’s take this lady I’ve been talking with in the coach with us. She’s the good-naturedest creature I ever knew.’
‘Who is she? what’s her name?’
‘O, I don’t know that, papa; but I’ll go and ask her.’
Flying then back, ‘Pray, ma’am,’ she cried, ‘what’s your name? because papa wants to know.’
‘Why, my dear, my name’s Mittin. So you may think of me when you put on your gloves.’
‘Papa, her name’s Mittin,’ cried Miss Dennel, scampering3 again to her father.
‘Well, and who is she?’
‘O, la, I’m sure I can’t tell, only she’s a gentlewoman.’
‘And how do you know that?’
‘She told me so herself.’
‘And where does she live?’
‘Just by, papa, at that house you see there.’
‘O, well, if she’s a neighbour, that’s enough. I’ve no more to say.’
‘O, then, I’ll ask her!’ cried Miss Dennel, jumping, ‘dear! I’m so glad! ’twould have been so dull, only papa and I. I’m resolved, when I’ve a house of my own, I’ll never go alone any where with papa.’
This being muttered, the invitation was made and accepted, and the parties set forward.
The ride was perfectly4 pleasing to Camilla, now revived and chearful; Sir Sedley was free from airs; Mrs. Arlbery drew them into conversation with one another, and none of them were glad when Mr. Dennel, called ‘stop! or you’ll drive too far.’
Camilla, who, supposing she was going, as usual, to the Pantiles, had got into the phaeton without inquiry5; and who, finding afterwards her mistake, concluded they were merely taking an airing, now observed she was advancing towards a crowd, and presently perceived a booth, and an immense sign hung out from it, exhibiting a man monkey, or ourang outang.
Though excessively fluttered, she courageously7, and at once, told Mrs. Arlbery she begged to be excused proceeding8.
Mrs. Arlbery, who had heard, at the play, the general objections of Mandlebert, though she had not attended to her answer, conjectured9 her reason for retreating, and laughed, but said she would not oppose her.
Camilla then begged to wait in Mr. Dennel’s carriage, that she might keep no one else from the show. Sir Sedley, saying it would be an excruciatingly vulgar sight, proposed they should all return; but she pleaded strongly against breaking up the party, though, while she was handed out, to go back to the coach, the Dennels and Mrs. Mittin had alighted, and it had driven off.
The chagrin10 of Camilla was so palpable, that Mrs. Arlbery herself agreed to resign the scheme; and Sir Sedley, who drew up to them, said he should rejoice in being delivered from it: but Miss Dennel, who was waiting without the booth for her aunt, was ready to cry at the thought of losing the sight, which Mrs. Mittin had assured her was extremely pretty; and, after some discussion, Camilla was reduced to beg she might do no mischief11, and consent to make one.
A more immediate12 distress13 now occurred to her; she heard Mr. Dennel call out to the man stationed at the entrance of the booth, ‘What’s to pay?’ and recollected14 she had no money left.
‘What your Honor pleases,’ was the answer, ‘but gentlefolks gives half-a-crown.’
‘I’m sure it’s well worth it,’ said Mrs. Mittin, ‘for it’s one of the most curious things you ever saw. You can’t give less, sir.’ And she passed nimbly by, without paying at all: but added, ‘I had a ticket the first day, and now I come every day for nothing, if it don’t rain, for one only need to pay at first.’
Mr. Dennel and his daughter followed, and Camilla was beginning a hesitating speech to Mrs. Arlbery, as that lady, not attending to her, said to Mr. Dennel: ‘Well, frank me also; but take care what you pay; I’m not at all sure I shall ever return it. All I save goes to my ponies16.’ And, handed by the General, she crossed the barrier; not hearing the voice of her young friend, which was timidly beseeching17 her to stop.
Camilla was now in extreme confusion. She put her hand into her pocket, took it out, felt again, and again brought forth18 the hand empty.
The Major, who was before her, and who watched her, begged leave to settle with the booth-keeper; but Camilla, to whom he grew daily more irksome, again preferred a short obligation to the Baronet, and blushingly asked if he would once more be her banker?
Sir Sedley, by no means suspecting the necessity that urged this condescension19, was surprised and delighted, and almost without knowing it himself, became all that was attentive20, obliging, and pleasing.
Before they were seated, the young Ensign, Mr. Macdersey, issuing from a group of gentlemen, addressed himself to Camilla, though with an air that spoke21 him much discomposed and out of spirits. ‘I hope you are well, Miss Camilla Tyrold,’ he cried; ‘and have left all your family well? particularly the loveliest of your sex, that angel of beauty, the divine Miss Lynmere?’
‘Except the company present!’ said Mrs. Arlbery; ‘always except the company present, when you talk of beauty to women.’
‘I would not except even the company absent!’ replied he, with warmth; but was interrupted from proceeding, by what the master of the booth called his Consort23 of Musics: in which not less than twenty monkies contributed their part; one dreadfully scraping a bow across the strings24 of a vile25 kit26, another beating a drum, another with a fife, a fourth with a bagpipe27, and the sixteen remainder striking together tongs28, shovels29, and pokers30, by way of marrowbones and cleavers31. Every body stopt their ears, though no one could forbear laughing at their various contortions32, and horrible grimaces33, till the master of the booth, to keep them, he said, in tune34, dealt about such fierce blows with a stick, that they set up a general howling, which he called the Wocal part of his Consort, not more stunning35 to the ear, than offensive to all humanity. The audience applauded by loud shouts, but Mrs. Arlbery, disgusted, rose to quit the booth. Camilla eagerly started up to second the motion, but her eyes still more expeditiously36 turned from the door, upon encountering those of Edgar; who, having met the empty coach of Mr. Dennel, had not been able to refrain from inquiring where its company had been deposited; nor, upon hearing it was at the accomplished37 Monkies, from hastening to the spot, to satisfy himself if or not Camilla had been steady to her declaration. But he witnessed at once the propriety38 of his advice, and its failure.
The master of the booth could not endure to see the departure of the most brilliant part of his spectators, and made an harangue39, promising40 the company, at large, if they would submit to postponing41 the Consort, in order to oblige his friends the Quality, they should have it, with the newest squalls in taste, afterwards.
The people laughed and clapped, and Mrs. Arlbery sat down.
In a few minutes, the performers were ready for a new exhibition. They were dressed up as soldiers, who, headed by a corporal, came forward to do their exercises.
Mrs. Arlbery, laughing, told the General, as he was upon duty, he should himself take the command: the General, a pleasant, yet cool and sensible man, did not laugh less; but the Ensign, more warm tempered, and wrong headed, seeing a feather in a monkey’s cap, of the same colour, by chance, as in his own, fired with hasty indignation, and rising, called out to the master of the booth: ‘What do you mean by this, sir? do you mean to put an affront42 upon our corps43?’
The man, startled, was going most humbly44 to protest his innocence45 of any such design; but the laugh raised against the Ensign amongst the audience gave him more courage, and he only simpered without speaking.
‘What do you mean by grinning at me, sir?’ said Macdersey; ‘do you want me to cane46 you?’
‘Cane me!’ cried the man enraged47, ‘by what rights?’
Macdersey, easily put off all guard, was stepping over the benches, with his cane uplifted, when his next neighbour, tightly holding him, said, in a half whisper, ‘If you’ll take my advice, you’d a deal better provoke him to strike the first blow.’
Macdersey, far more irritated by this counsel than by the original offence, fiercely looked back, calling out ‘The first blow! What do you mean by that, sir?’
‘No offence, sir,’ answered the person, who was no other than the slow and solemn Mr. Dubster; ‘but only to give you a hint for your own good; for if you strike first, being in his own house, as one may say, he may take the law of you.’
‘The law!’ repeated the fiery48 Ensign; ‘the law was made for poltroons: a man of honour does not know what it means.’
‘If you talk at that rate, sir,’ said Dubster, in a low voice, ‘it may bring you into trouble.’
‘And who are you, sir, that take upon you the presumption49 to give me your opinion?’
‘Who am I, sir? I am a gentleman, if you must needs know.’
‘A gentleman! who made you so?’
‘Who made me so? why leaving off business! what would you have make me so? you may tell me if you are any better, if you come to that.’
Macdersey, of an ancient and respectable family, incensed50 past measure, was turning back upon Mr. Dubster; when the General, taking him gently by the hand, begged he would recollect15 himself.
‘That’s very true, sir, very true, General!’ cried he, profoundly bowing; ‘what you say is very true. I have no right to put myself into a passion before my superior officer, unless he puts me into it himself; in which case ’tis his own fault. So I beg your pardon, General, with all my heart. And I’ll go out of the booth without another half syllable51. But if ever I detect any of those monkies mocking us, and wearing our feathers, when you a’n’t by, I sha’n’t put up with it so mildly. I hope you’ll excuse me, General.’
He then bowed to him again, and begged pardon of all the ladies; but, in quitting the booth, contemptuously said to Mr. Dubster: ‘As to you, you little dirty fellow, you a’n’t worth my notice.’
‘Little dirty fellow!’ repeated Mr. Dubster, when he was gone; ‘How come you to think of that? why I’m as clean as hands can make me!’
‘Come, sir, come,’ said Mrs. Mittin, reaching over to him, and stroking his arm, ‘don’t be angry; these things will happen, sometimes, in public companies; but gentlemen should be above minding them. He meant no harm, I dare say.’
‘O, as to that, ma’am,’ answered Mr. Dubster proudly, ‘I don’t much care if he did or not: it’s no odds52 to me. Only I don’t know much what right he has to defame me. I wonder who he thinks he is that he may break the peace for nothing, I can’t say I’m much a friend to such behaviour. Treating people with so little ceremony.’
‘I protest,’ cried Sir Sedley to Camilla, “tis your favourite swain from the Northwick assembly! wafted53 on some zephyr54 of Hope, he has pursued you to Tunbridge. I flatter myself he has brought his last bran new cloaths to claim your fair hand at the master of the ceremonies’ ball.’
‘Hush55! hush!’ cried Camilla, in a low voice; ‘he will take you literally56 should he hear you!’
Mr. Dubster, now perceiving her, bowed low from the place where he stood, and called out, ‘How do you do, ma’am? I ask pardon for not speaking to you before; but I can’t say as I see you.’
Camilla was forced to bow, though she made no answer. But he continued with his usual steadiness; ‘Why, that was but a unked morning we was together so long, ma’am, in my new summerhouse. We was in fine jeopardy57, that’s the truth of it. Pray, how does the young gentleman do as took away our ladder?’
‘What a delectable58 acquaintance!’ cried Sir Sedley; ‘would you have the cruelty to keep such a treasure to yourself? present me, I supplicate59!’
‘O, I know you well enough, sir,’ said Mr. Dubster, who overheard him; ‘I see you at the hop22 at the White Hart; and I believe you know me pretty well too, sir, if I may take account by your staring. Not that I mind it in the least.’
‘Come, come, don’t be touchy,’ said Mrs. Mittin; ‘can’t you be good-natured, and hold your tongue? what signifies taking things amiss? It only breeds ill words.’
‘That’s very sensibly observed upon!’ said Mr. Dennel; ‘I don’t know when I’ve heard any thing more sensibly said.’
‘O, as to that, I don’t take it amiss in the least,’ cried Mr. Dubster; ‘if the gentleman’s a mind to stare, let him stare. Only I should like to know what it’s for. It’s no better than child’s play, as one may say, making one look foolish for nothing.’
The ourang outang was now announced, and Mrs. Arlbery immediately left the booth, accompanied by her party, and speedily followed by Edgar.
Neither of the carriages were in waiting, but they would not return to the booth. Sir Sedley, to whom standing60 was still rather inconvenient61, begged a cast in the carriage of a friend, who was accidentally passing by.
Macdersey, who joined them, said he had been considering what that fellow had proposed to him, of taking the first blow, and found he could not put up with it: and upon the appearance of Mr. Dubster, who in quitting the booth was preparing, with his usual leisurely62 solemnity, to approach Camilla, darted63 forward and seizing him by the collar, exclaimed, ‘Retract64, sir! Retract!’
Mr. Dubster stared, at first, without speech or opposition65; but being released by the Major, whom the General begged to interfere66, he angrily said: ‘Pray, sir, what business have you to take hold of a body in such a manner as that? It’s an assault, sir, and so I can prove. And I’m glad of it; for now I can serve you as I did another gentleman once before, that I smarted out of a good ten pound out of his pocket, for a knock he gave me, for a mere6 nothing, just like this here pulling one by the collar, nobody knows why.’
The Major, endeavouring to quiet Macdersey, advised him to despise so low a person.
‘So I will, my dear friend,’ he returned, ‘as soon as ever I have given him the proper chastisement67 for his ignorance. But I must do that first. You won’t take it ill, Major.’
‘I believe,’ cried Mr. Dubster, holding up both his hands, ‘the like of this was never heard of! Here’s a gentleman, as he calls himself, ready to take away my life, with his own good will, for nothing but giving him a little bit of advice! However, it’s all one to me. The law is open to all. And if any one plays their tricks upon me, they shall pay for their fun. I’m none of your tame ones to put up with such a thing for nothing. I’m above that, I promise you.’
‘Don’t talk, sir, don’t talk!’ cried Macdersey; ‘it’s a thing I can’t bear from a mean person, to be talked to. I had a hundred thousand times rather stand to be shot at.’
‘Not talk, sir? I should be glad to know what right you has to hinder me, provided I say nothing against the law? And as to being a mean person, it’s more than you can prove, for I’m sure you don’t know who I am, nor nothing about me. I may be a lord, for any thing you know, though I don’t pretend to say I am. But as to what people take me for, that behave so out of character, it’s what I sha’n’t trouble my head about. They may take me for a chimney-sweeper, or they may take me for a duke; which they like. I sha’n’t tell them whether I’m one or t’other, or whether I’m neither. And as to not talking, I shall hold my tongue when I think proper.’
‘Ask my pardon this instant, fellow!’ cried the Ensign, whom the Major, at the motion of the General, now caught by the arm, and hurried from the spot: Mrs. Mittin, at the same moment pulling away Mr. Dubster, and notably68 expounding69 to him the advantages of patience and good humour.
Mrs. Arlbery, wearied both of this squabble and of waiting, took the arm of the General, and said she would walk home; Miss Dennel lovingly held by Mrs. Mittin, with whom her father also assorted70, and by whom Mr. Dubster was drawn71 on.
Camilla alone had no immediate companion, as the Major was occupied by the Ensign. Edgar saw her disengaged. He trembled, he wavered; he wished the Major back; he wished him still more at a distance too remote ever to return; he thought he would instantly mount his horse, and gallop72 towards Beech73 Park; but the horse was not ready, and Camilla was in sight;-and, in less than a minute, he found himself, scarce knowing how, at her side.
Camilla felt a pleasure that bounded to her heart, though the late assertions of Mrs. Arlbery prepared her to expect him. He knew not, however, what to say; he felt mortified74 and disappointed, and when he had uttered something scarce intelligible75 about the weather, he walked on in silence.
Camilla, whose present train of thoughts had no discordant76 tendency, broke through this strangeness herself, and said: ‘How frivolous77 I must appear to you! but indeed I was at the very door of the booth, before I knew whither the party was going.’
‘You did not, I hope, at least,’ he cried, ‘when you had entered it, deem me too rigid78, too austere79, that I thought the species, both of company and of entertainment, ill calculated for a young lady?’
‘Rigid! austere!’ repeated she; ‘I never thought you either! never-and if once again–’ she stopt; embarrassed, ashamed.
‘If once again what?’ cried he in a tremulous voice; ‘what would Miss Camilla say?-would she again–Is there yet–What would Miss Camilla say?–’
Camilla felt confounded, both with ideas of what he meant to allude80 to, and what construction he had put upon her half finished sentence. Impatient, however, to clear that, ‘If once more,’ she cried, ‘you could prevail with yourself-now and then-from time to time-to give me an hint, an idea-of what you think right–I will promise, if not a constant observance, at least a never-failing sense of your kindness.’
The revulsion in the heart, in the whole frame of Edgar, was almost too powerful for restraint: he panted for an immediate explanation of every past and every present difficulty, and a final avowal81 that she was either self-destined to the Major, or that he had no rival to fear: But before he could make any answer, a sudden and violent shower broke up the conference, and grouped the whole party under a large tree.
This interruption, however, had no power upon their thoughts; neither of them heard a word that was saying; each ruminated82 intently, though confusedly, upon what already was passed. Yet where the wind precipitated83 the rain, Edgar stationed himself, and held his hat to intercept84 its passage to Camilla; and as her eye involuntarily was caught by the shower that pattered upon his head and shoulders, she insensibly pressed nearer to the trunk of the tree, to afford more shelter to him from its branches.
The rest of the party partook not of this taciturnity: Mr. Dubster, staring Mrs. Mittin full in the face, exclaimed: ‘I think I ought to know you, ma’am, asking your pardon?’
‘No matter for that!’ cried she, turning with quickness to Camilla; ‘Lord, miss–I don’t know your name,-how your poor hat is all I don’t know how! as limp, and as flimzy, as if it had been in a wash-tub!’
‘I’ve just bethought me,’ continued he, ‘where it was we used to see one another, and all the whole manner of it. I’ve got it as clear in my head as if it was but yesterday. Don’t you remember–’
‘Can’t you stand a little out, there?’ interrupted she; ‘what signifies a man’s old coat? don’t you see how you let all the rain come upon this young lady? you should never think of yourself, but only of what you can do to be obliging.’
‘A very good rule, that! a very good one indeed!’ said Mr. Dennel; ‘I wish everybody would mind it.’
‘I’m as willing to mind it, I believe,’ said Mr. Dubster, ‘as my neighbours; but as to being wet through, for mere complaisance85, I don’t think it fair to expect such a thing of nobody. Besides, this is not such an old coat as you may think for. If you was to see what I wear at home, I promise you would not think so bad of it. I don’t say it’s my best; who’d be fool then, to wear it every day? However, I believe it’s pretty nigh as good as that I had on that night I saw you at Mrs. Purdle’s , when, you know, one of your pattens–’
‘Come, come, what’s the man talking about? one person should not take all the conversation up so. Dear miss... do tell me your name?... I am so sorry for your hat, I can’t but think of it; it looks as dingy86!...’
‘Why, now, you won’t make me believe,’ said Mr. Dubster, ‘you’ve forgot how your patten broke; and how I squeezed my finger under the iron? And how I’d like to have lost the use of it? There would have been a fine job! And how Mrs. Purdle....’
‘I’m sure the shower’s over,’ cried Mrs. Mittin, ‘and if we stay here, we shall have all the droppings of the leaves upon us. Poor miss thing-o-me’s hat is spoilt already. There’s no need to make it worse.’
‘And how Mrs. Purdle,’ he continued, ‘was obliged to lend you a pair of shoes and stockings, because you was wet through your feet? And how they would not fit you, and kept tumbling off? And how, when somebody come to fetch you in their own coach, you made us say you was taken ill, because you was so daubed with mud and mire87, you was ashamed to shew yourself’? And how...’
‘I can’t think what you are talking of,’ said Mrs. Mittin; ‘but come, let’s you and I go a little way on, to see if the rain’s over.’ She then went some paces from the tree, and said: ‘What signifies running on so, Mr. Dubster, about things nobody knows any thing of? It’s tiring all the company to death. You should never talk about your own fingers, and hap-hazards, to genteel people. You should only talk about agreeable subjects as I do. See how they all like me! That gentleman brought me to the monkies in his own coach.’
‘As to that,’ answered he, gravely, ‘I did not mean, in the least, to say anything disagreeable; only I thought it odd you should not seem to know me again, considering Mrs. Purdle used–’
‘Why you’ve no nous, Mr. Dubster; Mrs. Purdle’s a very good sort of woman and the best friend I have in the world, perhaps, at the bottom; but she i’n’t a sort of person to talk of before gentlefolks. You should talk to great people about their own affairs, and what you can do to please them, and find out how you can serve them, if you’d be treated genteelly by them, as I am. Why, I go every where, and see every thing, and it costs me nothing. A friend, a lady of great fashion, took me one day to the monkies, and paid for me; and I’ve gone since, whenever I will, for nothing.’
‘Nobody treats me to nothing,’ answered he, in a melancholy88 voice, ‘whatever’s the reason: except when I make friends with somebody that can let me in free, sometimes. And I get a peep, now and then, at what goes forward, that way.’
‘But you are rich enough to pay for yourself now, Mr. Dubster; good lack! if I had such a fortune as yours, I’d go all the world over, and thanks to nobody.’
‘And how long would you be rich then, Mrs. Mittin? Who’d give you your money again when you’d spent it? I got mine hard enough. I sha’n’t fool it away in a hurry, I promise you!’
‘I can’t say I see that, Mr. Dubster, when two of your wives died so soon, and left you so handsome.’
‘Why, yes, I don’t say to the contrary of that; but then, think of the time before, when I was prentice!–’
The shower was now over, and the party proceeded as before.
Edgar, uncertain, irresolute89, walked on in silence: yet attentive, assiduous, even tenderly watchful90 to guide, guard, and assist his fair companion in her way. The name of the Major trembled perpetually upon his lips; but fear what might be the result of his inquiries91 stopt his speech till they approached the house; when he commanded voice to say: ‘You permit, then, the renewal92 of my old privilege?–’
‘Permit! I wish for it!’
They were now at the door. Edgar, not daring to speak again to Camilla, and not able to address any one else, took his leave; enchanted93 that he was authorized94, once more, to inform himself with openness of the state of her affairs, and of her conduct. And Camilla, dwelling95 with delight upon the discernment of Mrs. Arlbery, blest the happy penetration96 that had endowed her with courage to speak again to Edgar in terms of friendship and confidence.
Mrs. Mittin, declaring she could not eat till she had seen what could be done for the hat of Miss Tyrold, accompanied her upstairs, took it off herself, wiped it, smoothed, and tried to new arrange it; and, at last, failing to succeed, insisted upon taking it home, to put it in order, and promised to return it in the morning time enough for the Pantiles. Camilla was much ashamed; but she had no means to buy another, and she had now lost her indifference97 to going abroad. She thought, therefore, this new acquaintance at least as useful as she was officious, and accepted her civility with thanks.
1 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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2 enquired | |
打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 ); 询问; 问问题; 查问 | |
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3 scampering | |
v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑,惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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4 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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5 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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6 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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7 courageously | |
ad.勇敢地,无畏地 | |
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8 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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9 conjectured | |
推测,猜测,猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10 chagrin | |
n.懊恼;气愤;委屈 | |
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11 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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12 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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13 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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14 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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15 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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16 ponies | |
矮种马,小型马( pony的名词复数 ); £25 25 英镑 | |
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17 beseeching | |
adj.恳求似的v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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18 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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19 condescension | |
n.自以为高人一等,贬低(别人) | |
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20 attentive | |
adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
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21 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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22 hop | |
n.单脚跳,跳跃;vi.单脚跳,跳跃;着手做某事;vt.跳跃,跃过 | |
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23 consort | |
v.相伴;结交 | |
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24 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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25 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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26 kit | |
n.用具包,成套工具;随身携带物 | |
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27 bagpipe | |
n.风笛 | |
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28 tongs | |
n.钳;夹子 | |
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29 shovels | |
n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 );锹;推土机、挖土机等的)铲;铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 );锹;推土机、挖土机等的)铲;铲形部份 | |
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30 pokers | |
n.拨火铁棒( poker的名词复数 );纸牌;扑克;(通常指人)(坐或站得)直挺挺的 | |
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31 cleavers | |
n.猪殃殃(其茎、实均有钩刺);砍肉刀,剁肉刀( cleaver的名词复数 ) | |
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32 contortions | |
n.扭歪,弯曲;扭曲,弄歪,歪曲( contortion的名词复数 ) | |
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33 grimaces | |
n.(表蔑视、厌恶等)面部扭曲,鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相,做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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34 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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35 stunning | |
adj.极好的;使人晕倒的 | |
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36 expeditiously | |
adv.迅速地,敏捷地 | |
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37 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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38 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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39 harangue | |
n.慷慨冗长的训话,言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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40 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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41 postponing | |
v.延期,推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
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42 affront | |
n./v.侮辱,触怒 | |
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43 corps | |
n.(通信等兵种的)部队;(同类作的)一组 | |
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44 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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45 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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46 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
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47 enraged | |
使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 ); 歜; 激愤 | |
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48 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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49 presumption | |
n.推测,可能性,冒昧,放肆,[法律]推定 | |
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50 incensed | |
盛怒的 | |
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51 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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52 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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53 wafted | |
v.吹送,飘送,(使)浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54 zephyr | |
n.和风,微风 | |
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55 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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56 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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57 jeopardy | |
n.危险;危难 | |
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58 delectable | |
adj.使人愉快的;美味的 | |
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59 supplicate | |
v.恳求;adv.祈求地,哀求地,恳求地 | |
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60 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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61 inconvenient | |
adj.不方便的,令人感到麻烦的 | |
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62 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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63 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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64 retract | |
vt.缩回,撤回收回,取消 | |
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65 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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66 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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67 chastisement | |
n.惩罚 | |
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68 notably | |
adv.值得注意地,显著地,尤其地,特别地 | |
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69 expounding | |
论述,详细讲解( expound的现在分词 ) | |
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70 assorted | |
adj.各种各样的,各色俱备的 | |
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71 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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72 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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73 beech | |
n.山毛榉;adj.山毛榉的 | |
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74 mortified | |
v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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75 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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76 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
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77 frivolous | |
adj.轻薄的;轻率的 | |
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78 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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79 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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80 allude | |
v.提及,暗指 | |
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81 avowal | |
n.公开宣称,坦白承认 | |
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82 ruminated | |
v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 );反复考虑;反刍;倒嚼 | |
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83 precipitated | |
v.(突如其来地)使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 );促成;猛然摔下;使沉淀 | |
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84 intercept | |
vt.拦截,截住,截击 | |
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85 complaisance | |
n.彬彬有礼,殷勤,柔顺 | |
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86 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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87 mire | |
n.泥沼,泥泞;v.使...陷于泥泞,使...陷入困境 | |
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88 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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89 irresolute | |
adj.无决断的,优柔寡断的,踌躇不定的 | |
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90 watchful | |
adj.注意的,警惕的 | |
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91 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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92 renewal | |
adj.(契约)延期,续订,更新,复活,重来 | |
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93 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 | |
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94 authorized | |
a.委任的,许可的 | |
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95 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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96 penetration | |
n.穿透,穿人,渗透 | |
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97 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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