FORTUNATELY for Camilla, no eye was upon her at this period but that of Mrs. Arlbery; her changed countenance1, else, must have betrayed still more widely her emotion. Mrs. Arlbery saw it with real concern, and saying she had something to consult her about, hurried on with her alone.
Camilla scarce knew that she did, or what she suffered; the suddenness of surprise, which involved so severe a disappointment, almost stupified her faculites. Mrs. Arlbery did not utter one word by the way, and, when they arrived at home, saw her to her chamber2, pressed her hand, and left her.
She now, from a sense of shame, came to her full recollection. She was convinced all her feelings were understood by Mrs. Arlbery; she thought over what her father had said upon such exposures, and hopeless of any honorable end to her suspences, earnestly wished herself back at Etherington, to hide in his revered3 breast her confusion and grief.
Even Mrs. Arlbery she now believed had been mistaken; Edgar appeared never to have loved her; his attentions, his kindness, had all flowed from friendship; his solicitude4, his counsel had been the result of family regard.
When called to dinner, she descended5 with downcast eyes. She found no company invited; she felt thankful, yet abashed6; and Mrs. Arlbery let her retire when the meal was over, but soon followed to beg she would prepare for the play.
She saw her hastily putting away her handkerchief, and dispersing7 her tears. ‘Ah! my dear,’ cried she, taking her hand, ‘I am afraid this old friend of yours does not much contribute to make Tunbridge Wells salubrious to you!’
Camilla, affecting not to understand her, said she had never been in better health.
‘Of mind, do you mean, or body?’ cried Mrs. Arlbery, laughing; but seeing she only redoubled her distress8, more seriously added, ‘Will you suffer me, my dear Miss Tyrold, to play the old friend, also, and speak to you with openness?’
Camilla durst not say no, though she feared to say yes.
‘I must content myself with a tacit compliance9, if I can obtain no other. I am really uneasy to talk with you; not, believe me, from officiousness nor impertinence, but from a persuasion10 I may be able to promote your happiness. You won’t speak, I see? And you judge perfectly11 right; for the less you disclaim12, the less I shall torment13 you. Permit me, therefore, to take for granted that you are already aware I am acquainted with the state of your heart.’
Camilla, trembling, had now no wish but to fly; she fastened her eyes upon the door, and every thought was devoted14 to find the means of escape.
‘Nay15, nay, if you look frightened in sober sadness, I am gone. But shall I think less, or know less, for saying nothing? It is not speech, my dear Miss Tyrold, that makes detections: It only proclaims them.’
A sigh was all the answer of Camilla: though, assured, thus, she had nothing to gain by flight, she forced herself to stay.
‘We understand one another, I see, perfectly. Let me now, then, as unaffectedly go on, as if the grand explanation had been verbally made. That your fancy, my fair young friend, has hit upon a tormentor17, I will not deny; yet not upon an ingrate18; for this person, little as you seem conscious of your power, certainly loves you.’
Surprised off all sort of guard, Camilla exclaimed, ‘O no!’
Mrs. Arlbery smiled, but went on. ‘Yes, my dear, he undoubtedly19 does you that little justice; yet, if you are not well advised, his passion will be unavailing; and your artlessness, your facility, and your innocence20, with his knowledge, nay, his very admiration21 of them, will operate but to separate you.’
Glowing with opposing yet strong emotions at these words, the countenance of Camilla asked an explanation, in defiance22 of her earnest desire to look indifferent or angry.
‘You will wonder, and very naturally, how such attractions should work as repulses23; but I will be plain and clear, and you must be candid24 and rational, and forgive me. These attractions, my dear, will be the source of this mischief25, because he sees, by their means, that you are undoubtedly at his command.’
‘No, madam! no, Mrs. Arlbery!’ cried Camilla, in whose pride now every other feeling was concentrated, ‘he does not, cannot see it!–’
‘I would not hurt you for the world, my very amiable26 young friend; but pardon me if I say, that not to see it-he must be blinder than I imagine him!-blinder than... to tell you the truth, I am much inclined to think any of his race.’
Confounded, irritated, and wounded, Camilla remained a moment silent, and then, though scarce articulately, answered: ‘If such is your opinion... at least he shall see it... fancy it, I mean... no more!...’
‘Keep to that resolution, and you will behold27 him... where he ought to be... at your feet.’
Irresistibly28, though most unwillingly29, appeased30 by this unexpected conclusion, she turned away to hide a blush in which anger had not solely31 a place, and suffered Mrs. Arlbery to go on.
‘There is but one single method to make a man of his ruminating32 class know his own mind: give him cause to fear he will lose you. Animate33, inspirit, inspire him with doubt.’
‘But why, ma’am,’ cried Camilla, in a faltering34 voice; ‘why shall you suppose I will take any method at all?’
‘The apprehension35 you will take none is the very motive36 that urges me to speak to you. You are young enough in the world to think men come of themselves. But you are mistaken, my dear. That happens rarely; except with inflamed37 and hot-headed boys, whose passions are in their first innocence as well as violence. Mandlebert has already given the dominion38 of his to other rulers, who will take more care of his pride, though not of his happiness. Attend to one who has travelled further into life than yourself, and believe me when I assert, that his bane, and yours alike, is his security.’
With a colour yet deeper than ever, Camilla resentfully repeated, ‘Security!’
‘Nay, how can he doubt? with a situation in life such as his... ’
‘Situation in life! Do you think he can ever suppose that would have the least, the most minute weight with me?’
‘Why, it would be a very shocking supposition, I allow! but yet, somehow or other, that same sordid39 thing called money, does manage to produce such abundance of little comforts and pretty amusements, that one is apt... to half suspect... it may really not much add to any matrimonial aversion.’
The very idea of such a suspicion offended Camilla beyond all else that had passed; Mrs. Arlbery appeared to her indelicate, unkind, and ungenerous, and regretting she had ever seen, and repenting40 she had ever known her, she sunk upon a chair in a passionate41 burst of tears.
Mrs. Arlbery embraced her, begged her pardon a thousand times; assured her all she had uttered was the effect of esteem42 as well as of affection, since she saw her too delicate, and too inexperienced, to be aware either of the dangers or the advantages surrounding her; and that very far from meaning to hurt her, she had few things more at heart than the desire of proving the sincerity43 of her regard, and endeavouring to contribute to her happiness.
Camilla thanked her, dried her eyes, and strove to appear composed; but she was too deeply affected16 for internal consolation44: she felt herself degraded in being openly addressed as a love-sick girl; and injured in being supposed, for a moment, capable of any mercenary view. She desired to be excused going out, and to have the evening to herself; not on account of the expence of the play; she had again wholly forgotten her poverty; but to breathe a little alone, and indulge the sadness of her mind. Mrs. Arlbery, unfeignedly sorry to have caused her any pain, would not oppose her inclination45; she repeated her apologies, dragged from her an assurance of forgiveness, and went down stairs alone to a summons from Sir Sedley Clarendel.
The first moments of her departure were spent by Camilla in the deepest dejection; from which, however, the recollection of her father, and her solemn engagement to him, soon after awakened46 her. She read again his injunctions, and resolving not to add to her unhappiness by any failure in her duty, determined47 to make her appearance with some spirit before Mrs. Arlbery set out.
* * *
‘My dear Clarendel,’ cried that lady, as she entered the parlour, ‘this poor little girl is in a more serious plight48 than I had conjectured49. I have been giving her a few hints, from the stores of my worldly knowledge, and they appear to her so detestably mean and vulgar, that they have almost broken her heart. The arrival of this odious50 Mandlebert has overthrown51 all our schemes. We are cut up, Sir Sedley! completely cut up!’
‘O, indubitably to a degree!’ cried the Baronet, with an air of mingled52 pique53 and conceit54; ‘how could it be otherwise? Exists the wight who could dream of competition with Mandlebert!’
‘Nay, now, my dear Clarendel, you enchant55 me. If you view his power with resentment56, you are the man in the world to crumble57 it to the dust. To work, therefore, dear creature, without delay.’
‘But how must I go about it? a little instruction, for pity!’
‘Charming innocent! So you don’t know how to try to make yourself agreeable?’
‘Not in the least! I am ignorant to a redundance.’
‘And were you never more adroit58?’
‘Never. A goth in grain! Witless from the first muling in my nurse’s arms!’
‘Come, come, a truce59 for a moment, with foppery, and answer me seriously; Were you ever in love, Clarendel? speak the truth. I am just seized with a passionate desire to know.’
‘Why... yes.. ‘ answered he, pulling his lips with his fingers, ‘I think–I rather think.... I was once.’
‘O tell! tell! tell!’
‘Nay, I am not very positive. One hears it is to happen; and one is put upon thinking of it, while so very young, that one soon takes it for granted. Define it a little, and I can answer you more accurately60. Pray, is it any thing beyond being very fond, and very silly, with a little touch of melancholy61?’
‘Precise! precise! Tell me, therefore, what it was that caught you. Beauty? Fortune? Flattery? or Wit? Speak! speak! I die to know!’
‘O, I have forgotten all that these hundred years! I have not the smallest trace left!’
‘You are a terrible coxcomb62, my dear Clarendel! and I am a worse myself for giving you so much encouragement. But, however, we must absolutely do something for this fair and drooping63 violet. She won’t go even to the play tonight.’
‘Lovely lily! how shall we rear it? Tell her I beg her to be of our party.’
‘You beg her? My dear Sir Sedley! what do you talk of?’
‘Tell her ’tis my entreaty64, my supplication65!’
‘And you think that will make her comply?’
‘You will see.’
‘Bravo, my dear Clarendel, bravo! However, if you have the courage to send such a message, I have not to deliver it: but I will write it for you.’
She then wrote,
‘Sir Sedley Clarendel asserts, that if you are not as inexorable as you are fair, you will not refuse to join our little party tonight at the theatre.’
Camilla, after a severe conflict from this note, which she concluded to be the mere66 work of Mrs. Arlbery to draw her from retirement67, sent word she would wait upon her.
Sir Sedley heard the answer with exultation68, and–Mrs. Arlbery with surprise. She declared, however, that since he possessed69 this power, she should not suffer it to lie dormant70, but make it work upon her fair friend, till it either excited jealousy71 in Mandlebert, or brought indifference72 to herself. ‘My resolution,’ cried she, ‘is fixt; either to see him at her feet, or drive him from her heart.’
Camilla, presently descending73, looked away from Mrs. Arlbery; but, unsuspicious as she was undesigning, thanked the Baronet for his message, and told him she had already repented74 her solitary75 plan. The Baronet felt but the more flattered, from supposing this was said from the fear of flattering him.
In the way to the theatre, Camilla, with much confusion, recollected76 her empty purse; but could not, before Mr. and Miss Dennel and Sir Sedley, prevail with herself to make it known; she could only determine to ask Mrs. Arlbery to pay for her at present, and defer77 the explanation till night.
But, just as she alighted from the coach, Mrs. Arlbery, in her usual manner, said: ‘Do pay for me, good Dennel; you know how I hate money.’
Camilla, hurrying after her, whispered, ‘May I beg you to lend me some silver?’
‘Silver! I have not carried any about with me since I lost my dear ponies78 and my pet phaeton. I am as poor as Job; and therefore bent79 upon avoiding all temptation, Somebody or other always trusts me. If they get paid, they bless their stars. If not,-do you hear me, Mr. Dennel?–’twill be all the same an hundred years hence; so what man of any spirit will think of it? hey, Mr. Dennel?’
‘But-dear madam!-pray–’
‘O, they’ll change for you,-here, my dear, without difficulty.’
‘But... but... pray stop!... I... I have no gold neither!’
‘Have you done like me, then, come out without your purse?’
‘No!...’
This single negative, and the fluttered manner, and low voice in which it was pronounced, gave Mrs. Arlbery the utmost astonishment80. She said nothing, however, but called aloud to Mr. Dennel to settle for the whole party.
Mr. Dennel, during the dialogue, had paid for himself and his daughter, and walked on into the box.
‘What a Hottentot!’ exclaimed Mrs. Arlbery. ‘Come, then, Clarendel, take pity on two poor distressed81 objects, and let us pass.’
Sir Sedley, little suspicious of the truth, yet flattered to be always called upon to be the banker of Camilla, obeyed with alacrity82.
Mrs. Arlbery placed Camilla upon a seat before her, and motioned to the Baronet to remain in a row above; and then, inalow voice, said: ‘My dear Clarendel, do you know they have let that poor girl come to Tunbridge without a sixpence in her pocket!’
‘Is it possible?’
“Tis a fact. I never suspected it till suspicion was followed by confirmation83. She had a guinea or two, I fancy, at first, just to equip her with one set of things to appear in; which, probably, the good Parson imagined would last as clean and as long at a public place as at his parsonage-house, where my best suit is worn about twice in a summer. But how that rich old uncle of hers could suffer her to come without a penny, I can neither account for nor forgive. I have seen her shyness about money-matters for some days past; but I so little conjectured the possibility of her distress, that I have always rather increased than spared it.’
‘Sweet little angel!’ exclaimed the Baronet, in a tone of tenderness; ‘I had indeed no idea of her situation. Heavens! I could lay half my fortune at her feet to set her at ease!’
‘Half, my dear Clarendel!’ cried Mrs. Arlbery, laughing; ‘nay, why not the whole? where will you find a more lovely companion?’
‘Pho, pho!-but why should it be so vastly horrid84 an incongruity85 that a man who, by chance, is rich, should do something for a woman who, by chance, is poor? How immensely impertinent is the prejudice that forbids so natural a use of money! why should the better half of a man’s actions be always under the dominion of some prescriptive slavery; ’Tis hideous86 to think of. And how could he more delectably87 spend, or more ecstatically enjoy his fortune, than by so equitable88 a participation89?’
‘True, Sir Sedley. And you men are all so disinterested90, so pure in your benevolence91, so free from any spirit of encroachment92, that no possible ill consequence could ensue from such an arrangement. When once a fair lady had made you a civil courtesy, you would wholly forget you had ever obliged her. And you would let her walk her ways, and forget it also: especially if, by chance, she happened to be young and pretty.’
This raillery was interrupted by the appearance of Edgar in an opposite box. ‘Ah!’ cried Mrs, Arlbery, ‘look but at that piece of congelation that nothing seems to thaw93! Enter the lists against him, dear Clarendel! He has stationed himself there merely to watch and discountenance her. I hate him heartily94; yet he rolls in wealth, and she has nothing. I must bring them, therefore, together, positively95: for though a husband... such a fastidious one especially... is not what I would recommend to her for happiness, ’tis better than poverty. And, after his cold and selfish manner, I am convinced he loves her. He is evidently in pursuit of her, though he wants generosity96 to act openly. Work him but with a little jealousy, and you will find me right.’
‘Me, my dear madam? me, my divine Mrs. Arlbery? Alas97! with what chance? No! see where enters the gallant98 Major. Thence must issue those poignant99 darts100 that newly vivify the expiring embers of languishing101 love.’
‘Now don’t talk such nonsense when I am really serious. You are the very man for the purpose: because, though you have no feeling, Mandlebert does not know you are without it. But those Officers are too notoriously unmeaning to excite a moment’s real apprehension. They have a new dulcinea wherever they newly quarter, and carry about the few ideas they possess from damsel to damsel, as regularly as from town to town.’
The Major was now in the box, and the conversation ended.
He endeavoured, as usual, to monopolize102 Camilla; but while her thoughts were all upon Edgar, the whole she could command of her attention was bestowed103 upon Sir Sedley.
This was not unobserved by Edgar, who now again wavered in believing she loved the Major: but the doubt brought with it no pleasure; it led him only the more to contemn104 her. Does she turn, thought he, thus, from one to the other, with no preference but of accident or caprice? Is her favour thus light of circulation? Is it now the mawkish105 Major, and now the coxcomb Clarendel? Already is she thus versed106 in the common dissipation of coquetry?... O, if so, how blest has been my escape! A coquette wife!...
His heart swelled107, and his eye no longer sought her.
* * *
At night, as soon as she went to her own room, Mrs. Arlbery followed her, and said: ‘My dear Miss Tyrold, I know much better than you how many six-pences and three-pences are perpetually wanted at places such as these. Do suffer me to be your banker. What shall we begin our account with?’
Camilla felt really thankful for being spared an opening upon this subject. She consented to borrow two guineas; but Mrs. Arlbery would not leave her with less than five, adding, ‘I insist upon doubling it in a day or two. Never mind what I say about my distress, and my phaeton, and my ponies; ’tis only to torment Dennel, who trembles at parting with half-a-crown for half an hour; or else, now and then, to set other people a staring; which is not unamusing, when nothing else is going forward. But believe me, my dear young friend, were I really in distress, or were I really not to discharge these petty debts I incur108, you would soon discover it by the thinness of our parties! These men that now so flock around us; would find some other loadstone. I know them pretty well, dear creatures!...’
Though shocked to appear thus destitute109, Camilla was somewhat relieved to have no debt but with Mrs. Arlbery; for she resolved to pay Sir Sedley and the milliner the next day, and to settle with Mrs. Arlbery upon her return to Etherington.
1 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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2 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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3 revered | |
v.崇敬,尊崇,敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4 solicitude | |
n.焦虑 | |
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5 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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6 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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7 dispersing | |
adj. 分散的 动词disperse的现在分词形式 | |
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8 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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9 compliance | |
n.顺从;服从;附和;屈从 | |
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10 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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11 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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12 disclaim | |
v.放弃权利,拒绝承认 | |
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13 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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14 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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15 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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16 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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17 tormentor | |
n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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18 ingrate | |
n.忘恩负义的人 | |
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19 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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20 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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21 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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22 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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23 repulses | |
v.击退( repulse的第三人称单数 );驳斥;拒绝 | |
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24 candid | |
adj.公正的,正直的;坦率的 | |
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25 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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26 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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27 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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28 irresistibly | |
adv.无法抵抗地,不能自持地;极为诱惑人地 | |
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29 unwillingly | |
adv.不情愿地 | |
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30 appeased | |
安抚,抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 ); 绥靖(满足另一国的要求以避免战争) | |
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31 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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32 ruminating | |
v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 );反复考虑;反刍;倒嚼 | |
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33 animate | |
v.赋于生命,鼓励;adj.有生命的,有生气的 | |
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34 faltering | |
犹豫的,支吾的,蹒跚的 | |
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35 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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36 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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37 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38 dominion | |
n.统治,管辖,支配权;领土,版图 | |
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39 sordid | |
adj.肮脏的,不干净的,卑鄙的,暗淡的 | |
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40 repenting | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的现在分词 ) | |
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41 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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42 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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43 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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44 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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45 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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46 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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47 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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48 plight | |
n.困境,境况,誓约,艰难;vt.宣誓,保证,约定 | |
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49 conjectured | |
推测,猜测,猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
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51 overthrown | |
adj. 打翻的,推倒的,倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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52 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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53 pique | |
v.伤害…的自尊心,使生气 n.不满,生气 | |
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54 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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55 enchant | |
vt.使陶醉,使入迷;使着魔,用妖术迷惑 | |
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56 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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57 crumble | |
vi.碎裂,崩溃;vt.弄碎,摧毁 | |
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58 adroit | |
adj.熟练的,灵巧的 | |
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59 truce | |
n.休战,(争执,烦恼等的)缓和;v.以停战结束 | |
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60 accurately | |
adv.准确地,精确地 | |
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61 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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62 coxcomb | |
n.花花公子 | |
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63 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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64 entreaty | |
n.恳求,哀求 | |
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65 supplication | |
n.恳求,祈愿,哀求 | |
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66 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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67 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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68 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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69 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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70 dormant | |
adj.暂停活动的;休眠的;潜伏的 | |
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71 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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72 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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73 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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74 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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75 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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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 defer | |
vt.推迟,拖延;vi.(to)遵从,听从,服从 | |
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78 ponies | |
矮种马,小型马( pony的名词复数 ); £25 25 英镑 | |
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79 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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80 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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81 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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82 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
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83 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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84 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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85 incongruity | |
n.不协调,不一致 | |
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86 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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87 delectably | |
令人愉快的,让人喜爱的 | |
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88 equitable | |
adj.公平的;公正的 | |
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89 participation | |
n.参与,参加,分享 | |
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90 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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91 benevolence | |
n.慈悲,捐助 | |
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92 encroachment | |
n.侵入,蚕食 | |
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93 thaw | |
v.(使)融化,(使)变得友善;n.融化,缓和 | |
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94 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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95 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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96 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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97 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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98 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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99 poignant | |
adj.令人痛苦的,辛酸的,惨痛的 | |
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100 darts | |
n.掷飞镖游戏;飞镖( dart的名词复数 );急驰,飞奔v.投掷,投射( dart的第三人称单数 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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101 languishing | |
a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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102 monopolize | |
v.垄断,独占,专营 | |
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103 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104 contemn | |
v.蔑视 | |
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105 mawkish | |
adj.多愁善感的的;无味的 | |
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106 versed | |
adj. 精通,熟练 | |
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107 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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108 incur | |
vt.招致,蒙受,遭遇 | |
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109 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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