EARLY the next morning, Camilla went to the hotel, in the carriage of Mrs. Berlinton; eluding1, though not without difficulty, the company of Mrs. Mittin. She found the party all in good spirits; Indiana, in particular, was completely elated; joined to the admiration2 she believed awaiting her in this large and fashionable town, she now knew she might meet there the only person who had ever excited in her youthful, and nearly vacant breast, any appropriate pleasure, super-added to the general zest3 of being adored. She did not, indeed, think of marrying any one who could not offer her a coach and four; but so little was she disturbed by thinking at all, that the delight of being adulated4 by the man she preferred, carried with it no idea of danger. Eugenia too, soothed5 with the delusions6 of her romantic but innocent fancy, flattered herself she might now see continually the object she conceived formed for meriting her ever reverential regard; and Miss Margland was importantly occupied upon affairs best suited to her taste and ancient habits, in deliberating how first to bring forth7 her fair charge with the most brilliant effect.
Camilla was much embarrassed how to parry an introduction to Mrs. Berlinton, upon which all the females built as the foundation of their Southampton prosperity; the young ones, already informed she was the sister of Melmond, languishing8 to know her for his sake; and Miss Margland, formerly9 acquainted with the noble family of her husband, being impatient to resume her claims in similar circles; but an awkward beginning apology was set aside by the entrance of Edgar and Dr. Marchmont.
Indiana now poured forth innumerable questions upon what she might look forward to with respect to balls and public places; Eugenia asked nearly as many concerning the buildings, antiquities10, and prospects11; and Miss Margland more than either, relative to the company, their genealogies12 and connexions. The two Doctors soon sat aloof13, conferring upon less familiar matters; but Edgar only spoke14 in reply, and Camilla uttered not a word.
Soon after, a voice on the stairs called out, ‘O never mind shewing me the way; if I come to a wrong room, I’ll go on till I come to a right;’ and the next minute young Lynmere sallied into the apartment.
‘I could not get to you last night,’ cried he; ‘and I can only stay a moment now. I have a pretty serious business upon my hands; so if you can give me any breakfast, don’t lose time.’
Miss Margland, willing to please the brother of Indiana, readily ordered for him whatever the inn would afford, of which he failed not heartily15 to partake, saying, ‘I have met with a good comic sort of adventure here already. Guess what it is?’
Indiana complied; but his own wish to communicate was so much stronger than that of anyone to hear, that, before she could pronounce three words, he cried: ‘Well, if you’re so excessive curious, I’ll tell it you. I’m engaged in a duel16.’
Indiana screamed; Miss Margland echoed her cry; Eugenia, who had looked down from his entrance, raised her eyes with an air of interest; Camilla was surprised out of her own concerns; and Edgar surveyed him with an astonishment17 not wholly unmixt with contempt; but the two Doctors went on with their own discourse18.
‘Nay19, nay, Dye, don’t be frightened; ’tis not a duel in which I am to fight myself; I am only to be second. But suppose I were first? what signifies? these are things we have in hand so often, we don’t think of them.’
‘La! brother! you don’t say so?’ cried Indiana: ‘La! how droll20!’ He then pretended that he would tell nothing more.
Camilla inquired if he had seen Mr. Westwyn, whom she had met with the preceding day.
‘Not I, faith! but that’s a-propos enough; for it’s his son that has asked me to be his second.’
‘O, poor good old Mr. Westwyn!’ cried Camilla, now much interested in this history; ‘and can you not save him such a shock? can you not be mediator21 instead of second? he seems so fond of his son....’
‘O, as to him, it’s no matter; he’s such a harsh old hunks, I shall be glad to have him worked a little; I’ve often wanted to pull him by the nose, myself, he takes such liberties with me. But did you ever hear of such a fool as his son? he deserves to be badgered as bad as his father; he’s going to fight with as fine an honest fellow as ever I met with, for nothing at all! absolutely nothing!’
‘Dear! how droll!’ said Indiana.
‘But why can you not interfere22?’ cried Camilla: ‘poor Mr. Westwyn will be made so unhappy if any evil befalls his son!’
‘O, faith, as to him, he may take it as he will; I shan’t trouble my head about him; he has made free enough with me, I can assure you; it’s only to have him out of the way, that the business is put off till noon; it was to have been in the morning, but the old tyrant23 took it into his pate24 to make poor Henry, who is one of your good ones, and does nothing to vex25 him on purpose, ride out with him; he has promised, however, to get off by twelve o’clock, when four of us are to be at a certain spot that I shan’t name.’
Camilla again began to plead the merits of the father; but Indiana more urgently demanded the reason of the combat. ‘I dare say, brother, they fight about being in love with somebody? don’t they, brother? now do tell me?’
‘Not a whit26! it’s for a girl he don’t care a straw for, and never saw but once in his life, and don’t care a farthing if he never sees again.’
‘Dear, how droll, brother! I thought people always fought about being in love with somebody they wanted to marry; and never but when she was excessive pretty.’
‘O, faith, marriage seldom deserves a fighting match; but as to being pretty, that’s all Harry27 has in his excuse, so he pretends she’s as divine as an angel.’
‘Dear! well, and don’t you know anything more than that about it?’
‘No, nor he neither; he only saw her at a bathing house, where a fine jolly young buck28 was paying her a few compliments, that she affected29 not to like; and presently, in a silly dispute whether she was a girl of character, they had a violent quarrel, and Harry was such a fool as to end it with a challenge.’
At the words a bathing house, the blood forsook30 the checks of Camilla with sudden personal alarm; but it mounted high into them again, upon hearing the nature of the dispute; though yet again it sunk, and left them wholly pallid31, at the brief and final conviction she was the sole cause of this duel, and upon so disgraceful a dispute.
The emotions of Edgar, though less fearful, were not less violent nor painful. That Camilla should be the subject of any challenge was shocking, but of such a one he thought a dishonour32; yet to prevent, and with the least publicity33, its effect, was the immediate34 occupation of his mind.
A short pause ensued, broken presently by Clermont, who, looking at his watch, suddenly jumped up, and calling out, ‘Faith, I shall be too late!’ was capering35 out of the room; but the shame of Camilla in the disgrace, was overpowered by her terror of its consequences, and starting up, and clasping her hands, ‘O cousin! O Clermont!’ she cried, ‘for Heaven’s sake stop this affair!’
Clermont, satisfied that a sufficient alarm was raised to impede36 the transaction, without any concession37 on his part, declared himself bound in honour to attend the appointment, and, in extreme seeming haste and earnestness, walked off: stopping, however, when he came to the door, not to listen to the supplications of his cousin, but to toss off a fresh cup of chocolate, which a waiter was just carrying to the next room.
Camilla now, her face varying in colour twenty times in a minute, and her whole frame shaking, while her eyes were cast, conscious and timid, on the floor, approached Edgar, and saying, ‘This young man’s father is my dear uncle’s friend!’ burst into tears.
Edgar, wholly dissolved, took her hand, pressed it to his lips, besought38 her, in a low voice, to dismiss her apprehensions39, in the confidence of his most ardent40 exertions41, and again kissing her hand, with the words, ‘Too... O, far too dear Camilla!’ hastened after Lynmere.
Affected in a thousand ways, she dropt, weeping, upon a chair. Should the duel take place, and any fatal consequences follow, she felt she should never be happy again; and even, should it be prevented, its very suggestion, from so horrible a doubt of her character, seemed a stain from which it could never recover. The inconsiderate facility with which she had wandered about with a person so little known to her, so underbred, and so forward, appeared now to herself inexcusable; and she determined42, if but spared this dreadful punishment, to pass the whole of her future life in unremitting caution.
Eugenia, with the kindest sympathy, and Indiana and Miss Margland, with extreme curiosity, sought to discover the reason of her emotion; but while begging them to dispense43 with an explanation, old Mr. Westwyn was announced and appeared.
The horrors of a culprit, the most cruel as well as criminal, seemed instantly the portion of the self-condemned Camilla; and, as he advanced with cheerful kindness, to inquire after her health, his ignorance that all his happiness, through her means, was that moment at stake, pierced her with a suffering so exquisite44, that she uttered a deep groan45, and sunk back upon her chair.
An instant’s recollection brought her more of fortitude46, though not of comfort; and springing up and addressing, though not looking at Mr. Westwyn, who was staring at her with astonishment and concern: ‘Where, sir,’ she cried, ‘is your son? If you have the least knowledge which way he is gone... which way he may be traced... pursue and force him back this moment! Immediately!...’
‘My son!’ repeated the good old gentleman, wanting no other word to participate in any alarm; ‘what, Hal Westwyn?–’
‘Follow him... seek him... send for him... and do not, a single instant, lose sight of him all day!’
‘My dear young lady, what do you mean? I’ll send for him, to be sure, if you desire it; but what makes you so good as to think about my son? did you ever see my son? do you know my son? do you know Hal Westwyn?’
‘Don’t ask now, dear sir! secure him first, and make what inquiries47 you please afterwards.’
Mr. Westwyn, in evident consternation48, walked out, Camilla herself opening the door; but turning back in the passage, strongly said: ‘If the boy has been guilty of any misbehaviour, I won’t support him; I don’t like misbehaviour; it’s a bad thing; I can’t take to it.’
‘O no! no! quite the contrary!’ exclaimed the agitated49 Camilla, ‘he is good, kind, generous! I owe him the greatest obligation! and I desire nothing upon earth so much, at this moment, as to see him, and to thank him!’
The old gentleman’s eyes now filled with tears, and coming back, and most affectionately shaking hands with her, ‘I was afraid he had misbehaved,’ he cried; ‘but he was always a good lad; and if he has done any thing for the niece of my dear Sir Hugh Tyrold, I shall hug him to my heart!’ and then, in great, but pleased perturbation, he hurried away, saying to himself, as he went: ‘I’ll take him to her, to be sure; I desire nothing better! God bless her! If she can speak so well of my poor Hal, she must be the best girl living! and she shall have him... yes, she shall have him, if she’s a mind to him; and I don’t care if she i’n’t worth a groat; she’s niece to my old friend; that’s better.’
Camilla speeding, but not hearing him, returned to her seat; yet could not answer one question, from the horrors of her fears, and her shame of the detail of the business.
When the breakfast was over Miss Margland desired everyone would get ready to go to the lodgings50; and, with Indiana, repaired herself to visit them, and give general orders. Dr. Marchmont had glided51 out of the room, in anxiety for Edgar; to the great dissatisfaction, and almost contempt of Dr. Orkborne, with whom he was just discussing some controverted53 points upon the shield of Achilles; which, that he could quit for the light concerns of a young man, added again to his surmises54 that, though he had run creditably the usual scholastic55 race, his reputation was more the effect of general ability and address, than of such sound and consummate56 learning as he himself possessed57. Ruminating58 upon the ignorant injustice59 of mankind, in suffering such quacks60 in literature and philology61 to carry the palm of fame, he went to his chamber62, to collect, from his bolster63 and bedside, the hoard64 of books and papers, from which, the preceding night, he had disencumbered his coat, waistcoat, and great coat pockets, inside and out, to review before he could sleep; and which now were again to encircle him, to facilitate their change of abode65.
But Eugenia would not quit her afflicted66 sister, who soon, in her gentle breast, deposited the whole of her grief, her apprehensions, and her plans; charging her instantly to retire, if Edgar should return, that whatever might be the event he should unfold, she might release him immediately from an engagement that his last words seemed to avow67 did not make him happy, and that probably he now repented68. The design was so consonant69 to the native heroism70 of Eugenia, that she consented, with applause, to aid its execution.
About half an hour, which seemed to be prolonged to twenty times the duration of the whole day, passed in terrible expectation; Edgar then appeared, and Eugenia, suspending her earnest curiosity, to comply with the acute feelings of her sister, retreated.
Camilla could scarce breathe; she stood up, her eyes and mouth open, her face pale, her hands uplifted, waiting, but not daring to demand intelligence.
Edgar, entering into her distress71 with a tenderness that drove from him his own, eagerly satisfied her: ‘All,’ he cried, ‘is safe; the affair has been compromised; no duel has taken place; and the parties have mutually pledged themselves to forget the dispute.’
Tears again, but no longer bitter, flowed copiously72 down her cheeks, while her raised eyes and clasped hands expressed the fervency73 of her thankfulness.
Edgar, extremely touched, took her hand; he wished to seize a moment so nearly awful, to enforce upon her mind every serious subject with which he most desired it to be impressed; but sorrow was ever sacred to him; and desiring only, at this period, to console her: ‘This adventure,’ he cried, ‘has now terminated so well, you must not suffer it to wound you. Dismiss it, sweet Camilla, from your memory!... at least till you are more composed.’
‘No, sir!’ cried Camilla, to whom his softness, by restoring her hope of an ultimately happy conclusion, restored strength; ‘it ought never to be dismissed from my memory; and what I am now going to say will fix it there indelibly.’
Edgar was surprised, but pleased; his most anxious wishes seemed on the point of being fulfilled; he expected a voluntary explanation of every perplexity, a clearance74 of all mystery.
‘I am sensible that I have appeared to you,’ she resumed, ‘in many points reprehensible75; in some, perhaps, inexcusable...’
‘Inexcusable? O no! never! never!’
‘The letters of Sir Sedley Clarendel I know you think I ought not to have received....’
Edgar, biting his nails, looked down.
‘And, indeed, I acknowledge myself, in that affair, a most egregious76 dupe!...’
She blushed; but her blush was colourless to that of Edgar. Resentment77 against Sir Sedley beat high in every vein78; while disappointment to his delicacy79, in the idea of Camilla duped by any man, seemed, in one blow, to detach him from her person, by a sudden dissolution of all charm to his mind in the connection.
Camilla saw, too late, she had been too hasty in a confession80 which some apologising account should have preceded; but what her courage had begun, pride now aided her to support, and she continued.
‘For what belongs to that correspondence, and even for its being unknown to my friends, I may offer, perhaps, hereafter, something in exculpation81;... hereafter, I say, building upon your long family regard; for though we part... it will be, I trust, in amity82.’
‘Part!’ repeated Edgar, recovering from his displeasure by amazement83.
‘Yes, part,’ said she, with assumed firmness; ‘it would be vain to palliate what I cannot disguise from myself... I am lessened84 in your esteem85.’ She could not go on; imperious shame took possession of her voice, crimsoned86 her very forehead, blushed even in her eyes, demolished87 her strained energy, and enfeebled her genuine spirit.
But the conscious taciturnity of Edgar recalled her exertions; struck and afflicted by the truth she had pronounced, he could not controvert52 it; he was mute; but his look spoke keen disturbance88 and bitter regret.
‘Not so low, however, am I yet, I trust, fallen in your opinion, that you can wonder at the step I now take. I am aware of many errours; I know, too, that appearances have often cruelly misrepresented me; my errours you might have the candour to forget, and false appearances I could easily clear in my own favour-but where, and what is the talisman89 which can erase90 from my own remembrance that you have thought me unworthy?’
Edgar started; but she would not give him time to speak; what she had last uttered was too painful to her to dwell upon, or hear answered, and rapidly, and in an elevated manner, she went on.
‘I here, therefore, solemnly release you from all tie, all engagement whatever with Camilla Tyrold! I shall immediately acquaint my friends that henceforth... we Both are Free!’
She was then retiring. Edgar, confounded by a stroke so utterly91 and every way unexpected, neither answering nor interposing, till he saw her hand upon the lock of the door. In a voice then, that spoke him cut to the soul, though without attempting to stop her, ‘This then,’ he cried, ‘Camilla, is your final adieu.’
She turned round, and with a face glowing, and eyes glistening92, held out to him her hand: ‘I knew not if you would accept,’ she said, ‘a kinder word, or I should have assured you of my unaltered regard... and have claimed the continuance of your friendship, and even... if your patience is not utterly exhausted93, of your watchful94 counsel. Farewell! remember me without severity! my own esteem must be permanent as my existence!’
The door, here, was opened by Miss Margland and Indiana, and Camilla hastily snatched away the hand which Edgar, grasping with the fondness of renovated95 passion, secretly meant to part with no more, till a final reconciliation96 once again made it his own; but compelled to yield to circumstance, he suffered it to be withdrawn97; and while she darted98 into the chamber of Eugenia, to hide her deep emotion from Indiana, who was tittering, and Miss Margland, who was sneering99, at the situation in which she was surprised, he abruptly100 took leave himself, too much impressed by this critical scene, to labour for uninteresting discourse.
1 eluding | |
v.(尤指机敏地)避开( elude的现在分词 );逃避;躲避;使达不到 | |
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2 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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3 zest | |
n.乐趣;滋味,风味;兴趣 | |
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4 adulated | |
v.谄媚,奉承( adulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5 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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6 delusions | |
n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 );谬见;错觉;妄想 | |
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7 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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8 languishing | |
a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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9 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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10 antiquities | |
n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 );古迹;古人们;古代的风俗习惯 | |
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11 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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12 genealogies | |
n.系谱,家系,宗谱( genealogy的名词复数 ) | |
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13 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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14 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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15 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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16 duel | |
n./v.决斗;(双方的)斗争 | |
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17 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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18 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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19 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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20 droll | |
adj.古怪的,好笑的 | |
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21 mediator | |
n.调解人,中介人 | |
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22 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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23 tyrant | |
n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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24 pate | |
n.头顶;光顶 | |
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25 vex | |
vt.使烦恼,使苦恼 | |
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26 whit | |
n.一点,丝毫 | |
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27 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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28 buck | |
n.雄鹿,雄兔;v.马离地跳跃 | |
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29 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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30 forsook | |
forsake的过去式 | |
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31 pallid | |
adj.苍白的,呆板的 | |
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32 dishonour | |
n./vt.拒付(支票、汇票、票据等);vt.凌辱,使丢脸;n.不名誉,耻辱,不光彩 | |
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33 publicity | |
n.众所周知,闻名;宣传,广告 | |
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34 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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35 capering | |
v.跳跃,雀跃( caper的现在分词 );蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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36 impede | |
v.妨碍,阻碍,阻止 | |
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37 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
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38 besought | |
v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的过去式和过去分词 );(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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39 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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40 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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41 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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42 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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43 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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44 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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45 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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46 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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47 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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48 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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49 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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50 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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51 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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52 controvert | |
v.否定;否认 | |
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53 controverted | |
v.争论,反驳,否定( controvert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54 surmises | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的第三人称单数 );揣测;猜想 | |
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55 scholastic | |
adj.学校的,学院的,学术上的 | |
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56 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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57 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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58 ruminating | |
v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 );反复考虑;反刍;倒嚼 | |
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59 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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60 quacks | |
abbr.quacksalvers 庸医,骗子(16世纪习惯用水银或汞治疗梅毒的人)n.江湖医生( quack的名词复数 );江湖郎中;(鸭子的)呱呱声v.(鸭子)发出嘎嘎声( quack的第三人称单数 ) | |
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61 philology | |
n.语言学;语文学 | |
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62 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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63 bolster | |
n.枕垫;v.支持,鼓励 | |
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64 hoard | |
n./v.窖藏,贮存,囤积 | |
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65 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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66 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67 avow | |
v.承认,公开宣称 | |
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68 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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69 consonant | |
n.辅音;adj.[音]符合的 | |
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70 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
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71 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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72 copiously | |
adv.丰富地,充裕地 | |
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73 fervency | |
n.热情的;强烈的;热烈 | |
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74 clearance | |
n.净空;许可(证);清算;清除,清理 | |
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75 reprehensible | |
adj.该受责备的 | |
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76 egregious | |
adj.非常的,过分的 | |
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77 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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78 vein | |
n.血管,静脉;叶脉,纹理;情绪;vt.使成脉络 | |
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79 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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80 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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81 exculpation | |
n.使无罪,辩解 | |
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82 amity | |
n.友好关系 | |
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83 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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84 lessened | |
减少的,减弱的 | |
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85 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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86 crimsoned | |
变为深红色(crimson的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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87 demolished | |
v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 );推翻;拆毁(尤指大建筑物);吃光 | |
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88 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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89 talisman | |
n.避邪物,护身符 | |
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90 erase | |
v.擦掉;消除某事物的痕迹 | |
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91 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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92 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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93 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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94 watchful | |
adj.注意的,警惕的 | |
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95 renovated | |
翻新,修复,整修( renovate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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97 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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98 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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99 sneering | |
嘲笑的,轻蔑的 | |
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100 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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