Spacious1 courts were the assize courts of Lynneborough; and it was well they were so, otherwise more people had been disappointed, and numbers were, of hearing the noted2 trial of Sir Francis Levison for the murder of George Hallijohn.
The circumstances attending the case caused it to bear for the public an unparalleled interest. The rank of the accused, and his antecedents, more especially that particular local antecedent touching3 the Lady Isabel Carlyle; the verdict still out against Richard Hare; the length of time which had elapsed since; the part played in it by Afy; the intense curiosity as to the part taken in it by Otway Bethel; the speculation4 as to what had been the exact details, and the doubt of a conviction—all contributed to fan the curiosity of the public. People came from far and near to be present—friends of Mr. Carlyle, friends of the Hares, friends of the Challoner family, friends of the prisoner, besides the general public. Colonel Bethel and Mr. Justice Hare had conspicuous5 seats.
At a few minutes past nine the judge took his place on the bench, but not before a rumor6 had gone through the court—a rumor that seemed to shake it to its centre, and which people stretched out their necks to hear—Otway Bethel had turned Queen’s evidence, and was to be admitted as a witness for the crown.
Thin, haggard, pale, looked Francis Levison as he was placed in the dock. His incarceration7 had not in any way contributed to his personal advantages, and there was an ever-recurring expression of dread8 upon his countenance9 not pleasant to look upon. He was dressed in black, old Mrs. Levison having died, and his diamond ring shone conspicuous still on his white hand, now whiter than ever. The most eminent10 counsel were engaged on both sides.
The testimony11 of the witnesses already given need not be recapitulated12. The identification of the prisoner with the man Thorn was fully13 established—Ebenezer James proved that. Afy proved it, and also that he, Thorn, was at the cottage that night. Sir Peter Levison’s groom14 was likewise reexamined. But still there wanted other testimony. Afy was made to reassert that Thorn had to go to the cottage for his hat after leaving her, but that proved nothing, and the conversation, or quarrel overheard by Mr. Dill was now again, put forward. If this was all the evidence, people opined that the case for the prosecution15 would break down.
“Call Richard Hare” said the counsel for the prosecution.
Those present who knew Mr. Justice Hare, looked up at him, wondering why he did not stir in answer to his name—wondering at the pallid16 hue17 which overspread his face. Not he, but another came forward—a fair, placid18, gentlemanly young man, with blue eyes, fair hair, and a pleasant countenance. It was Richard Hare the younger. He had assumed his original position in life, so far as attire19 went, and in that, at least, was a gentleman again. In speech also—with his working dress Richard had thrown off his working manners.
A strange hubbub20 arose in court. Richard Hare, the exile—the reported dead—the man whose life was in jeopardy21! The spectators rose with one accord to get a better view; they stood on tiptoe; they pushed forth22 their necks; they strained their eyesight: and, amidst all the noisy hum, the groan23 bursting from the lips of Justice Hare was unnoticed. Whilst order was being called for, and the judge threatened to clear the court, two officers moved themselves quietly up and stood behind the witness. Richard Hare was in custody24, though he might know it not. The witness was sworn.
“What is your name?”
“Richard Hare.”
“Son of Mr. Justice Hare, I believe, of the Grove25, West Lynne?”
“His only son.”
“The same against whom a verdict of wilful26 murder is out?” interposed the judge.
“The same, my lord,” replied Richard Hare, who appeared, strange as it may seem, to have cast away all his old fearfulness.
“Then, witness, let me warn you that you are not obliged to answer any question that may tend to criminate yourself.”
“My lord,” answered Richard Hare, with some emotion, “I wish to answer any and every question put to me. I have but one hope, that the full truth of all pertaining27 to that fatal evening may be made manifest this day.”
“Look round at the prisoner,” said the examining counsel. “Do you know him?”
“I know him now as Sir Francis Levison. Up to April last I believed his name to be Thorn.”
“State what occurred on the evening of the murder, as far as your knowledge goes.”
“I had an appointment that evening with Afy Hallijohn, and went down to their cottage to keep it—”
“A moment,” interrupted the counsel. “Was your visit that evening made in secret?”
“Partially so. My father and mother were displeased28, naturally, at my intimacy29 with Afy Hallijohn; therefore I did not care that they should be cognizant of my visits there. I am ashamed to confess that I told my father a lie over it that very evening. He saw me leave the dinner-table to go out with my gun, and inquired where I was off to. I answered that I was going out with young Beauchamp.”
“When, in point of fact, you were not?”
“No. I took my gun, for I had promised to lend it to Hallijohn while his own was being repaired. When I reached the cottage Afy refused to admit me; she was busy, and could not, she said. I felt sure she had got Thorn with her. She had, more than once before, refused to admit me when I had gone there by her own appointment, and I always found that Thorn’s presence in the cottage was the obstacle.”
“I suppose you and Thorn were jealous of each other?”
“I was jealous of him; I freely admit it. I don’t know whether he was of me.”
“May I inquire what was the nature of your friendship for Miss Afy Hallijohn?”
“I loved her with an honorable love, as I might have done by any young lady in my own station of life. I would not have married her in opposition30 to my father and mother; but I told Afy that if she was content to wait for me until I was my own master I would then make her my wife.”
“You had no views toward her of a different nature?”
“None; I cared for her too much for that; and I respected her father. Afy’s mother had been a lady, too, although she had married Hallijohn, who was but clerk to Mr. Carlyle. No; I never had a thought of wrong toward Afy—I never could have had.”
“Now relate the occurrences of the evening?”
“Afy would not admit me, and we had a few words over it; but at length I went away, first giving her the gun, and telling her it was loaded. She lodged31 it against the wall, just inside the door, and I went into the wood and waited, determined32 to see whether or not Thorn was with her, for she had denied that he was. Locksley saw me there, and asked why I was hiding. I did not answer; but I went further off, quite out of view of the cottage. Some time afterward33, less than half an hour, I heard a shot in the direction of the cottage. Somebody was having a late pop at the partridge, I thought. Just then I saw Otway Bethel emerge from the trees, not far from me, and run toward the cottage. My lord,” added Richard Hare, looking at the judge, “that was the shot that killed Hallijohn!”
“Could the shot,” asked the counsel, “have been fired by Otway Bethel?”
“It could not. It was much further off. Bethel disappeared, and in another minute there came some one flying down the path leading from the cottage. It was Thorn, and evidently in a state of intense terror. His face was livid, his eyes staring, and he panted and shook like one in the ague. Past me he tore, on down the path, and I afterwards heard the sound of his horse galloping34 away; it had been tied in the wood.”
“Did you follow him?”
“No. I wondered what had happened to put him in that state; but I made haste to the cottage, intending to reproach Afy with her duplicity. I leaped up the two steps, and fell over the prostrate35 body of Hallijohn. He was lying dead within the door. My gun, just discharged, was flung on the floor, its contents in Hallijohn’s side.”
You might have heard a pin drop in court, so intense was the interest.
“There appeared to be no one in the cottage, upstairs or down. I called to Afy, but she did not answer. I caught up the gun, and was running from the cottage when Locksley came out of the wood and looked at me. I grew confused, fearful, and I threw the gun back again and made off.”
“What were your motives36 for acting37 in that way?”
“A panic had come over me, and in that moment I must have lost the use of my reason, otherwise I never should have acted as I did. Thoughts, especially of fear, pass through our minds with astonishing swiftness, and I feared lest the crime should be fastened upon me. It was fear made me snatch up my gun, lest it should be found near the body; it was fear made me throw it back again when Locksley appeared in view—a fear you understand, from which all judgment38, all reason, had departed. But for my own conduct, the charge never would have been laid to me.”
“Go on.”
“In my flight I came upon Bethel. I knew that if he had gone toward the cottage after the shot was fired, he must have encountered Thorn flying from it. He denied that he had; he said he had only gone along the path for a few paces, and had then plunged39 into the wood again. I believed him and departed.”
“Departed from West Lynne?”
“That night I did. It was a foolish, fatal step, the result of cowardice40. I found the charge was laid to me, and I thought I would absent myself for a day or two, to see how things turned out. Next came the inquest and the verdict against me, and I then left for good.”
“This is the truth, so far as you are cognizant of it?”
“I swear that it is truth, and the whole truth, so far as I am cognizant of it,” replied Richard Hare, with emotion. “I could not assert it more solemnly were I before God.”
He was subjected to a rigid41 cross-examination, but his testimony was not shaken in the least. Perhaps not one present but was impressed with its truth.
Afy Hallijohn was recalled, and questioned as to Richard’s presence at her father’s house that night. It tallied42 with the account given by Richard; but it had to be drawn43 from her.
“Why did you decline to receive Richard Hare into the cottage, after appointing him to come?”
“Because I chose,” returned Afy.
“Tell the jury why you chose.”
“Well, I had got a friend with me—it was Captain Thorn,” she added, feeling that she should only be questioned on this point, so might as well acknowledge it. “I did not admit Richard Hare, for I fancied they might get up a quarrel if they were together.”
“For what purpose did Richard Hare bring down his gun—do you know?”
“It was to lend to my father. My father’s gun had something the matter with it, and was at the smith’s. I had heard him, the previous day, ask Mr. Richard to lend him one of his, and Mr. Richard said he would bring one, as he did.”
“You lodged the gun against the wall—safely?”
“Quite safely.”
“Was it touched by you, after placing it there, or by the prisoner?”
“I did not touch it; neither did he, that I saw. It was that same gun which was afterward found near my father, and had been discharged.”
The next witness called was Otway Bethel. He also held share in the curiosity of the public, but not in equal degree with Afy, still less with Richard Hare. The substance of his testimony was as follows:—
“On the evening that Hallijohn was killed, I was in the Abbey Wood, and I saw Richard Hare come down the path with a gun, as if he had come down from his own home.”
“Did Richard Hare see you?”
“No; he could not see me; I was right in the thicket44. He went to the cottage door, and was about to enter, when Afy Hallijohn came hastily out of it, pulling the door to behind her, and holding it in her hand, as if afraid he would go in. Some colloquy45 ensued, but I was too far off to hear it; and then she took the gun from him and went indoors. Some time after that I saw Richard Hare amid the trees at a distance, farther off the cottage, then, than I was, and apparently46 watching the path. I was wondering what he was up to, hiding there, when I head a shot fired, close, as it seemed, to the cottage, and—”
“Stop a bit, witness. Could that shot have been fired by Richard Hare?”
“It could not. He was a quarter of a mile, nearly, away from it. I was much nearer the cottage than he.”
“Go on.”
“I could not imagine what that shot meant, or who could have fired it—not that I suspected mischief—and I knew that poachers did not congregate47 so near Hallijohn’s cottage. I set off to reconnoiter, and as I turned the corner, which brought the house within my view, I saw Captain Thorn, as he was called, come leaping out of it. His face was white with terror, his breath was gone—in short, I never saw any living man betray so much agitation48. I caught his arm as he would have passed me. ‘What have you been about?’ I asked. ‘Was it you that fired?’ He—”
“Stay. Why did you suspect him?”
“From his state of excitement—from the terror he was in-that some ill had happened, I felt sure; and so would you, had you seen him as I did. My arresting him increased his agitation; he tried to throw me off, but I am a strong man, and I suppose he thought it best to temporize49. ‘Keep dark upon it, Bethel,’ he said, ‘I will make it worth your while. The thing was not premeditated; it was done in the heat of passion. What business had the fellow to abuse me? I have done no harm to the girl.’ As he thus spoke50, he took out a pocket book with the hand that was at liberty; I held the other—”
“As the prisoner thus spoke, you mean?”
“The prisoner. He took a bank-note from his pocket book, and thrust it into my hands. It was a note for fifty pounds. ‘What’s done can’t be undone51, Bethel,’ he said, ‘and your saying that you saw me here can serve no good turn. Shall it be silence?’ I took the note and answered that it should be silence. I had not the least idea that anybody was killed.”
“What did you suppose had happened, then?”
“I could not suppose; I could not think; it all passed in the haste and confusion of a moment, and no definite idea occurred to me. Thorn flew on down the path, and I stood looking after him. The next was I heard footsteps, and I slipped within the trees. They were those of Richard Hare, who took the path to the cottage. Presently he returned, little less agitated52 than Thorn had been. I had gone into an open space, then, and he accosted53 me, asking if I had seen ‘that hound’ fly from the cottage? ‘What hound?’ I asked of him. ‘That fine fellow, that Thorn, who comes after Afy,’ he answered, but I stoutly54 denied that I had seen any one. Richard Hare continued his way, and I afterward found that Hallijohn was killed.”
“And so you took a bribe55 to conceal56 one of the foulest57 crimes that man ever committed, Mr. Otway Bethel!”
“I took the money, and I am ashamed to confess it. But it was done without reflection. I swear that had I known what crime it was intended to hush59 up, I never would have touched it. I was hard up for funds, and the amount tempted60 me. When I discovered what had really happened, and that Richard Hare was accused, I was thunderstruck at my own deed; many a hundred times since have I cursed the money; and the fate of Richard has been as a heavy weight upon my conscience.”
“You might have lifted the weight by confessing.”
“To what end? It was too late. Thorn had disappeared. I never heard of him, or saw him, until he came to West Lynne this last spring, as Sir Francis Levison, to oppose Mr. Carlyle. Richard Hare had also disappeared—had never been seen or heard of, and most people supposed he was dead. To what end then should I confess? Perhaps only to be suspected myself. Besides, I had taken the money upon a certain understanding, and it was only fair that I should keep to it.”
If Richard Hare was subjected to a severe cross-examination, a far more severe one was awaiting Otway Bethel. The judge spoke to him only once, his tone ringing with reproach.
“It appears then, witness, that you have retained within you, all these years, the proofs of Richard Hare’s innocence62?”
“I can only acknowledge it with contrition63, my lord.”
“What did you know of Thorn in those days?” asked the counsel.
“Nothing, save that he frequented the Abbey Wood, his object being Afy Hallijohn. I had never exchanged a word with him until that night; but I knew his name, Thorn—at least, the one he went by, and by his addressing me as Bethel, it appeared that he knew mine.”
The case for the prosecution closed. An able and ingenious speech was made for the defence, the learned counsel who offered it contending that there was still no proof of Sir Francis having been the guilty man. Neither was there any proof that the catastrophe64 was not the result of pure accident. A loaded gun, standing61 against a wall in a small room, was not a safe weapon, and he called upon the jury not rashly to convict in the uncertainty65, but to give the prisoner the benefit of the doubt. He should call no witnesses, he observed, not even to character. Character! for Sir Francis Levison! The court burst into a grin; the only sober face in it being that of the judge.
The judge summed up. Certainly not in the prisoner’s favor; but, to use the expression of some amidst the audience, dead against him. Otway Bethel came in for a side shaft66 or two from his lordship; Richard Hare for sympathy. The jury retired67 about four o’clock, and the judge quitted the bench.
A very short time they were absent. Scarcely a quarter of an hour. His lordship returned into court, and the prisoner was again placed in the dock. He was the hue of marble, and, in his nervous agitation, kept incessantly68 throwing back his hair from his forehead—the action already spoken of. Silence was proclaimed.
“How say you, gentlemen of the jury? Guilty, or not guilty?”
“GUILTY.”
It was a silence to be felt; and the prisoner gasped69 once or twice convulsively.
“But,” said the foreman, “we wish to recommend him to mercy.”
“On what grounds?” inquired the judge.
“Because, my lord, we believe it was not a crime planned by the prisoner beforehand, but arose out of the bad passions of the moment, and was so committed.”
The judge paused, and drew something black from the receptacle of his pocket, buried deep in his robes.
“Prisoner at the bar! Have you anything to urge why sentence of death should not be passed upon you?”
The prisoner clutched the front of the dock. He threw up his head, as if shaking off the dread fear which had oppressed him, and the marble of his face changed to scarlet70.
“Only this, my lord. The jury, in giving their reason for recommending me to your lordship’s mercy, have adopted the right view of the case as it actually occurred. The man Hallijohn’s life was taken by me, it will be useless for me to deny, in the face of the evidence given this day, but it was not taken in malice71. When I quitted the girl, Afy, and went to the cottage for my hat, I no more contemplated73 injuring mortal man than I contemplate72 it at this moment. He was there, the father, and in the dispute that ensued the catastrophe occurred. My lord, it was not wilful murder.”
The prisoner ceased, and the judge, the black cap on his head, crossed his hands one upon the other.
“Prisoner at the bar. You have been convicted by clear and undoubted evidence of the crime of wilful murder. The jury have pronounced you guilty; and in their verdict I entirely74 coincide. That you took the life of that ill-fated and unoffending man, there is no doubt; you have, yourself, confessed it. It was a foul58, a barbarous, a wicked act. I care not for what may have been the particular circumstances attending it; he may have provoked you by words; but no provocation75 of that nature could justify76 your drawing the gun upon him. Your counsel urged that you were a gentleman, a member of the British aristocracy, and therefore deserved consideration. I confess that I was much surprised to hear such a doctrine77 fall from his lips. In my opinion, you being what you are, your position in life makes your crime the worse, and I have always maintained that when a man possessed78 of advantages falls into sin, he deserves less consideration than does one who is poor, simple, and uneducated. Certain portions of the evidence given today (and I do not now allude79 to the actual crime) tell very greatly against you, and I am sure not one in the court but must have turned from them with abhorrence80. You were pursuing the daughter of this man with no honorable purpose—and in this point your conduct contrasts badly with the avowal81 of Richard Hare, equally a gentleman with yourself. In this pursuit you killed her father; and not content with that, you still pursued the girl—and pursued her to ruin, basely deceiving her as to the actual facts, and laying the crime upon another. I cannot trust myself to speak further upon this point, nor is it necessary that I should; it is not to answer for that, that you stand before me. Uncalled, unprepared, and by you unpitied, you hurried that unfortunate man into eternity82, and you must now expiate83 the crime with your own life. The jury have recommended you to mercy, and the recommendation will be forwarded in due course to the proper quarter, but you must be aware how frequently this clause is appended to a verdict, and how very rarely it is attended to, just cause being wanting. I can but enjoin84 you, and I do so most earnestly, to pass the little time that probably remains85 to you on earth in seeking repentance86 and forgiveness. You are best aware, yourself, what your past life has been; the world knows somewhat of it; but there is pardon above for the most guilty, when it is earnestly sought. It now only remains for me to pass the sentence of the law. It is, that you, Francis Levison, be taken back to the place from whence you came, and thence to the place of execution, and that you be there hanged by the neck until you are dead. And may the Lord God Almighty87 have mercy on your soul!”
“Amen!”
The court was cleared. The day’s excitement was over, and the next case was inquired for. Not quite over, however, yet, the excitement, and the audience crowded in again. For the next case proved to be the arraignment88 of Richard Hare the younger. A formal proceeding89 merely, in pursuance of the verdict of the coroner’s inquest. No evidence was offered against him, and the judge ordered him to be discharged. Richard, poor, ill-used, baited Richard was a free man again.
Then ensued the scene of all scenes. Half, at least, of those present, were residents of, or from near West Lynne. They had known Richard Hare from infancy—they had admired the boy in his pretty childhood—they had liked him in his unoffending boyhood, but they had been none the less ready to cast their harsh stones at him, and to thunder down their denunciations when the time came. In proportion to their fierceness then, was their contrition now; Richard had been innocent all the while; they had been more guilty than he.
An English mob, gentle or simple, never gets up its excitement by halves. Whether its demonstration90 be of a laudatory91 or a condemnatory92 nature, the steam is sure to be put on to bursting point. With one universal shout, with one bound, they rallied round Richard; they congratulated him; they overwhelmed him with good wishes; they expressed with shame their repentance; they said the future would atone93 for the past. Had he possessed a hundred hands, they would have been shaken off. And when Richard extracted himself, and turned, in his pleasant, forgiving, loving nature, to his father, the stern old justice, forgetting his pride and pomposity94, burst into tears and sobbed95 like a child, as he murmured something about his also needing forgiveness.
“Dear father,” cried Richard, his own eyes wet, “it is forgiven and forgotten already. Think how happy we shall be again together, you, and I, and my mother.”
The justice’s hands, which had been wound around his son, relaxed their hold. They were twitching97 curiously98; the body also began to twitch96, and he fell upon the shoulder of Colonel Bethel in a second stroke of paralysis99.
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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rumor
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incarceration
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| n.监禁，禁闭；钳闭 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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countenance
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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recapitulated
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| v.总结，扼要重述( recapitulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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prosecution
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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hue
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placid
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attire
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hubbub
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jeopardy
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forth
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groan
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custody
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grove
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wilful
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pertaining
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displeased
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intimacy
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opposition
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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afterward
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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prostrate
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motives
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acting
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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tallied
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| v.计算，清点( tally的过去式和过去分词 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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congregate
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| v.(使)集合，聚集 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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temporize
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| v.顺应时势；拖延 | |
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50
spoke
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| 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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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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foulest
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| adj.恶劣的( foul的最高级 )；邪恶的；难闻的；下流的 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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expiate
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| v.抵补，赎罪 | |
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enjoin
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| v.命令；吩咐；禁止 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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arraignment
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| n.提问，传讯，责难 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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laudatory
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| adj.赞扬的 | |
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condemnatory
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| adj. 非难的，处罚的 | |
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atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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pomposity
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| n.浮华；虚夸；炫耀；自负 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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