Yūgiri thought himself odd that he should be so gloomy when everyone else was so caught up in the excitement. His singleness of purpose had come to seem obsessive1. Now there appeared a possibility that Tō no Chūjō was prepared to look the other way — and so why did he not slip through? But no. An air of cool indifference2 had served him well thus far and it must be maintained to the end. It cost him a great deal. As for Kumoinokari, she feared that if the rumors3 her father had brought were true, then this indifference was not feigned5; and so even as they turned from each other they went on thinking about each other.
Calm and resolute6 on the surface, Tō no Chūjō suspected that he was no longer in control of his daughter’s affairs. If on the assumption that the reports about Prince Nakatsukasa’s daughter were true he were to begin thinking of other arrangements for Kumoinokari, the man to whom he turned would hardly feel flattered, nor was Tō no Chūjō‘s own dignity likely to emerge unimpaired. There would be talk and there might be incidents. Well, he had made a mistake, and that fact could not be kept secret. He must surrender and hope to do so with some dignity.
But he must wait for the proper occasion. He could not step forth8 and make a great show of welcoming Yūgiri as his own. That would be too utterly9 ridiculous. The time would come, however. A surface calm hid these tensions.
The anniversary of Princess Omiya’s death fell on the twentieth of the Third Month. Tō no Chūjō attended memorial services at the Gokurakuji Temple, south of the city. All of his sons were with him, a very grand entourage indeed. As handsome as any of them, Yūgiri was also of the party. Though he had avoided Tō no Chūjō since the days when the latter had treated him so badly, he had not let the smallest sign of his resentment10 show. Tō no Chūjō was increasingly aware of it all the same.
Genji too commissioned memorial services, and Yūgiri solemnly busied himself with services of his own.
As they returned from the Gokurakuji in the evening, cherry petals11 were drifting through the spring haze12. In a reminiscent mood, Tō no Chūjō intoned lines from the anthologies. Yūgiri was no less moved by the beauty of the evening. It looked like rain, someone said. Yūgiri did not seem to hear.
Tō no Chūjō (one may imagine that it was with some apprehension) tugged13 at his sleeve.
“Why are you angry with me? Might this not be the occasion to forgive me, whatever I may have done? I think I have a right myself to complain, that you should have cast me aside in my declining years.”
“Grandmother’s last instructions,” said Yūgiri, very politely, “were that I look to you for advice and support. But you have not seemed to welcome my presence.”
Suddenly there was a downpour. They hurried home in twos and threes.
What could have produced this sudden change? The words themselves had seemed casual enough, but they came from a man before whom Yūgiri seldom felt comfortable. He lay awake all night asking what they could mean.
Perhaps his patience had been rewarded. Tō no Chūjō seemed to be relenting. He continued to seek a proper occasion, neither too ostentatious nor too casual, for a reconciliation14.
Early in the Fourth Month the wisteria at Tō no Chūjō‘s veranda15 came into profuse16 bloom, of a subtly richer hue17 than most wisteria. He arranged a concert, thinking that it must not go unnoticed. As the colors mounted richer in the twilight18, he sent Kashiwagi with a note.
“It was a pity that we were not permitted a more leisurely19 talk under the cherry blossoms. If you are free, I would be most honored to see you.
“Come join me in regrets for the passing of spring
And wisteria now aglow20 in the evening light.”
It was attached to a magnificent spray of the flower.
Restraining his excitement at the letter awaited so long, Yūgiri sent back a polite answer:
“I grope my way through the gathering21 shades of evening
With no great hopes of coming upon wisteria.”
“I am not sure I have struck the right note,” he said to Kashiwagi. “Would you look it over, please?”
“All that is required of you is that you come with me.”
“You are far too grand an escort.”
He sent Kashiwagi ahead and went to show Genji the letter.
“I think he must have his reasons,” said Genji, who seemed pleased with himself. “I had thought that he was not showing proper respect towards his late mother, but this changes things.”
“I doubt that it is so very important. Everyone says that his wisteria is very fine this year. I imagine that he was bored and arranged a concert in its honor.”
“He sent a very special messenger, in any event. You must go.”
And so a nervous Yūgiri had his father’s blessing22.
“It would not do to overdress,” Genji continued. “A magenta23 would be all right, I suppose, if you were not yet on the council or if you were between offices. Do please dress very carefully.” He sent one of Yūgiri’s men with a fine robe and several singlets from his own wardrobe.
Yūgiri did take great care with his dress. Tō no Chūjō had begun to grow restless when finally he arrived. Seven or eight of Tō no Chūjō‘s sons, led by Kashiwagi, came out to receive him. They were all very handsome, but Yūgiri was even handsomer, with a calm dignity that rather put them to shame. Tō no Chūjō showed him to his place. It was clear that the preparations for receiving him had been thorough.
“Be sure that you get a good look at him,” Tō no Chūjō had said to his wife and her young women as he changed to formal dress. “He is completely in control of himself. In that respect I think he is more than his father’s equal, though of course Genji is so handsome that a smile from him can make you think all the world’s problems have been solved. I doubt that anyone minds very much if he sometimes seems a little flippant in his treatment of public affairs. Yūgiri is a sterner sort and he has studied hard. I for one would have trouble finding anything wrong with him, and I suspect that most people Would have the same trouble.”
Dispensing24 with the stiffer formalities, he turned immediately to the matter of honoring his wisteria.
“There is much to be said for cherry blossoms, but they seem so flighty. They are so quick to run off and leave you. And then just when your regrets are the strongest the wisteria comes into bloom, and it blooms on into the summer. There is nothing quite like it. Even the color is somehow companionable and inviting25.” He was still a very handsome man. His smile said a great deal.
Though the lavender was not very apparent in the moonlight, he worked hard at admiring it. The wine flowed generously and there was music. Pretending to be very drunk and to have lost all thought for the proprieties26, he pressed wine upon Yūgiri, who, though sober and cautious as always, found it hard to refuse.
“Everyone agrees that your learning and accomplishments27 are more than we deserve in this inferior day of ours. I should think you might have the magnanimity to put up with old dotards like myself. Do you have in your library a tract28 you can refer to in the matter of filial piety29? I must lodge30 a complaint that you who are so much better informed than most about the teachings of the sages31 should in your treatment of me have shown indifference to their high principles.” Through drunken tears — might one call them? — came these adroit32 hints.
“You do me a very grave injustice33, sir. I think of you as heir to all the ages, and so important that no sacrifice asked of me could be too great. I am a lazy, careless man, but I cannot think what I might have done to displease34 you.”
The moment had come, thought Tō no Chūjō. “Underleaves of wisteria,” he said, smiling. Kashiwagi broke off an unusually long and rich spray of wisteria and presented it to Yūgiri with a cup of wine. Seeing that his guest was a little puzzled, Tō no Chūjō elaborated upon the reference with a poem of his own:
“Let us blame the wisteria, of too pale a hue,
Though the pine has let itself be overgrown.”
Taking a careful though elegant sip35 from the cup that was pressed upon him, Yūgiri replied:
“Tears have obscured the blossoms these many springs,
And now at length they open full before me.”
He poured for Kashiwagi, who replied:
“Wisteria is like the sleeve of a maiden36,
Lovelier when someone cares for it.”
Cup followed cup, and it would seem that poem followed poem with equal rapidity; and in the general intoxication37 none were superior to these.
The light of the quarter-moon was soft and the pond was a minor38, and the wisteria was indeed very beautiful, hanging from a pine of medium height that trailed its branches far to one side. It did not have to compete with the lusher green of summer.
Kōbai, in his usual good voice, sang “The Fence of Rushes,” very softly.
“What an odd one to have chosen,” Tō no Chūjō said, laughing. Also in fine voice, he joined in the refrain, changing the disturbed house into “a house of eminence39.” The merriment was kept within proper bounds and all the old enmity vanished.
Yūgiri pretended to be very drunk. “I am not feeling at all well,” he said to Kashiwagi, “and doubt very much that I can find my way home. Let me borrow your room.”
“Find him a place to rest, my young lord,” said Tō no Chūjō. “I am afraid that in these my declining years I do not hold my liquor well and may create a disturbance41. I shall leave you.” He withdrew.
“Are you saying that you mean to pass one night among the flowers?” said Kashiwagi. “It is a difficult task you assign your guide.”
“The fickle42 flowers, watched over by the steadfast43 pine? Please, sir — do not let any hint of the inauspicious creep into the conversation.”
Kashiwagi was satisfied, though he did not think that he had risen to the occasion as wittily44 as he might have. He had a very high opinion of Yūgiri and would not have wished the affair to end otherwise. With no further misgivings45 he showed his friend to Kumoinokari’s room.
For Yūgiri it was a waking dream. He had waited, long and well. Kumoinokari was very shy but more beautiful than when, all those years before, he had last seen her. He too was satisfied.
“I knew that people were laughing,” he said, “but I let them laugh, and so here we are. Your chief claim to distinction through it all, if I may say so, has been your chilliness46. You heard the song your brother was singing, I suppose. It was not kind of him. The fence of rushes — I would have liked to answer with the one about the Kawaguchi Barrier.”
This, she thought, required comment: “Deplorable.
“So shallow a river, flowing out to sea.
Why did so stout47 a fence permit it to pass?”
He thought her delightful48.
“Shallowness was one, but only one,
Among the traits that helped it pass the barrier.
“The length of the wait has driven me mad, raving49 mad. At this point I understand nothing.” Intoxication was his excuse for a certain fretful disorderliness. He appeared not to know that dawn was approaching.
The women were very reluctant to disturb him.
“He seems to sleep a confident and untroubled sleep,” said Tō no Chūjō.
He did, however, leave before it was full daylight. Even his yawns were handsome.
His note was delivered later in the morning with the usual secrecy50. She had trouble answering. The women were poking51 one another jocularly and the arrival of Tō no Chūjō added to her embarrassment52. He glanced at the note.
“Your coldness serves to emphasize my own inadequacy53, and makes me feel that the best solution might be to expire.
“Do not reprove me for the dripping sleeves
The whole world sees. I weary of wringing54 them dry.”
It may have seemed somewhat facile.
“How his writing has improved.” Tō no Chūjō smiled. The old resent- ments had quite disappeared. “He will be impatient for an answer, my dear.”
But he saw that his presence had an inhibiting55 effect and withdrew.
Kashiwagi ordered wine and lavish56 gifts for the messenger, an assistant guards commander who was among Yūgiri’s most trusted attendants. He was glad that he no longer had to do his work in secret.
Genji thought his son more shiningly handsome than ever this morning. “And how are you? Have you sent off your letter? The most astute57 and sober of men can stumble in the pursuit of a lady, and you have shown your superiority in refusing to be hurried or to make a nuisance of yourself. Tō no Chūjō was altogether too stern and uncompromising. I wonder what people are saying now that he has surrendered. But you must not gloat and you must be on your best behavior. You may think him a calm, unruffled sort of man, but he has a strain of deviousness58 that does not always seem entirely59 manly60 and does not make him the easiest person in the world to get along with.” Genji went on giving advice, it will be seen, though he was delighted with the match.
They looked less like father and son than like brothers, the one not a great deal older than the other. When they were apart people were sometimes not sure which was which, but when they were side by side distinctive61 traits asserted themselves. Genji was wearing an azure62 robe and under it a singlet of a Chinese white with the pattern in clear relief, sprucely elegant as always. Yūgiri’s robe was of a somewhat darker blue, with a rich saffron and a softly figured white showing at the sleeves. No bridegroom could have been more presentable.
A procession came in bearing a statue of the infant Buddha63. It was followed somewhat tardily64 by priests. In the evening little girls brought offerings from the several Rokujō ladies, as splendid as anything one would see at court. The services too were similar, the chief difference being the rather curious one that more care and expense would seem to have gone into these at Rokujō.
Yūgiri was impatient to be on his way. He dressed with very great care. He had had his little dalliances, it would seem, none of them very important to him, and there were ladies who felt pangs65 of jealousy66 as they saw him off. But he had been rewarded for years of patience, and the match was of the sort the poet called “watertight.” Tō no Chūjō liked him much better now that he was one of the family. It was not pleasant to have been the loser, of course, but his extraordinary fidelity67 over the years made it difficult to hold grudges68. Kumoinokari was now in a position of which her sister at court might be envious69. Her stepmother could not, it is true, restrain a certain spitefulness, but it was not enough to spoil the occasion. Her real mother, now married to the Lord Inspector70, was delighted.
The presentation of the Akashi girl at court had been fixed71 for late in the Fourth Month.
Murasaki went with Genji to the Miare festival, which preceded the main Kamo festival. She invited the other Rokujō ladies to join them, but they declined, fearing that they might look like servants. Her procession was rather quiet and very impressive for the fact, twenty carriages simply appointed and a modest number of outrunners and guards. She paid her respects at the shrine72 very early on the morning of the festival proper and took a place in the stands. The array of carriages was imposing73, large numbers of women having come with her from the other Rokujō households. Guessing from considerable distances whose lady she would be, people looked on in wondering admiration74.
Genji remembered another Kamo festival and the treatment to which the Rokujō lady, mother of the present empress, had been subjected. “My wife was a proud and willful woman who proved to be wanting in common charity. And see how she suffered for her pride — how bitterness was heaped upon her.” He drew back from speaking too openly about the horrible conclusion to the rivalry75. “The son of the one lady is crawling ahead in the ordinary service, and the heights to which the daughter of the other has risen bring on an attack of vertigo76. Life is uncertain for all of us. We can only hope to have things our way for a little while. I worry about you, my dear, and how it will be for you when I am gone.”
He went to speak to some courtiers of the higher ranks who had gathered before the stands. They had come from Tō no Chūjō‘s mansion77 with Kashiwagi, who represented the inner guards. Koremitsu’s daughter too had come as a royal legate. A much admired young lady, she was showered with gifts from the emperor, the crown prince, and Genji, among others. Yūgiri managed to get a note through the cordons79 by which she was surrounded. He had seen her from time to time and she had been pained to learn of his marriage to so fine a lady.
“This sprig of — what is it called? — this sprig in my cap.
So long it has been, I cannot think of the name.”
One wonders what it may have meant to her. She answered, even in the confusion of being seen into her carriage.
“The scholar armed with laurel should know its name.
He wears it, though he may not speak of it.
“Not everyone, perhaps — but surely an erudite man like you?”
Not a very remarkable80 poem, he thought, but better than his own.
Rumor4 had it that they were still meeting in secret.
It was assumed that Murasaki would go to court with the Akashi girl. She could not stay long, however, and she thought that the rime40 had come for the girl’s real mother to be with her. It was sad for them both, mother and daughter, that they had been kept apart for so long. The matter had been on Murasaki’s conscience and she suspected that it had been troubling the girl as well.
“Suppose you send the Akashi lady with the child,” she said to Genji. “She is still so very young. She ought to have an older woman with her. There are limits to what a nurse can do, and I would be much happier about leaving her if I knew that her mother would be taking my place.”
How very thoughtful of her, thought Genji. The Akashi lady was of course delighted at the suggestion. Her last wish was being granted. She threw herself into the preparations, none of the other ladies more energetically. The long separation had been especially cruel for the girl’s grand-mother, the old Akashi nun81. The pleasure of watching the girl grow up, her last attachment82 to this life, had been denied her.
It was late in the night when the Akashi girl and Murasaki rode to court in a hand-drawn83 carriage. The Akashi lady did not want to follow on foot with the lesser84 ladies. She was not concerned for her own dignity, but feared that an appearance of inferiority would flaw the gem7 which Genji had polished so carefully. Though Genji had wanted the ceremonies to be simple, they seemed to take on brilliance85 of their own accord. Murasaki must now give up the child who had been her whole life. How she wished that she had had such a daughter, someone to be with in just such circumstances as these! The same thought was for Genji and Yūgiri the only shadow upon the occasion.
Leaving on the third day, Murasaki met the Akashi lady, who had come to replace her.
“You see what a fine young lady she has become,” said Murasaki, “and the sight of her makes you very aware, I am sure, of how long I have had her with me. I hope that we shall be friends.”
It was the first note of intimacy86 between them. Murasaki could see why Genji had been so strongly drawn to the Akashi lady, and the latter was thinking how few rivals Murasaki had in elegance87 and dignity. She quite deserved her place of eminence. It seemed to the Akashi lady the most remarkable good fortune that she should be in such company. The old feelings of inferiority came back as she saw Murasaki leave court in a royal carriage, as if she were one of the royal consorts88.
The girl was like a doll. Gazing upon her as if in a dream, the Akashi lady wept, and could not agree with the poet that tears of joy resemble tears of sorrow. It had seemed all these years that she had been meat for sorrow. Now she wanted to live on for joy. The god of Sumiyoshi had been good to her.
The girl was very intelligent and the most careful attention had been given to her education, and the results were here for the world to admire. The crown prince, in his boyish way, was delighted with her. Certain rivals made sneering89 remarks about her mother, but she did not let them bother her. Alert and discerning, she brought new dignity to the most ordinary occasion. Her household offered the young gallants new challenges, for not one of her women was unworthy to be in her service.
Murasaki visited from time to rime. She and the Akashi lady were now on the best of terms, though no one could have accused the latter of trying to push herself forward. She was always a model of reserve and diffidence.
Genji had numbered the girl’s presentation at court among the chief concerns of his declining years, which he feared might not be numerous. Now her position was secure. Yūgiri, who had seemed to prefer the unsettled bachelor’s life, was most happily married. The time had come, thought Genji, to do what he wanted most to do. Though it saddened him to think of leaving Murasaki, she and Akikonomu were good friends and she was still the most important person in the Akashi girl’s life. As for the lady of the orange blossoms, her life was not perhaps very exciting, but Yūgiri could be depended on to take care of her. Everything seemed in order.
Genji would be forty next year. Preparations were already under way at court and elsewhere to celebrate the event. In the autumn he was accorded benefices equivalent to those of a retired90 emperor. His life had seemed full enough already and he would have preferred to decline the honor. All the old precedents91 were followed, and he was so hemmed92 in by retainers and formalities that it became almost impossible for him to go to court. The emperor had his own secret reason for dissatisfaction: public opinion apparently93 would not permit him to abdicate94 in favor of Genji.
Tō no Chūjō now became chancellor95 and Yūgiri was promoted to middle councillor. He so shone with youthful good looks when he went to thank the emperor that Tō no Chūjō was coming to think Kumoinokari, away from the cruel competition at court, the most fortunate of his daughters.
Yūgiri had not forgotten her nurse’s scorn for his blue sleeves. One day he handed the nurse a chrysanthemum96 delicately tinged97 by frost.
“Did you suspect by so much as a mist of dew
That the azure bloom would one day be a deep purple?
“I have not forgotten,” he added with a bright, winning smile.
She was both pleased and confused.
“What mist of dew could possibly fail to find it,
Though pale its hue, in so eminent98 a garden?”
She was now behaving, one might almost have said, like his mother-in-law.
His new circumstances had made the Nijō house seem rather cramped99. He moved into his grandmother’s Sanjō house, which was of course a place of fond memories. It had been neglected since her death and extensive repairs were necessary. His grandmother’s rooms, redecorated, became his own personal rooms. The garden badly needed pruning100. The shrubbery was out of control and a “sheaf of grass” did indeed threaten to take over the garden. He had the weeds cleared from the brook101, which gurgled pleasantly once more.
He was sitting out near the veranda with Kumoinokari one beautiful evening. Memories of their years apart were always with them, though she, at least, would have preferred not to remember that all these women had had their thoughts in the matter. Yūgiri had summoned various women who had lived in odd corners of the house since Princess Omiya’s death. It was for them a very happy reunion.
Said Yūgiri:
“Clearest of brooks102, you guard these rocks, this house.
Where has she gone whose image you once reflected?”
And Kumoinokari:
“We see the image no more. How is it that
These pools among the rocks yet seem so happy?”
Having heard that the garden was in its autumn glory, Tō no Chūjō stopped by on his way from court. New life had come to the sedate103 old house, not much changed from his mother’s day. A slight flush on his cheeks, Yūgiri too was thinking of the old princess. Yes, said Tō no Chūjō to himself, they were a well-favored pair, one of them, he might add, more so than the other. While Kumoinokari was distinguished104 but not unique, Yūgiri was without rivals. The old women were having a delightful time, and the conversation flowed on and on.
Tō no Chūjō looked at the poems that lay scattered105 about. “I would like to ask these same questions of your brook,” he said, brushing away a tear, “but I rather doubt that you would welcome my senile meanderings.
“The ancient pine is gone. That need not surprise us —
For see how gnarled and mossy is its seedling106.”
Saishō, Yūgiri’s old nurse, was not quite ready to forget old grievances107. It was with a somewhat satisfied look that she said:
“I now am shaded by two splendid trees
Whose roots were intertwined when they were seedlings108.”
It was an old woman’s poem. Yūgiri was amused, and Kumoinokari embarrassed.
The emperor paid a state visit to Rokujō late in the Tenth Month. Since the colors were at their best and it promised to be a grand occasion, the Suzaku emperor accepted the invitation of his brother, the present emperor, to join him. It was a most extraordinary event, the talk of the whole court. The preparations, which occupied the full attention of everyone at Rokujō, were unprecedented109 in their complexity110 and in the attention to brilliant detail.
Arriving late in the morning, the royal party went first to the equestrian111 grounds, where the inner guards were mustered112 for mounted review in the finery usually reserved for the iris113 festival. There were brocades spread along the galleries and arched bridges and awnings114 over the open places when, in early afternoon, the party moved to the southeast quarter. The royal cormorants115 had been turned out with the Rokujō cormorants on the east lake, where there was a handsome take of small fish. Genji hoped that he was not being a fussy116 and overzealous host, but he did not want a single moment of the royal progress to be dull. The autumn leaves were splendid, especially in Akikonomu’s southwest garden. Walls had been taken down and gates opened, and not so much as an autumn mist was permitted to obstruct117 the royal view. Genji showed his guests to seats on a higher level than his own. The emperor ordered this mark of inferiority dispensed118 with, and thought again what a satisfaction it would be to honor Genji as his father.
The lieutenants119 of the inner guards advanced from the east and knelt to the left and right of the stairs before the royal seats, one presenting the take from the pond and the other a brace120 of fowl121 taken by the royal falcons122 in the northern hills. Tō no Chūjō received the royal command to prepare and serve these delicacies123. An equally interesting repast had been laid out for the princes and high courtiers. The court musicians took their places in late afternoon, by which time the wine was having its effect. The concert was quiet and unpretentious and there were court pages to dance for the royal guests. It was as always the excursion to the Suzaku Palace so many years before that people remembered. One of Tō no Chūjō’s sons, a boy of ten or so, danced “Our Gracious Monarch” most elegantly. The emperor took off a robe and laid it over his shoulders, and Tō no Chūjō himself descended124 into the garden for ritual thanks.
Remembering how they had danced “Waves of the Blue Ocean” on that other occasion, Genji sent someone down to break off a chrysanthemum, which he presented to his friend with a poem:
“Though time has deepened the hue of the bloom at the hedge,
I do not forget how sleeve brushed sleeve that autumn.”
He himself had done better than most, thought Tō no Chūjō, but Genji had no rivals. No doubt it had all been fated. An autumn shower passed, as if sensing that the moment was right.
“A purple cloud is this chrysanthemum,
A beacon125 star which shines upon us all.
And grows brighter and brighter.”
The evening breeze had scattered leaves of various tints126 to make the ground a brocade as rich and delicate as the brocades along the galleries. The dancers were young boys from the best families, prettily127 dressed in coronets and the usual gray-blues and roses, with crimsons128 and lavenders showing at their sleeves. They danced very briefly129 and withdrew under the autumn trees, and the guests regretted the approach of sunset. The formal concert, brief and unassuming, was followed by impromptu130 music in the halls above, instruments having been brought from the palace collection. As it grew livelier a koto was brought for each of the emperors and a third for Genji. The Suzaku emperor was delighted to hear “the Uda monk” again after so many years and be assured that its tone was as fine as ever.
“This aged78 peasant has known many autumn showers
And not before seen finer autumn colors.”
This suggestion that the day was uniquely glorious must not, thought the emperor, go unchallenged:
“Think you these the usual autumn colors?
Our garden brocade imitates an earlier one.”
He was handsomer as the years went by, and he and Genji might have been mistaken for twins. And here was Yūgiri beside them — one stopped in amazement131 upon seeing the same face yet a third time. Perhaps it was one’s imagination that Yūgiri had not quite the emperor’s nobility of feature. His was in any event the finer glow of youth.
He was unsurpassed on the flute132. Among the courtiers who serenaded the emperors from below the stairs Kōbai had the finest voice. It was cause for general rejoicing that the two houses should be so close.
1 obsessive | |
adj. 着迷的, 强迫性的, 分神的 | |
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2 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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3 rumors | |
n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
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4 rumor | |
n.谣言,谣传,传说 | |
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5 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
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6 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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7 gem | |
n.宝石,珠宝;受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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8 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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9 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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10 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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11 petals | |
n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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12 haze | |
n.霾,烟雾;懵懂,迷糊;vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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13 tugged | |
v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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15 veranda | |
n.走廊;阳台 | |
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16 profuse | |
adj.很多的,大量的,极其丰富的 | |
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17 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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18 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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19 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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20 aglow | |
adj.发亮的;发红的;adv.发亮地 | |
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21 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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22 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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23 magenta | |
n..紫红色(的染料);adj.紫红色的 | |
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24 dispensing | |
v.分配( dispense的现在分词 );施与;配(药) | |
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25 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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26 proprieties | |
n.礼仪,礼节;礼貌( propriety的名词复数 );规矩;正当;合适 | |
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27 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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28 tract | |
n.传单,小册子,大片(土地或森林) | |
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29 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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30 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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31 sages | |
n.圣人( sage的名词复数 );智者;哲人;鼠尾草(可用作调料) | |
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32 adroit | |
adj.熟练的,灵巧的 | |
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33 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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34 displease | |
vt.使不高兴,惹怒;n.不悦,不满,生气 | |
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35 sip | |
v.小口地喝,抿,呷;n.一小口的量 | |
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36 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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37 intoxication | |
n.wild excitement;drunkenness;poisoning | |
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38 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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39 eminence | |
n.卓越,显赫;高地,高处;名家 | |
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40 rime | |
n.白霜;v.使蒙霜 | |
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41 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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42 fickle | |
adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的,不坚定的 | |
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43 steadfast | |
adj.固定的,不变的,不动摇的;忠实的;坚贞不移的 | |
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44 wittily | |
机智地,机敏地 | |
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45 misgivings | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕;疑虑,担心,恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 );疑惧 | |
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46 chilliness | |
n.寒冷,寒意,严寒 | |
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48 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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49 raving | |
adj.说胡话的;疯狂的,怒吼的;非常漂亮的;令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话;疯话adv.胡言乱语地;疯狂地 | |
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50 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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51 poking | |
n. 刺,戳,袋 vt. 拨开,刺,戳 vi. 戳,刺,捅,搜索,伸出,行动散慢 | |
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52 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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53 inadequacy | |
n.无法胜任,信心不足 | |
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54 wringing | |
淋湿的,湿透的 | |
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55 inhibiting | |
抑制作用的,约束的 | |
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56 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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57 astute | |
adj.机敏的,精明的 | |
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58 deviousness | |
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59 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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60 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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61 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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62 azure | |
adj.天蓝色的,蔚蓝色的 | |
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63 Buddha | |
n.佛;佛像;佛陀 | |
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64 tardily | |
adv.缓慢 | |
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65 pangs | |
突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 ); 悲痛 | |
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66 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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67 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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68 grudges | |
不满,怨恨,妒忌( grudge的名词复数 ) | |
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69 envious | |
adj.嫉妒的,羡慕的 | |
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70 inspector | |
n.检查员,监察员,视察员 | |
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71 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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72 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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73 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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74 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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75 rivalry | |
n.竞争,竞赛,对抗 | |
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76 vertigo | |
n.眩晕 | |
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77 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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78 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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79 cordons | |
n.警戒线,警戒圈( cordon的名词复数 ) | |
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80 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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81 nun | |
n.修女,尼姑 | |
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82 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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83 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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84 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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85 brilliance | |
n.光辉,辉煌,壮丽,(卓越的)才华,才智 | |
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86 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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87 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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88 consorts | |
n.配偶( consort的名词复数 );(演奏古典音乐的)一组乐师;一组古典乐器;一起v.结伴( consort的第三人称单数 );交往;相称;调和 | |
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89 sneering | |
嘲笑的,轻蔑的 | |
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90 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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91 precedents | |
引用单元; 范例( precedent的名词复数 ); 先前出现的事例; 前例; 先例 | |
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92 hemmed | |
缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 ); 包围 | |
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93 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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94 abdicate | |
v.让位,辞职,放弃 | |
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95 chancellor | |
n.(英)大臣;法官;(德、奥)总理;大学校长 | |
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96 chrysanthemum | |
n.菊,菊花 | |
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97 tinged | |
v.(使)发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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99 cramped | |
a.狭窄的 | |
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100 pruning | |
n.修枝,剪枝,修剪v.修剪(树木等)( prune的现在分词 );精简某事物,除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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101 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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102 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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103 sedate | |
adj.沉着的,镇静的,安静的 | |
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104 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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105 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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106 seedling | |
n.秧苗,树苗 | |
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107 grievances | |
n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 );苦衷;不满;牢骚 | |
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108 seedlings | |
n.刚出芽的幼苗( seedling的名词复数 ) | |
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109 unprecedented | |
adj.无前例的,新奇的 | |
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110 complexity | |
n.复杂(性),复杂的事物 | |
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111 equestrian | |
adj.骑马的;n.马术 | |
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112 mustered | |
v.集合,召集,集结(尤指部队)( muster的过去式和过去分词 );(自他人处)搜集某事物;聚集;激发 | |
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113 iris | |
n.虹膜,彩虹 | |
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114 awnings | |
篷帐布 | |
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115 cormorants | |
鸬鹚,贪婪的人( cormorant的名词复数 ) | |
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116 fussy | |
adj.为琐事担忧的,过分装饰的,爱挑剔的 | |
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117 obstruct | |
v.阻隔,阻塞(道路、通道等);n.阻碍物,障碍物 | |
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118 dispensed | |
v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 );施与;配(药) | |
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119 lieutenants | |
n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 );副职官员;空军;仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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120 brace | |
n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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121 fowl | |
n.家禽,鸡,禽肉 | |
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122 falcons | |
n.猎鹰( falcon的名词复数 ) | |
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123 delicacies | |
n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 );精致;精美的食物;周到 | |
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124 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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125 beacon | |
n.烽火,(警告用的)闪火灯,灯塔 | |
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126 tints | |
色彩( tint的名词复数 ); 带白的颜色; (淡色)染发剂; 痕迹 | |
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127 prettily | |
adv.优美地;可爱地 | |
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128 crimsons | |
变为深红色(crimson的第三人称单数形式) | |
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129 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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130 impromptu | |
adj.即席的,即兴的;adv.即兴的(地),无准备的(地) | |
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131 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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132 flute | |
n.长笛;v.吹笛 | |
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