Between Winchester and Romsey there lies a region of gentle hills and grassy1 slopes shadowed by fine old yew2 trees, a land of verdure, lonely and exceeding fair; and in a hollow of this undulating district nestles the village of Kingthorpe, with its half-dozen handsome old houses, its richly cultivated gardens, and quaint3 old square-towered church. It is a prosperous, well-to-do little settlement, where squalor and want are unknown. Its humbler dwellings4 belong chiefly to the labourers on the Wendover estate, and those are liberally paid and well cared for. An agricultural labourer’s wages at Kingthorpe might seem infinitely6 small to a London mechanic; but when it is taken into account that the tiller of the fields has a roomy cottage and an acre of garden for sixpence a-week, his daily dole7 of milk from the home farm, as much wood as he can burn, blankets and coals at Christmas, and wine and brandy, soup and bread from the great house, in all emergencies, he is perhaps not so very much worse off than his metropolitan8 brother.
There was an air of comfort and repose9 at Kingthorpe which made the place delightful10 to the eye of a passing wanderer — a spot where one would gladly have lain down the burden of life and rested for awhile in one of those white cottages that lay a little way back from the high road, shadowed by a screen of tall elms. There was a duck-pond in front of a low red-brick inn which reminded one of Birkett Foster, and made the central feature of the village; a spot of busy life where all else was stillness. There were accommodation roads leading off to distant farms, above which the tree-tops interlaced, and where the hedges were rich in blackberry and sloe, dog-roses and honeysuckle, and the banks in spring-time dappled with violet and primrose11, purple orchids12 and wild crocus, and all the flowers that grow for the delight of village children.
Ida Palliser sat silent in her corner of the large landau which was taking Miss Wendover and her schoolfellows from Winchester station to Kingthorpe. Miss Rylance had accepted a seat in the Wendover landau at her father’s desire; but she would have preferred to have had her own smart little pony-carriage to meet her at the station. To drive her own carriage, were it ever so small, was more agreeable to Urania’s temper than to sit behind the over-fed horses from The Knoll13, and to be thus, in some small measure, indebted to Bessie Wendover.
Ida Palliser’s presence made the thing still more odious14. Bessie was radiant with delight at taking her friend home with her. She watched Ida’s eyes as they roamed over the landscape. She understood the girl’s silent admiration15.
‘They are darling old hills, aren’t they, dear?’ she asked, squeezing Ida’s hand, as the summer shadows and summer lights went dancing over the sward like living things.
‘Yes, dear, they are lovely,’ answered Ida, quietly.
She was devouring16 the beauty of the scene with her eyes. She had seen nothing like it in her narrow wanderings over the earth — nothing so simple, so beautiful, and so lonely. She was sorry when they left that open hill country and came into a more fertile scene, a high road, which was like an avenue in a gentleman’s park, and then the village duck-pond and red homestead, the old gray church, with its gilded17 sun-dial, marking the hour of six, the gardens brimming over with roses, and as full of sweet odours as those spicy18 islands which send their perfumed breath to greet the seaman19 as he sails to the land of the Sun.
The carriage stopped at the iron gate of an exquisitely20 kept garden, surrounding a small Gothic cottage of the fanciful order of architecture — a cottage with plate-glass windows, shaded by Spanish blinds, a glazed21 verandah sheltering a tesselated walk, sloping banks and terraces, on a very small scale, stone vases full of flowers, a tiny fountain sparkling in the afternoon sun.
This was Dr. Rylance’s country retreat. It had been a yeoman’s cottage, plain, substantial and homely22 as the yeoman and his household. The doctor had added a Gothic front, increased the number of rooms, but not the general convenience of the dwelling5. He had been his own architect, and the result was a variety of levels and a breakneck arrangement of stairs at all manner of odd corners, so ingenious in their peril23 to life and limb that they might be supposed to have been designed as traps for the ignorant stranger.
‘Don’t say good-bye, Ranie,’ said Bessie, when Miss Rylance had alighted, and was making her adieux at the carriage door; ‘you’ll come over to dinner, won’t you, dear? Your father won’t be down till Saturday. You’ll be dreadfully dull at home.’
‘Thanks, dear, no; I’d rather spend my first evening at home. I’m never dull,’ answered Urania, with her air of superiority.
‘What a queer girl you are!’ exclaimed Bessie, frankly24. ‘I should be wretched if I found myself alone in a house. Do run over in the evening, at any rate. We are going to have lots of fun.’
Miss Rylance shuddered25. She knew what was meant by lots of fun at The Knoll; a romping26 game at croquet, or the newly-established lawn-tennis, with girls in short petticoats and boys in Eton jackets; a raid upon the plum-trees on the crumbling27 red brick walls of the fine old kitchen-garden; winding28 up with a boisterous29 bout30 at hide-and-seek in the twilight31; and finally a banquet of sandwiches, jam tarts32, and syllabub in the shabby old dining-room.
‘I’ll come over to see Mrs. Wendover, if I am not too tired,’ she said, with languid politeness, and then she closed the gate, and the carriage drove on to The Knoll.
Colonel Wendover’s house was a substantial dwelling of the Queen Anne period, built of unmixed red brick, with a fine pediment, a stone shell over the entrance, four long narrow windows on each side of the tall door, and nine in each upper story, a house that looked all eyes, and was a blaze of splendour when the western sun shone upon its many windows. The house stood on a bit of rising ground at the end of the village, and dominated all meaner habitations. It was the typical squire33’s house, and Colonel Wendover was no bad representative of the typical squire.
A fine old iron gate opened upon a broad gravel34 drive, which made the circuit of a well-kept parterre, where the flowers grew as they only grow for those who love them dearly. This gate stood hospitably35 open at all times, and many were the vehicles which drove up to the tall door of The Knoll, and friendly the welcome which greeted all comers.
The door, like the gate, stood open all day long — indeed, open doors were the rule at Kingthorpe. Ida saw a roomy old hall, paved with black and white marble, a few family portraits, considerably36 the worse for wear, against panelled walls painted white, a concatenation of guns, fishing-rods, whips, canes38, cricket-bats, croquet-mallets, and all things appertaining to the out-door amusements of a numerous family. A large tiger skin stretched before the drawing-room door was one memorial of Colonel Wendover’s Indian life; a tiger’s skull39 gleaming on the wall, between a pair of elephant’s ears, was another. One side of the wall was adorned40 with a collection of Indian arms, showing all those various curves with which oriental ingenuity41 has improved upon the straight simplicity42 of the western sword.
It was not a neatly43 kept hall. There had been no careful study of colour in the arrangement of things — hats and caps were flung carelessly on the old oak chairs — there was a licentious44 mixture of styles in the furniture — half Old English, half Indian, and all the worse for wear: but Ida Palliser thought the house had a friendly look, which made it better than any house she had ever seen before.
Through an open door at the back of the hall she saw a broad gravel walk, long and straight, leading to a temple or summer-house built of red brick, like the mansion45 itself. On each side of the broad walk there was a strip of grass, just about wide enough for a bowling-green, and on the grass were orange-trees in big wooden tubs, painted green. Slowly advancing along the broad walk there came a large lady.
‘Is that you mother?’ asked Ida.
‘No, it’s Aunt Betsy. You ought to have known Aunt Betsy at a glance. I’m sure I’ve described her often enough. How good of her to be here to welcome us!’ and Bessie flew across the hall and rushed down the broad walk to greet her aunt.
Ida followed at a more sober pace. Yes, she had heard of Aunt Betsy — a maiden47 aunt, who lived in her own house a little way from The Knoll. A lady who had plenty of money and decidedly masculine tastes, which she indulged freely; a very lovable person withal, if Bessie might be believed. Ida wondered if she too would be able to like Aunt Betsy.
Miss Wendover’s appearance was not repulsive49. She was a woman of heroic mould, considerably above the average height of womankind, with a large head nobly set upon large well-shaped shoulders. Bulky Miss Wendover decidedly was, but she carried her bulkiness well. She still maintained a waist, firmly braced50 above her expansive hips37. She walked well, and was more active than many smaller women. Indeed, her life was full of activity, spent for the most part in the open air, driving, walking, gardening, looking after her cows and poultry51, and visiting the labouring-classes round Kingthorpe, among whom she was esteemed52 an oracle53.
Bessie hung herself round her large aunt like ivy54 on an oak, and the two thus united came up the broad walk to meet Ida, Bessie chattering55 all the way.
‘So this is Miss Palliser,’ said Aunt Betsy heartily57, and in a deep masculine voice, which accorded well with her large figure. ‘I have heard a great deal about you from this enthusiastic child — so much that I was prepared to be disappointed in you. It is the highest compliment I can pay you to say I am not.’
‘Where’s mother?’ asked Bessie.
‘Your father drove her to Romsey to call on the new vicar. There’s the phaeton driving in at the gate.’
It was so. Before Ida had had breathing time to get over the introduction to Aunt Betsy, she was hurried off to see her host and hostess.
They were very pleasant people, who did not consider themselves called on to present an icy aspect to a new acquaintance.
The Colonel was the image of his sister, tall and broad of figure, with an aquiline58 nose and a commanding eye, thoroughly59 good-natured withal, and a man whom everybody loved. Mrs. Wendover was a dumpy little woman, who had brought dumpiness and a handsome fortune into the family. She had been very pretty in girlhood, and was pretty still, with a round-faced innocent prettiness which made her look almost as young as her eldest60 daughter. Her husband loved her with a fondly protecting and almost paternal61 affection, which was very pleasant to behold62; and she held him in devoted63 reverence64, as the beginning and end of all that was worth loving and knowing in the Universe. She was not an accomplished65 woman, and had made the smallest possible use of those opportunities which civilization affords to every young lady whose parents have plenty of money; but she was a lady to the marrow66 of her bones — benevolent67, kindly68. thinking no evil, rejoicing in the truth — an embodiment of domestic love.
Such a host and hostess made Ida feel at home in their house in less than five minutes. If there had been a shade of coldness in their greeting her pride would have risen in arms against them, and she would have made herself eminently69 disagreeable. But at their hearty70 welcome she expanded like a beautiful flower which opens its lovely heart to the sunshine.
‘It is so good of you to ask me here,’ she said, when Mrs. Wendover had kissed her, ‘knowing so little of me.’
‘I know that my daughter loves you,’ answered the mother, ‘and it is not in Bessie’s nature to love anyone who isn’t worthy71 of love.’
Ida smiled at the mother’s simple answer.
‘Don’t you think that in a heart so full of love some may run over and get wasted on worthless objects?’ she asked.
‘That’s very true,’ cried a boy in an Eton jacket, one of a troop that had congregated72 round the Colonel and his wife since their entrance. ‘You know there was that half-bred terrier you doted upon, Bess, though I showed you that the roof of his mouth was as red as sealing-wax.’
‘I hope you are not going to compare me to a half-bred terrier,’ said Ida, laughing.
‘If you were a terrier, the roof of your mouth would be as black as my hat,’ said the boy decisively. It was his way of expressing his conviction that Ida was thoroughbred.
The ice being thus easily broken, Ida found herself received into the bosom73 of the family, and at once established as a favourite with all. There were two boys in Eton jackets, answering to the names of Reginald and Horatio, but oftener to the friendly abbreviations Reg and Horry. Both had chubby74 faces, liberally freckled75, warts76 on their hands, and rumpled77 hair; and it was not easy for a new comer to distinguish Horatio from Reginald, or Reginald from Horatio. There was a girl of fourteen with flowing hair, who looked very tall because her petticoats were very short, and who always required some one to hug and hang upon. If she found herself deprived of human support she lolled against a wall.
This young person at once pounced78 upon Ida, as a being sent into the world to sustain her.
‘Do you think you shall like me?’ she asked, when they had all swarmed79 up to the long corridor, out of which numerous bedrooms opened.
‘I like you already,’ answered Ida.
‘Do thoo like pigs?’ asked a smaller girl, round and rosy80, in a holland pinafore, putting the question as if it were relevant to her sister’s inquiry81.
‘I don’t quite know,’ said Ida doubtfully.
”Cos there are nine black oneths, tho pwutty. Will thoo come and thee them?’
Ida said she would think about it: and then she received various pressing invitations to go and see lop-eared rabbits, guinea-pigs, a tame water-rat in the rushes of the duck-pond, a collection of eggs in the schoolroom, and the new lawn-tennis ground which father had made in the paddock.
‘Now all you small children run away!’ cried Bessie, loftily. ‘Ida and I are going to dress for dinner.’
The crowd dispersed82 reluctantly, with low mutterings about rabbits, pigs, and water-rats, like the murmurs83 of a stage mob; and then Bessie led her friend into a large sunny room fronting westward84, a room with three windows, cushioned window-seats, two pretty white-curtained beds, and a good deal of old-fashioned and heterogeneous85 furniture, half English, half Indian.
‘You said you wouldn’t mind sleeping in my room,’ said Bessie, as she showed her friend an exclusive dressing-table, daintily draperied, and enlivened with blue satin bows, for the refreshment86 of the visitor’s eye.
While the girls were contemplating87 this work of art the door was suddenly opened and Blanche’s head was thrust in.
‘I did the dressing-table, Miss Palliser, every bit, on purpose for you.’
And the door then slammed to, and Bessie rushed across the room and drew the bolt.
‘We shall have them all one after another,’ she said.
‘Don’t shut them out on my account.’
‘Oh, but I must. You would have no peace. I can see they are going to be appallingly88 fond of you.’
‘Let them like me as much as they can. Do you know, Bessie, this is my first glimpse into the inside of a home!’
‘Oh, Ida, dear, but your father,’ remonstrated89 Bessie.
‘My father has never been unkind to me, but I have had no home with him. When my mother brought me home from India — she died very soon after we got home, you know’— Ida strangled a sob46 at this point —‘I was placed with strangers, two elderly maiden ladies, who reared me very well, no doubt, in their stiff business-like way, and who really gave me a very good education. That went on for nine years — a long time to spend with two old maids in a dull little house at Turnham Green — and then I had a letter from my father to say he had come home for good. He had sold his commission and meant to settle down in some quiet spot abroad. His first duty would be to make arrangements for placing me in a high-class school, where I could finish my education; and he told me, quite at the end of his letter, that he had married a very sweet young lady, who was ready to give me all a mother’s affection, and who would be able to receive me in my holidays, when the expense of the journey to France and back was manageable.’
‘Poor darling!’ sighed Bessie. ‘Did your heart warm to the sweet young lady?’
‘No, Bess; I’m afraid it must be an unregenerate heart, for I took a furious dislike to her. Very unjust and unreasonable90, wasn’t it? Afterwards, when my father took me over to his cottage, near Dieppe, to spend my holidays, I found that my stepmother was a kind-hearted, pretty little thing, whom I might look down upon for her want of education, but whom I could not dislike. She was very kind to me; and she had a baby boy. I have told you about him, and how he and I fell in love with each other at first sight.’
‘I am horribly jealous of that baby boy,’ protested Bessie. ‘How old is he now?’
‘Nearly five. He was two years and a half old when I was at Les Fontaines, and that was before I went to Mauleverer Manor91.’
‘And you have been at Mauleverer Manor more than two years without once going home for the holidays,’ said Bessie. ‘That seems hard.’
‘My dear, poverty is hard. It is all of a piece. It means deprivation92, humiliation93, degradation94, the severance95 of friends. My father would have had me home if he could have afforded it; but he couldn’t. He has only just enough to keep himself and his wife and boy. If you were to see the little box of a house they inhabit in that tiny French village, you would wonder that anybody bigger than a pigeon could live in so small a place. They have a narrow garden, and there is an orchard96 on the slope of a hill behind the cottage, and a long white road leading to nowhere in front. It is all very nice in the summer, when one can live half one’s life out of doors, but I am sure I don’t know how they manage to exist through the winter.’
‘Poor things!’ sighed Bessie, who had a large stock of compassion97 always on hand.
And then she tied a bright ribbon at the back of Ida’s collar, by way of finishing touch to the girl’s simple toilet, which had been going on while they talked, and then, Bessie in white and Ida in black, like sunlight and shadow, they went downstairs to the drawing-room, where Colonel Wendover was stretched on his favourite sofa, reading a county paper. Since his retirement98 from active service into domestic idleness the Colonel had required a great deal of rest, and was to be found at all hours of the day extended at ease on his own particular sofa. During his intervals99 of activity he exhibited a large amount of energy. When he was indoors his stentorian100 voice penetrated101 from garret to cellar; when he was out of doors the same deep-toned thunder could be heard across a couple of paddocks. He pervaded102 the gardens and stables, supervised the home farm, and had a finger in every pie.
Mrs. Wendover was sitting in her own particular arm-chair, close to her husband’s sofa — they were seldom seen far apart — with a large basket of crewel-work beside her, containing sundry103 squares of kitchen towelling and a chaos104 of many-coloured wools, which never seemed to arrive at any result.
The impression which Mrs. Wendover’s drawing-room conveyed to a stranger was a general idea of homeliness105 and comfort. It was not fine, it was not aesthetic106, it was not even elegant. A great bay window opened upon the garden, a large old-fashioned fireplace, with carved wooden chimney-piece faced the bay. The floor was polished oak, with only an island of faded Persian carpet in the centre, and Indian prayer rugs lying about here and there. There were chairs and tables of richly carved Bombay blackwood, Japanese cabinets in the recesses107 beside the fire-place, a five-leaved Indian screen between the fire-place and the door. There was just enough Oriental china to give colour to the room, and to relieve by glowing reds and vivid purples the faded dead-leaf tint108 of curtains and chair covers.
The gong began to boom as the two girls came into the room, and the rest of the family dropped in through the open windows at the same moment, Aunt Betsey bringing up the rear. There was no nursery dinner at The Knoll. Colonel Wendover allowed his children to dine with him from the day they were able to manage their knives and forks. Save on state occasions, the whole brood sat down with their father and mother to the seven o’clock dinner; as the young sprigs of the House of Orleans used to sit round good King Louis Philippe in his tranquil109 retirement at Claremont. Even the lisping girl who loved pigs had her place at the board, and knew how to behave herself. There was a subdued110 struggle for the seat next Ida, whom the Colonel had placed on his right, but Reginald, the elder of the Winchester boys, asserted his claim with a quiet firmness that proved irresistible111. Grace was said with solemn brevity by the Colonel, whose sum total of orthodoxy was comprised in that brief grace, and in regular attendance at church on Sunday mornings; and then there came a period of chatter56 and laughter which might have been a little distracting to a stranger. Each of the boys and girls had some wonderful fact, usually about his or her favourite animal, to communicate to the father. Aunt Betsy broke in with her fine manly112 voice at every turn in the conversation. Ripples113 of laughter made a running accompaniment to everything. It was a new thing to Ida Palliser to find herself in the midst of so much happiness.
After dinner they all rushed off to play lawn tennis, carrying Ida along with them.
‘It’s a shame,’ protested Bessie. ‘I know you’re tired, darling. Come and rest in a shady corner of the drawing-room.’
This sounded tempting114, but it was not to be.
‘No she’s not,’ asserted Blanche, boldly. ‘You’re not tired, are you, Miss Palliser?’
‘Not too tired for just one game,’ replied Ida. ‘But you are never to call me Miss Palliser.’
‘May I really call you Ida? That’s too lovely.’
‘May we all call you Ida?’ asked Horatio. ‘Don’t begin by making distinctions. Blanche is no better than the rest of us.’
‘Don’t be jealous,’ said Miss Palliser, laughing. ‘I am going to be everybody’s Ida.’
On this she was borne off to the garden as in a whirlwind.
There were some bamboo chairs and sofas on the grass in front of the bay window, and here the elder members of the family established themselves.
‘I like that schoolfellow of Bessie’s,’ said Aunt Betsy, with her decided48 air, whereupon the Colonel and his wife assented115, as they always did to any proposition of Miss Wendover’s.
‘She is remarkably116 handsome,’ said the Colonel.
‘She is good and thorough, and that’s of much more consequence,’ said his sister.
‘She takes to the children, and that is so truly nice in her’ murmured Mrs. Wendover.
收听单词发音 |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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dole
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| n.救济，（失业）救济金；vt.（out）发放，发给 | |
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metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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orchids
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| n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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crumbling
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winding
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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tarts
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| n.果馅饼( tart的名词复数 )；轻佻的女人；妓女；小妞 | |
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squire
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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canes
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| n.（某些植物，如竹或甘蔗的）茎( cane的名词复数 )；（用于制作家具等的）竹竿；竹杖 | |
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39
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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40
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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41
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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42
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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43
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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44
licentious
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| adj.放纵的，淫乱的 | |
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45
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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46
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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47
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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49
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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50
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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51
poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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52
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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53
oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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54
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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55
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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56
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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57
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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58
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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59
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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60
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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61
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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65
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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warts
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| n.疣( wart的名词复数 )；肉赘；树瘤；缺点 | |
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rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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79
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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83
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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heterogeneous
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| adj.庞杂的；异类的 | |
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86
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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87
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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88
appallingly
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| 毛骨悚然地 | |
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89
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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90
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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91
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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92
deprivation
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| n.匮乏；丧失；夺去，贫困 | |
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93
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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94
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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severance
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| n.离职金；切断 | |
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96
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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98
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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99
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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100
stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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101
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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102
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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104
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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105
homeliness
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| n.简朴，朴实；相貌平平 | |
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106
aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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107
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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108
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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109
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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110
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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111
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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112
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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113
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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114
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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115
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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