If Maggie had not so firmly made up her mind never to say, either to her good friend or to any one else, more than she meant about her father, she might have found herself betrayed into some such overflow1 during the week spent in London with her husband after the others had adjourned2 to Fawns3 for the summer. This was because of the odd element of the unnatural4 imparted to the so simple fact of their brief separation by the assumptions resident in their course of life hitherto. She was used, herself, certainly, by this time, to dealing5 with odd elements; but she dropped, instantly, even from such peace as she had patched up, when it was a question of feeling that her unpenetrated parent might be alone with them. She thought of him as alone with them when she thought of him as alone with Charlotte — and this, strangely enough, even while fixing her sense to the full on his wife’s power of preserving, quite of enhancing, every felicitous7 appearance. Charlotte had done that — under immeasurably fewer difficulties indeed — during the numerous months of their hymeneal absence from England, the period prior to that wonderful reunion of the couples, in the interest of the larger play of all the virtues8 of each, which was now bearing, for Mrs. Verver’s stepdaughter at least, such remarkable9 fruit. It was the present so much briefer interval10, in a situation, possibly in a relation, so changed — it was the new terms of her problem that would tax Charlotte’s art. The Princess could pull herself up, repeatedly, by remembering that the real “relation” between her father and his wife was a thing that she knew nothing about and that, in strictness, was none of her business; but she none the less failed to keep quiet, as she would have called it, before the projected image of their ostensibly happy isolation11. Nothing could have had less of the quality of quietude than a certain queer wish that fitfully flickered13 up in her, a wish that usurped14, perversely15, the place of a much more natural one. If Charlotte, while she was about it, could only have been WORSE!— that idea Maggie fell to invoking16 instead of the idea that she might desirably have been better. For, exceedingly odd as it was to feel in such ways, she believed she mightn’t have worried so much if she didn’t somehow make her stepmother out, under the beautiful trees and among the dear old gardens, as lavish17 of fifty kinds of confidence and twenty kinds, at least, of gentleness. Gentleness and confidence were certainly the right thing, as from a charming woman to her husband, but the fine tissue of reassurance18 woven by this lady’s hands and flung over her companion as a light, muffling19 veil, formed precisely20 a wrought21 transparency through which she felt her father’s eyes continually rest on herself. The reach of his gaze came to her straighter from a distance; it showed him as still more conscious, down there alone, of the suspected, the felt elaboration of the process of their not alarming or hurting him. She had herself now, for weeks and weeks, and all unwinkingly, traced the extension of this pious22 effort; but her perfect success in giving no sign — she did herself THAT credit — would have been an achievement quite wasted if Mrs. Verver should make with him those mistakes of proportion, one set of them too abruptly23, too incoherently designed to correct another set, that she had made with his daughter. However, if she HAD been worse, poor woman, who should say that her husband would, to a certainty, have been better?
One groped noiselessly among such questions, and it was actually not even definite for the Princess that her own Amerigo, left alone with her in town, had arrived at the golden mean of non-precautionary gallantry which would tend, by his calculation, to brush private criticism from its last perching-place. The truth was, in this connection, that she had different sorts of terrors, and there were hours when it came to her that these days were a prolonged repetition of that night-drive, of weeks before, from the other house to their own, when he had tried to charm her, by his sovereign personal power, into some collapse24 that would commit her to a repudiation25 of consistency26. She was never alone with him, it was to be said, without her having sooner or later to ask herself what had already become of her consistency; yet, at the same time, so long as she breathed no charge, she kept hold of a remnant of appearance that could save her from attack. Attack, real attack, from him, as he would conduct it was what she above all dreaded27; she was so far from sure that under that experience she mightn’t drop into some depth of weakness, mightn’t show him some shortest way with her that he would know how to use again. Therefore, since she had given him, as yet, no moment’s pretext28 for pretending to her that she had either lost faith or suffered by a feather’s weight in happiness, she left him, it was easy to reason, with an immense advantage for all waiting and all tension. She wished him, for the present, to “make up” to her for nothing. Who could say to what making-up might lead, into what consenting or pretending or destroying blindness it might plunge30 her? She loved him too helplessly, still, to dare to open the door, by an inch, to his treating her as if either of them had wronged the other. Something or somebody — and who, at this, which of them all?— would inevitably31, would in the gust32 of momentary33 selfishness, be sacrificed to that; whereas what she intelligently needed was to know where she was going. Knowledge, knowledge, was a fascination34 as well as a fear; and a part, precisely, of the strangeness of this juncture35 was the way her apprehension36 that he would break out to her with some merely general profession was mixed with her dire38 need to forgive him, to reassure39 him, to respond to him, on no ground that she didn’t fully12 measure. To do these things it must be clear to her what they were FOR; but to act in that light was, by the same effect, to learn, horribly, what the other things had been. He might tell her only what he wanted, only what would work upon her by the beauty of his appeal; and the result of the direct appeal of ANY beauty in him would be her helpless submission40 to his terms. All her temporary safety, her hand-to-mouth success, accordingly, was in his neither perceiving nor divining this, thanks to such means as she could take to prevent him; take, literally41 from hour to hour, during these days of more unbroken exposure. From hour to hour she fairly expected some sign of his having decided42 on a jump. “Ah yes, it HAS been as you think; I’ve strayed away, I’ve fancied myself free, given myself in other quantities, with larger generosities43, because I thought you were different — different from what I now see. But it was only, only, because I didn’t know — and you must admit that you gave me scarce reason enough. Reason enough, I mean, to keep clear of my mistake; to which I confess, for which I’ll do exquisite44 penance45, which you can help me now, I too beautifully feel, to get completely over.”
That was what, while she watched herself, she potentially heard him bring out; and while she carried to an end another day, another sequence and yet another of their hours together, without his producing it, she felt herself occupied with him beyond even the intensity46 of surrender. She was keeping her head, for a reason, for a cause; and the labour of this detachment, with the labour of her keeping the pitch of it down, held them together in the steel hoop47 of an intimacy48 compared with which artless passion would have been but a beating of the air. Her greatest danger, or at least her greatest motive49 for care, was the obsession50 of the thought that, if he actually did suspect, the fruit of his attention to her couldn’t help being a sense of the growth of her importance. Taking the measure, with him, as she had taken it with her father, of the prescribed reach of her hypocrisy51, she saw how it would have to stretch even to her seeking to prove that she was NOT, all the same, important. A single touch from him — oh, she should know it in case of its coming!— any brush of his hand, of his lips, of his voice, inspired by recognition of her probable interest as distinct from pity for her virtual gloom, would hand her over to him bound hand and foot. Therefore to be free, to be free to act, other than abjectly52, for her father, she must conceal53 from him the validity that, like a microscopic54 insect pushing a grain of sand, she was taking on even for herself. She could keep it up with a change in sight, but she couldn’t keep it up forever; so that, really, one extraordinary effect of their week of untempered confrontation55, which bristled56 with new marks, was to make her reach out, in thought, to their customary companions and calculate the kind of relief that rejoining them would bring. She was learning, almost from minute to minute, to be a mistress of shades since, always, when there were possibilities enough of intimacy, there were also, by that fact, in intercourse57, possibilities of iridescence58; but she was working against an adversary59 who was a master of shades too, and on whom, if she didn’t look out, she should presently have imposed a consciousness of the nature of their struggle. To feel him in fact, to think of his feeling himself, her adversary in things of this fineness — to see him at all, in short, brave a name that would represent him as in opposition60 — was already to be nearly reduced to a visible smothering61 of her cry of alarm. Should he guess they were having, in their so occult manner, a HIGH fight, and that it was she, all the while, in her supposed stupidity, who had made it high and was keeping it high — in the event of his doing this before they could leave town she should verily be lost.
The possible respite62 for her at Fawns would come from the fact that observation, in him, there, would inevitably find some of its directness diverted. This would be the case if only because the remarkable strain of her father’s placidity63 might be thought of as likely to claim some larger part of his attention. Besides which there would be always Charlotte herself to draw him off. Charlotte would help him again, doubtless, to study anything, right or left, that might be symptomatic; but Maggie could see that this very fact might perhaps contribute, in its degree, to protect the secret of her own fermentation. It is not even incredible that she may have discovered the gleam of a comfort that was to broaden in the conceivable effect on the Prince’s spirit, on his nerves, on his finer irritability64, of some of the very airs and aspects, the light graces themselves, of Mrs. Verver’s too perfect competence65. What it would most come to, after all, she said to herself, was a renewal66 for him of the privilege of watching that lady watch her. Very well, then: with the elements after all so mixed in him, how long would he go on enjoying mere37 spectatorship of that act? For she had by this time made up her mind that in Charlotte’s company he deferred67 to Charlotte’s easier art of mounting guard. Wouldn’t he get tired — to put it only at that — of seeing her always on the rampart, erect68 and elegant, with her lace-flounced parasol now folded and now shouldered, march to and fro against a gold-coloured east or west? Maggie had gone far, truly for a view of the question of this particular reaction, and she was not incapable69 of pulling herself up with the rebuke70 that she counted her chickens before they were hatched. How sure she should have to be of so many things before she might thus find a weariness in Amerigo’s expression and a logic71 in his weariness!
One of her dissimulated72 arts for meeting their tension, meanwhile, was to interweave Mrs. Assingham as plausibly73 as possible with the undulations of their surface, to bring it about that she should join them, of an afternoon, when they drove together or if they went to look at things — looking at things being almost as much a feature of their life as if they were bazaar-opening royalties74. Then there were such combinations, later in the day, as her attendance on them, and the Colonel’s as well, for such whimsical matters as visits to the opera no matter who was singing, and sudden outbreaks of curiosity about the British drama. The good couple from Cadogan Place could always unprotestingly dine with them and “go on” afterwards to such publicities as the Princess cultivated the boldness of now perversely preferring. It may be said of her that, during these passages, she plucked her sensations by the way, detached, nervously75, the small wild blossoms of her dim forest, so that she could smile over them at least with the spacious76 appearance, for her companions, for her husband above all, of bravely, of altogether frivolously77, going a-maying. She had her intense, her smothered78 excitements, some of which were almost inspirations; she had in particular the extravagant79, positively80 at moments the amused, sense of using her friend to the topmost notch81, accompanied with the high luxury of not having to explain. Never, no never, should she have to explain to Fanny Assingham again — who, poor woman, on her own side, would be charged, it might be forever, with that privilege of the higher ingenuity82. She put it all off on Fanny, and the dear thing herself might henceforth appraise84 the quantity. More and more magnificent now in her blameless egoism, Maggie asked no questions of her, and thus only signified the greatness of the opportunity she gave her. She didn’t care for what devotions, what dinners of their own the Assinghams might have been “booked”; that was a detail, and she could think without wincing85 of the ruptures86 and rearrangements to which her service condemned87 them. It all fell in beautifully, moreover; so that, as hard, at this time, in spite of her fever, as a little pointed88 diamond, the Princess showed something of the glitter of consciously possessing the constructive89, the creative hand. She had but to have the fancy of presenting herself, of presenting her husband, in a certain high and convenient manner, to make it natural they should go about with their gentleman and their lady. To what else but this, exactly, had Charlotte, during so many weeks of the earlier season, worked her up?— herself assuming and discharging, so far as might be, the character and office of one of those revolving90 subordinate presences that float in the wake of greatness.
The precedent91 was therefore established and the group normally constituted. Mrs. Assingham, meanwhile, at table, on the stairs, in the carriage or the opera-box, might — with her constant overflow of expression, for that matter, and its singularly resident character where men in especial were concerned — look across at Amerigo in whatever sense she liked: it was not of that Maggie proposed to be afraid. She might warn him, she might rebuke him, she might reassure him, she might — if it were impossible not to — absolutely make love to him; even this was open to her, as a matter simply between them, if it would help her to answer for the impeccability he had guaranteed. And Maggie desired in fact only to strike her as acknowledging the efficacy of her aid when she mentioned to her one evening a small project for the morrow, privately92 entertained — the idea, irresistible93, intense, of going to pay, at the Museum, a visit to Mr. Crichton. Mr. Crichton, as Mrs. Assingham could easily remember, was the most accomplished94 and obliging of public functionaries95, whom every one knew and who knew every one — who had from the first, in particular, lent himself freely, and for the love of art and history, to becoming one of the steadier lights of Mr. Verver’s adventurous96 path. The custodian97 of one of the richest departments of the great national collection of precious things, he could feel for the sincere private collector and urge him on his way even when condemned to be present at his capture of trophies98 sacrificed by the country to parliamentary thrift99. He carried his amiability100 to the point of saying that, since London, under pettifogging views, had to miss, from time to time, its rarest opportunities, he was almost consoled to see such lost causes invariably wander at last, one by one, with the tormenting101 tinkle102 of their silver bells, into the wondrous103, the already famous fold beyond the Mississippi. There was a charm in his “almosts” that was not to be resisted, especially after Mr. Verver and Maggie had grown sure — or almost, again — of enjoying the monopoly of them; and on this basis of envy changed to sympathy by the more familiar view of the father and the daughter, Mr. Crichton had at both houses, though especially in Eaton Square, learned to fill out the responsive and suggestive character. It was at his invitation, Fanny well recalled, that Maggie, one day, long before, and under her own attendance precisely, had, for the glory of the name she bore, paid a visit to one of the ampler shrines104 of the supreme105 exhibitory temple, an alcove106 of shelves charged with the gold-and-brown, gold-and-ivory, of old Italian bindings and consecrated107 to the records of the Prince’s race. It had been an impression that penetrated6, that remained; yet Maggie had sighed, ever so prettily108, at its having to be so superficial. She was to go back some day, to dive deeper, to linger and taste; in spite of which, however, Mrs. Assingham could not recollect109 perceiving that the visit had been repeated. This second occasion had given way, for a long time, in her happy life, to other occasions — all testifying, in their degree, to the quality of her husband’s blood, its rich mixture and its many remarkable references; after which, no doubt, the charming piety110 involved had grown, on still further grounds, bewildered and faint.
It now appeared, none the less, that some renewed conversation with Mr. Crichton had breathed on the faintness revivingly, and Maggie mentioned her purpose as a conception of her very own, to the success of which she designed to devote her morning. Visits of gracious ladies, under his protection, lighted up rosily111, for this perhaps most flower-loving and honey-sipping member of the great Bloomsbury hive, its packed passages and cells; and though not sworn of the province toward which his friend had found herself, according to her appeal to him, yearning112 again, nothing was easier for him than to put her in relation with the presiding urbanities. So it had been settled, Maggie said to Mrs. Assingham, and she was to dispense113 with Amerigo’s company. Fanny was to remember later on that she had at first taken this last fact for one of the finer notes of her young woman’s detachment, imagined she must be going alone because of the shade of irony114 that, in these ambiguous days, her husband’s personal presence might be felt to confer, practically, on any tribute to his transmitted significance. Then as, the next moment, she felt it clear that so much plotted freedom was virtually a refinement115 of reflection, an impulse to commemorate116 afresh whatever might still survive of pride and hope, her sense of ambiguity117 happily fell and she congratulated her companion on having anything so exquisite to do and on being so exquisitely118 in the humour to do it. After the occasion had come and gone she was confirmed in her optimism; she made out, in the evening, that the hour spent among the projected lights, the annals and illustrations, the parchments and portraits, the emblazoned volumes and the murmured commentary, had been for the Princess enlarging and inspiring. Maggie had said to her some days before, very sweetly but very firmly, “Invite us to dine, please, for Friday, and have any one you like or you can — it doesn’t in the least matter whom;” and the pair in Cadogan Place had bent119 to this mandate120 with a docility121 not in the least ruffled122 by all that it took for granted.
It provided for an evening — this had been Maggie’s view; and she lived up to her view, in her friend’s eyes, by treating the occasion, more or less explicitly123, as new and strange. The good Assinghams had feasted in fact at the two other boards on a scale so disproportionate to the scant124 solicitations of their own that it was easy to make a joke of seeing how they fed at home, how they met, themselves, the question of giving to eat. Maggie dined with them, in short, and arrived at making her husband appear to dine, much in the manner of a pair of young sovereigns who have, in the frolic humour of the golden years of reigns125, proposed themselves to a pair of faithfully-serving subjects. She showed an interest in their arrangements, an inquiring tenderness almost for their economies; so that her hostess not unnaturally126, as they might have said, put it all down — the tone and the freedom of which she set the example — to the effect wrought in her afresh by one of the lessons learned, in the morning, at the altar of the past. Hadn’t she picked it up, from an anecdote127 or two offered again to her attention, that there were, for princesses of such a line, more ways than one of being a heroine? Maggie’s way to-night was to surprise them all, truly, by the extravagance of her affability. She was doubtless not positively boisterous128; yet, though Mrs. Assingham, as a bland129 critic, had never doubted her being graceful130, she had never seen her put so much of it into being what might have been called assertive131. It was all a tune132 to which Fanny’s heart could privately palpitate: her guest was happy, happy as a consequence of something that had occurred, but she was making the Prince not lose a ripple133 of her laugh, though not perhaps always enabling him to find it absolutely not foolish. Foolish, in public, beyond a certain point, he was scarce the man to brook134 his wife’s being thought to be; so that there hovered135 before their friend the possibility of some subsequent scene between them, in the carriage or at home, of slightly sarcastic136 inquiry137, of promptly138 invited explanation; a scene that, according as Maggie should play her part in it, might or might not precipitate139 developments. What made these appearances practically thrilling, meanwhile, was this mystery — a mystery, it was clear, to Amerigo himself — of the incident or the influence that had so peculiarly determined140 them.
The lady of Cadogan Place was to read deeper, however, within three days, and the page was turned for her on the eve of her young confidant’s leaving London. The awaited migration141 to Fawns was to take place on the morrow, and it was known meanwhile to Mrs. Assingham that their party of four were to dine that night, at the American Embassy, with another and a larger party; so that the elder woman had a sense of surprise on receiving from the younger, under date of six o’clock, a telegram requesting her immediate142 attendance. “Please come to me at once; dress early, if necessary, so that we shall have time: the carriage, ordered for us, will take you back first.” Mrs. Assingham, on quick deliberation, dressed, though not perhaps with full lucidity143, and by seven o’clock was in Portland Place, where her friend, “upstairs” and described to her on her arrival as herself engaged in dressing144, instantly received her. She knew on the spot, poor Fanny, as she was afterwards to declare to the Colonel, that her feared crisis had popped up as at the touch of a spring, that her impossible hour was before her. Her impossible hour was the hour of its coming out that she had known of old so much more than she had ever said; and she had often put it to herself, in apprehension, she tried to think even in preparation, that she should recognise the approach of her doom145 by a consciousness akin29 to that of the blowing open of a window on some night of the highest wind and the lowest thermometer. It would be all in vain to have crouched146 so long by the fire; the glass would have been smashed, the icy air would fill the place. If the air in Maggie’s room then, on her going up, was not, as yet, quite the polar blast she had expected, it was distinctly, none the less, such an atmosphere as they had not hitherto breathed together. The Princess, she perceived, was completely dressed — that business was over; it added indeed to the effect of her importantly awaiting the assistance she had summoned, of her showing a deck cleared, so to speak, for action. Her maid had already left her, and she presented herself, in the large, clear room, where everything was admirable, but where nothing was out of place, as, for the first time in her life rather “bedizened.” Was it that she had put on too many things, overcharged herself with jewels, wore in particular more of them than usual, and bigger ones, in her hair?— a question her visitor presently answered by attributing this appearance largely to the bright red spot, red as some monstrous147 ruby148, that burned in either of her cheeks. These two items of her aspect had, promptly enough, their own light for Mrs. Assingham, who made out by it that nothing more pathetic could be imagined than the refuge and disguise her agitation149 had instinctively150 asked of the arts of dress, multiplied to extravagance, almost to incoherence. She had had, visibly, her idea — that of not betraying herself by inattentions into which she had never yet fallen, and she stood there circled about and furnished forth83, as always, in a manner that testified to her perfect little personal processes. It had ever been her sign that she was, for all occasions, FOUND ready, without loose ends or exposed accessories or unremoved superfluities; a suggestion of the swept and garnished151, in her whole splendid, yet thereby152 more or less encumbered153 and embroidered154 setting, that reflected her small still passion for order and symmetry, for objects with their backs to the walls, and spoke155 even of some probable reference, in her American blood, to dusting and polishing New England grandmothers. If her apartment was “princely,” in the clearness of the lingering day, she looked as if she had been carried there prepared, all attired156 and decorated, like some holy image in a procession, and left, precisely, to show what wonder she could work under pressure. Her friend felt — how could she not?— as the truly pious priest might feel when confronted, behind the altar, before the festa, with his miraculous157 Madonna. Such an occasion would be grave, in general, with all the gravity of what he might look for. But the gravity to-night would be of the rarest; what he might look for would depend so on what he could give.
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overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fawns
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| n.（未满一岁的）幼鹿( fawn的名词复数 )；浅黄褐色；乞怜者；奉承者v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的第三人称单数 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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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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felicitous
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| adj.恰当的，巧妙的；n.恰当，贴切 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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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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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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usurped
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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perversely
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| adv. 倔强地 | |
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invoking
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| v.援引( invoke的现在分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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muffling
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| v.压抑，捂住( muffle的现在分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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abruptly
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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repudiation
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| n.拒绝；否认；断绝关系；抛弃 | |
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consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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34
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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35
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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36
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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37
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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38
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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39
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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40
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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41
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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42
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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43
generosities
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| n.慷慨( generosity的名词复数 )；大方；宽容；慷慨或宽容的行为 | |
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44
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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45
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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46
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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47
hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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48
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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49
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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50
obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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51
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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52
abjectly
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| 凄惨地； 绝望地； 糟透地； 悲惨地 | |
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53
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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54
microscopic
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| adj.微小的，细微的，极小的，显微的 | |
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55
confrontation
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| n.对抗，对峙，冲突 | |
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56
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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57
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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58
iridescence
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| n.彩虹色；放光彩；晕色；晕彩 | |
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59
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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60
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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61
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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62
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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63
placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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64
irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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65
competence
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| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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66
renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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67
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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68
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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69
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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70
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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71
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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72
dissimulated
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| v.掩饰（感情），假装（镇静）( dissimulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
plausibly
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| 似真地 | |
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74
royalties
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| 特许权使用费 | |
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75
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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76
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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77
frivolously
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| adv.轻浮地，愚昧地 | |
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78
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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79
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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80
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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81
notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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82
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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83
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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84
appraise
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| v.估价，评价，鉴定 | |
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85
wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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86
ruptures
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| n.（体内组织等的）断裂( rupture的名词复数 )；爆裂；疝气v.（使）破裂( rupture的第三人称单数 )；（使体内组织等）断裂；使（友好关系）破裂；使绝交 | |
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87
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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88
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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89
constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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90
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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91
precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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92
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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93
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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94
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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95
functionaries
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| n.公职人员，官员( functionary的名词复数 ) | |
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96
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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97
custodian
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| n.保管人，监护人；公共建筑看守 | |
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98
trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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99
thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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100
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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101
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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102
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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103
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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104
shrines
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| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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105
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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106
alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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107
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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108
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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109
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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110
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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111
rosily
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| adv.带玫瑰色地，乐观地 | |
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112
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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113
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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114
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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115
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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116
commemorate
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| vt.纪念，庆祝 | |
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117
ambiguity
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| n.模棱两可；意义不明确 | |
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118
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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119
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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120
mandate
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| n.托管地；命令，指示 | |
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121
docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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122
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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123
explicitly
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| ad.明确地，显然地 | |
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124
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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125
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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126
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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127
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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128
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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129
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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130
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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131
assertive
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| adj.果断的，自信的，有冲劲的 | |
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132
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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133
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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134
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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135
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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136
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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137
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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138
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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139
precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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140
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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141
migration
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| n.迁移，移居，（鸟类等的）迁徙 | |
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142
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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143
lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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144
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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145
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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146
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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148
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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149
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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150
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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151
garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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153
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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155
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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156
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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