“I come,” he said, “my love, my life,
And — nature’s dearest name — my wife:
Thy father’s house and friends resign,
My home, my friends, my sire, are thine.”
Logan.
The meeting of Jeanie and Butler, under circumstances promising1 to crown an affection so long delayed, was rather affecting, from its simple sincerity2 than from its uncommon3 vehemence4 of feeling. David Deans, whose practice was sometimes a little different from his theory, appalled5 them at first, by giving them the opinion of sundry6 of the suffering preachers and champions of his younger days, that marriage, though honourable7 by the laws of Scripture8, was yet a state over-rashly coveted9 by professors, and specially10 by young ministers, whose desire, he said, was at whiles too inordinate11 for kirks, stipends12, and wives, which had frequently occasioned over-ready compliance13 with the general defections of the times. He endeavoured to make them aware also, that hasty wedlock14 had been the bane of many a savoury professor — that the unbelieving wife had too often reversed the text and perverted15 the believing husband — that when the famous Donald Cargill, being then hiding in Lee-Wood, in Lanarkshire, it being killing-time, did, upon importunity16, marry Robert Marshal of Starry17 Shaw, he had thus expressed himself: “What hath induced Robert to marry this woman? her ill will overcome his good — he will not keep the way long — his thriving days are done.” To the sad accomplishment18 of which prophecy David said he was himself a living witness, for Robert Marshal, having fallen into foul19 compliances with the enemy, went home, and heard the curates, declined into other steps of defection, and became lightly esteemed20. Indeed, he observed, that the great upholders of the standard, Cargill, Peden, Cameron, and Renwick, had less delight in tying the bonds of matrimony than in any other piece of their ministerial work; and although they would neither dissuade21 the parties, nor refuse their office, they considered the being called to it as an evidence of indifference22, on the part of those between whom it was solemnised, to the many grievous things of the day. Notwithstanding, however, that marriage was a snare23 unto many, David was of opinion (as, indeed, he had showed in his practice) that it was in itself honourable, especially if times were such that honest men could be secure against being shot, hanged, or banished24, and had ane competent livelihood25 to maintain themselves, and those that might come after them. “And, therefore,” as he concluded something abruptly26, addressing Jeanie and Butler, who, with faces as high-coloured as crimson27, had been listening to his lengthened28 argument for and against the holy state of matrimony, “I will leave you to your ain cracks.”
As their private conversation, however interesting to themselves, might probably be very little so to the reader, so far as it respected their present feelings and future prospects29, we shall pass it over, and only mention the information which Jeanie received from Butler concerning her sister’s elopement, which contained many particulars that she had been unable to extract from her father.
Jeanie learned, therefore, that, for three days after her pardon had arrived, Effie had been the inmate30 of her father’s house at St. Leonard’s — that the interviews betwixt David and his erring31 child, which had taken place before she was liberated33 from prison, had been touching34 in the extreme; but Butler could not suppress his opinion, that, when he was freed from the apprehension35 of losing her in a manner so horrible, her father had tightened36 the bands of discipline, so as, in some degree, to gall37 the feelings, and aggravate38 the irritability39 of a spirit naturally impatient and petulant40, and now doubly so from the sense of merited disgrace.
On the third night, Effie disappeared from St. Leonard’s, leaving no intimation whatever of the route she had taken. Butler, however, set out in pursuit of her, and with much trouble traced her towards a little landing-place, formed by a small brook41 which enters the sea betwixt Musselburgh and Edinburgh. This place, which has been since made into a small harbour, surrounded by many villas42 and lodging-houses, is now termed Portobello. At this time it was surrounded by a waste common, covered with furze, and unfrequented, save by fishing-boats, and now and then a smuggling43 lugger. A vessel44 of this description had been hovering45 in the firth at the time of Effie’s elopement, and, as Butler ascertained46, a boat had come ashore47 in the evening on which the fugitive48 had disappeared, and had carried on board a female. As the vessel made sail immediately, and landed no part of their cargo49, there seemed little doubt that they were accomplices50 of the notorious Robertson, and that the vessel had only come into the firth to carry off his paramour.
This was made clear by a letter which Butler himself soon afterwards received by post, signed E. D., but without bearing any date of place or time. It was miserably51 ill written and spelt; sea-sickness having apparently52 aided the derangement53 of Effie’s very irregular orthography54 and mode of expression. In this epistle, however, as in all that unfortunate girl said or did, there was something to praise as well as to blame. She said in her letter, “That she could not endure that her father and her sister should go into banishment55, or be partakers of her shame — that if her burden was a heavy one, it was of her own binding56, and she had the more right to bear it alone — that in future they could not be a comfort to her, or she to them, since every look and word of her father put her in mind of her transgression57, and was like to drive her mad — that she had nearly lost her judgment58 during the three days she was at St. Leonard’s — her father meant weel by her, and all men, but he did not know the dreadful pain he gave her in casting up her sins. If Jeanie had been at hame, it might hae dune59 better — Jeanie was ane, like the angels in heaven, that rather weep for sinners, than reckon their transgressions60. But she should never see Jeanie ony mair, and that was the thought that gave her the sairest heart of a’ that had come and gane yet. On her bended knees would she pray for Jeanie night and day, baith for what she had done, and what she had scorned to do, in her behalf; for what a thought would it have been to her at that moment o’ time, if that upright creature had made a fault to save her! She desired her father would give Jeanie a’ the gear — her ain (i.e. Effie’s) mother’s and a’— She had made a deed, giving up her right, and it was in Mr. Novit’s hand — Warld’s gear was henceforward the least of her care, nor was it likely to be muckle her mister — She hoped this would make it easy for her sister to settle;” and immediately after this expression, she wished Butler himself all good things, in return for his kindness to her. “For herself,” she said, “she kend her lot would be a waesome ane, but it was of her own framing, sae she desired the less pity. But, for her friends’ satisfaction, she wished them to know that she was gaun nae ill gate — that they who had done her maist wrong were now willing to do her what justice was in their power; and she would, in some warldly respects, be far better off than she deserved. But she desired her family to remain satisfied with this assurance, and give themselves no trouble in making farther inquiries61 after her.”
To David Deans and to Butler this letter gave very little comfort; for what was to be expected from this unfortunate girl’s uniting her fate to that of a character so notorious as Robertson, who they readily guessed was alluded62 to in the last sentence, excepting that she should become the partner and victim of his future crimes? Jeanie, who knew George Staunton’s character and real rank, saw her sister’s situation under a ray of better hope. She augured63 well of the haste he had shown to reclaim64 his interest in Effie, and she trusted he had made her his wife. If so, it seemed improbable that, with his expected fortune, and high connections, he should again resume the life of criminal adventure which he had led, especially since, as matters stood, his life depended upon his keeping his own secret, which could only be done by an entire change of his habits, and particularly by avoiding all those who had known the heir of Willingham under the character of the audacious, criminal, and condemned65 Robertson.
She thought it most likely that the couple would go abroad for a few years, and not return to England until the affair of Porteous was totally forgotten. Jeanie, therefore, saw more hopes for her sister than Butler or her father had been able to perceive; but she was not at liberty to impart the comfort which she felt in believing that she would be secure from the pressure of poverty, and in little risk of being seduced66 into the paths of guilt67. She could not have explained this without making public what it was essentially68 necessary for Effie’s chance of comfort to conceal69, the identity, namely, of George Staunton and George Robertson. After all, it was dreadful to think that Effie had united herself to a man condemned for felony, and liable to trial for murder, whatever might be his rank in life, and the degree of his repentance70. Besides, it was melancholy71 to reflect, that, she herself being in possession of the whole dreadful secret, it was most probable he would, out of regard to his own feelings, and fear for his safety, never again permit her to see poor Effie. After perusing72 and re-perusing her sister’s valedictory73 letter, she gave ease to her feelings in a flood of tears, which Butler in vain endeavoured to check by every soothing74 attention in his power. She was obliged, however, at length to look up and wipe her eyes, for her father, thinking he had allowed the lovers time enough for conference, was now advancing towards them from the Lodge75, accompanied by the Captain of Knockdunder, or, as his friends called him for brevity’s sake, Duncan Knock, a title which some youthful exploits had rendered peculiarly appropriate.
This Duncan of Knockdunder was a person of first-rate importance in the island of Roseneath,1 and the continental76 parishes of Knocktarlitie, Kilmun, and so forth77; nay78, his influence extended as far as Cowal, where, however, it was obscured by that of another factor.
The Tower of Knockdunder still occupies, with its remains79, a cliff overhanging the Holy Loch. Duncan swore it had been a royal castle; if so, it was one of the smallest, the space within only forming a square of sixteen feet, and bearing therefore a ridiculous proportion to the thickness of the walls, which was ten feet at least. Such as it was, however, it had long given the title of Captain, equivalent to that of Chatellain, to the ancestors of Duncan, who were retainers of the house of Argyle, and held a hereditary80 jurisdiction81 under them, of little extent indeed, but which had great consequence in their own eyes, and was usually administered with a vigour82 somewhat beyond the law.
The present representative of that ancient family was a stout83 short man about fifty, whose pleasure it was to unite in his own person the dress of the Highlands and Lowlands, wearing on his head a black tie-wig, surmounted86 by a fierce cocked-hat, deeply guarded with gold lace, while the rest of his dress consisted of the plaid and philabeg. Duncan superintended a district which was partly Highland85, partly Lowland, and therefore might be supposed to combine their national habits, in order to show his impartiality87 to Trojan or Tyrian. The incongruity88, however, had a whimsical and ludicrous effect, as it made his head and body look as if belonging to different individuals; or, as some one said who had seen the executions of the insurgent89 prisoners in 1715, it seemed as if some Jacobite enchanter, having recalled the sufferers to life, had clapped, in his haste, an Englishman’s head on a Highlander’s body. To finish the portrait, the bearing of the gracious Duncan was brief, bluff90, and consequential91, and the upward turn of his short copper-coloured nose indicated that he was somewhat addicted92 to wrath93 and usquebaugh.
When this dignitary had advanced up to Butler and to Jeanie, “I take the freedom, Mr. Deans,” he said in a very consequential manner, “to salute94 your daughter, whilk I presume this young lass to be — I kiss every pretty girl that comes to Roseneath, in virtue95 of my office.” Having made this gallant96 speech, he took out his quid, saluted97 Jeanie with a hearty98 smack99, and bade her welcome to Argyle’s country. Then addressing Butler, he said, “Ye maun gang ower and meet the carle ministers yonder the Morn, for they will want to do your job, and synd it down with usquebaugh doubtless — they seldom make dry wark in this kintra.”
“And the Laird”— said David Deans, addressing Butler in farther explanation —
“The Captain, man,” interrupted Duncan; “folk winna ken32 wha ye are speaking aboot, unless ye gie shentlemens their proper title.”
“The Captain, then,” said David, “assures me that the call is unanimous on the part of the parishioners — a real harmonious100 call, Reuben.”
“I pelieve,” said Duncan, “it was as harmonious as could pe expected, when the tae half o’ the bodies were clavering Sassenach, and the t’other skirting Gaelic, like sea-maws and clackgeese before a storm. Ane wad hae needed the gift of tongues to ken preceesely what they said — but I pelieve the best end of it was, ‘Long live MacCallummore and Knockdunder!’— And as to its being an unanimous call, I wad be glad to ken fat business the carles have to call ony thing or ony body but what the Duke and mysell likes!”
“Nevertheless,” said Mr. Butler, “if any of the parishioners have any scruples102, which sometimes happen in the mind of sincere professors, I should be happy of an opportunity of trying to remove —”
“Never fash your peard about it, man,” interrupted Duncan Knock —“Leave it a’ to me. — Scruple101! deil ane o’ them has been bred up to scruple onything that they’re bidden to do. And if sic a thing suld happen as ye speak o’, ye sall see the sincere professor, as ye ca’ him, towed at the stern of my boat for a few furlongs. I’ll try if the water of the Haly Loch winna wash off scruples as weel as fleas103 — Cot tam!”
The rest of Duncan’s threat was lost in a growling104 gargling sort of sound, which he made in his throat, and which menaced recusants with no gentle means of conversion105. David Deans would certainly have given battle in defence of the right of the Christian106 congregation to be consulted in the choice of their own pastor107, which, in his estimation, was one of the choicest and most inalienable of their privileges; but he had again engaged in close conversation with Jeanie, and, with more interest than he was in use to take in affairs foreign alike to his occupation and to his religious tenets, was inquiring into the particulars of her London journey. This was, perhaps, fortunate for the newformed friendship betwixt him and the Captain of Knockdunder, which rested, in David’s estimation, upon the proofs he had given of his skill in managing stock; but, in reality, upon the special charge transmitted to Duncan from the Duke and his agent, to behave with the utmost attention to Deans and his family.
“And now, sirs,” said Duncan, in a commanding tone, “I am to pray ye a’ to come in to your supper, for yonder is Mr. Archibald half famished108, and a Saxon woman, that looks as if her een were fleeing out o’ her head wi’ fear and wonder, as if she had never seen a shentleman in a philabeg pefore.”
“And Reuben Butler,” said David, “will doubtless desire instantly to retire, that he may prepare his mind for the exercise of tomorrow, that his work may suit the day, and be an offering of a sweet savour in the nostrils109 of the reverend Presbytery!”
“Hout tout84, man, it’s but little ye ken about them,” interrupted the Captain. “Teil a ane o’ them wad gie the savour of the hot venison pasty which I smell” (turning his squab nose up in the air) “a’ the way frae the Lodge, for a’ that Mr. Putler, or you either, can say to them.”
David groaned110; but judging he had to do with a Gallio, as he said, did not think it worth his while to give battle. They followed the Captain to the house, and arranged themselves with great ceremony round a well-loaded supper-table. The only other circumstance of the evening worthy111 to be recorded is, that Butler pronounced the blessing112; that Knockdunder found it too long, and David Deans censured113 it as too short, from which the charitable reader may conclude it was exactly the proper length.
1 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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2 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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3 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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4 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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5 appalled | |
v.使惊骇,使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的;丧胆的 | |
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6 sundry | |
adj.各式各样的,种种的 | |
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7 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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8 scripture | |
n.经文,圣书,手稿;Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》,《圣经》中的一段 | |
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9 coveted | |
adj.令人垂涎的;垂涎的,梦寐以求的v.贪求,觊觎(covet的过去分词);垂涎;贪图 | |
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10 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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11 inordinate | |
adj.无节制的;过度的 | |
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12 stipends | |
n.(尤指牧师的)薪俸( stipend的名词复数 ) | |
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13 compliance | |
n.顺从;服从;附和;屈从 | |
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14 wedlock | |
n.婚姻,已婚状态 | |
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15 perverted | |
adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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16 importunity | |
n.硬要,强求 | |
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17 starry | |
adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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18 accomplishment | |
n.完成,成就,(pl.)造诣,技能 | |
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19 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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20 esteemed | |
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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21 dissuade | |
v.劝阻,阻止 | |
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22 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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23 snare | |
n.陷阱,诱惑,圈套;(去除息肉或者肿瘤的)勒除器;响弦,小军鼓;vt.以陷阱捕获,诱惑 | |
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24 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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26 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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27 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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28 lengthened | |
(时间或空间)延长,伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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30 inmate | |
n.被收容者;(房屋等的)居住人;住院人 | |
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31 erring | |
做错事的,错误的 | |
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32 ken | |
n.视野,知识领域 | |
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33 liberated | |
a.无拘束的,放纵的 | |
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34 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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35 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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36 tightened | |
收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)变紧; (使)绷紧; 加紧 | |
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37 gall | |
v.使烦恼,使焦躁,难堪;n.磨难 | |
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38 aggravate | |
vt.加重(剧),使恶化;激怒,使恼火 | |
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39 irritability | |
n.易怒 | |
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40 petulant | |
adj.性急的,暴躁的 | |
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41 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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42 villas | |
别墅,公馆( villa的名词复数 ); (城郊)住宅 | |
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43 smuggling | |
n.走私 | |
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44 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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45 hovering | |
鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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46 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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48 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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49 cargo | |
n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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50 accomplices | |
从犯,帮凶,同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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51 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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52 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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53 derangement | |
n.精神错乱 | |
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54 orthography | |
n.拼字法,拼字式 | |
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55 banishment | |
n.放逐,驱逐 | |
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56 binding | |
有约束力的,有效的,应遵守的 | |
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57 transgression | |
n.违背;犯规;罪过 | |
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58 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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59 dune | |
n.(由风吹积而成的)沙丘 | |
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60 transgressions | |
n.违反,违法,罪过( transgression的名词复数 ) | |
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61 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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62 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63 augured | |
v.预示,预兆,预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 );成为预兆;占卜 | |
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64 reclaim | |
v.要求归还,收回;开垦 | |
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65 condemned | |
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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66 seduced | |
诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 ); 勾引; 诱使堕落; 使入迷 | |
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67 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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68 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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69 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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70 repentance | |
n.懊悔 | |
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71 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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72 perusing | |
v.读(某篇文字)( peruse的现在分词 );(尤指)细阅;审阅;匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览(某篇文字) | |
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73 valedictory | |
adj.告别的;n.告别演说 | |
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74 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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75 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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76 continental | |
adj.大陆的,大陆性的,欧洲大陆的 | |
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77 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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78 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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79 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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80 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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81 jurisdiction | |
n.司法权,审判权,管辖权,控制权 | |
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82 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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84 tout | |
v.推销,招徕;兜售;吹捧,劝诱 | |
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85 highland | |
n.(pl.)高地,山地 | |
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86 surmounted | |
战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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87 impartiality | |
n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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88 incongruity | |
n.不协调,不一致 | |
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89 insurgent | |
adj.叛乱的,起事的;n.叛乱分子 | |
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90 bluff | |
v.虚张声势,用假象骗人;n.虚张声势,欺骗 | |
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91 consequential | |
adj.作为结果的,间接的;重要的 | |
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92 addicted | |
adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
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93 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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94 salute | |
vi.行礼,致意,问候,放礼炮;vt.向…致意,迎接,赞扬;n.招呼,敬礼,礼炮 | |
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95 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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96 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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97 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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98 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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99 smack | |
vt.拍,打,掴;咂嘴;vi.含有…意味;n.拍 | |
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100 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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101 scruple | |
n./v.顾忌,迟疑 | |
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102 scruples | |
n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 );顾虑,顾忌v.感到于心不安,有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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103 fleas | |
n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 );爱财如命;没好气地(拒绝某人的要求) | |
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104 growling | |
n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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105 conversion | |
n.转化,转换,转变 | |
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106 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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107 pastor | |
n.牧师,牧人 | |
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108 famished | |
adj.饥饿的 | |
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109 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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110 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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111 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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112 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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113 censured | |
v.指责,非难,谴责( censure的过去式 ) | |
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