The abode1 of the Baron2 d’Escorval, that brick structure with stone trimmings which was visible from the superb avenue leading to Sairmeuse, was small and unpretentious.
Its chief attraction was a pretty lawn that extended to the banks of the Oiselle, and a small but beautifully shaded park.
It was known as the Chateau3 d’Escorval, but that appellation4 was gross flattery. Any petty manufacturer who had amassed5 a small fortune would have desired a larger, handsomer, and more imposing6 establishment.
M. d’Escorval — and it will be an eternal honor to him in history — was not rich.
Although he had been intrusted with several of those missions from which generals and diplomats7 often return laden8 with millions, M. d’Escorval’s worldly possessions consisted only of the little patrimony9 bequeathed him by his father: a property which yielded an income of from twenty to twenty-five thousand francs a year.
This modest dwelling10, situated11 about a mile from Sairmeuse, represented the savings12 of ten years.
He had built it in 1806, from a plan drawn13 by his own hand; and it was the dearest spot on earth to him.
He always hastened to this retreat when his work allowed him a few days of rest.
But this time he had not come to Escorval of his own free will.
He had been compelled to leave Paris by the proscribed14 list of the 24th of July — that fatal list which summoned the enthusiastic Labedoyere and the honest and virtuous15 Drouot before a court-martial16.
And even in this solitude17, M. d’Escorval’s situation was not without danger.
He was one of those who, some days before the disaster of Waterloo, had strongly urged the Emperor to order the execution of Fouche, the former minister of police.
Now, Fouche knew this counsel; and he was powerful.
“Take care!” M. d’Escorval’s friends wrote him from Paris.
But he put his trust in Providence18, and faced the future, threatening though it was, with the unalterable serenity19 of a pure conscience.
The baron was still young; he was not yet fifty, but anxiety, work, and long nights passed in struggling with the most arduous20 difficulties of the imperial policy, had made him old before his time.
He was tall, slightly inclined to embonpoint, and stooped a little.
His calm eyes, his serious mouth, his broad, furrowed21 forehead, and his austere22 manners inspired respect.
“He must be stern and inflexible,” said those who saw him for the first time.
But they were mistaken.
If, in the exercise of his official duties, this truly great man had the strength to resist all temptations to swerve23 from the path of right; if, when duty was at stake, he was as rigid24 as iron, in private life he was as unassuming as a child, and kind and gentle even to the verge25 of weakness.
To this nobility of character he owed his domestic happiness, that rare and precious happiness which fills one’s existence with a celestial26 perfume.
During the bloodiest27 epoch28 of the Reign29 of Terror, M. d’Escorval had wrested30 from the guillotine a young girl named Victoire-Laure d’Alleu, a distant cousin of the Rhetaus of Commarin, as beautiful as an angel, and only three years younger than himself.
He loved her — and though she was an orphan31, destitute32 of fortune, he married her, considering the treasure of her virgin33 heart of far greater value than the most magnificent dowry.
She was an honest woman, as her husband was an honest man, in the most strict and vigorous sense of the word.
She was seldom seen at the Tuileries, where M. d’Escorval’s worth made him eagerly welcomed. The splendors34 of the Imperial Court, which at that time surpassed all the pomp of the time of Louis XIV., had no attractions for her.
Grace, beauty, youth and accomplishments35 — she reserved them all for the adornment37 of her home.
Her husband was her God. She lived in him and through him. She had not a thought which did not belong to him.
The short time that he could spare from his arduous labors38 to devote to her were her happiest hours.
And when, in the evening, they sat beside the fire in their modest drawing-room, with their son Maurice playing on the rug at their feet, it seemed to them that they had nothing to wish for here below.
The overthrow39 of the empire surprised them in the heydey of their happiness.
Surprised them? No. For a long time M. d’Escorval had seen the prodigious40 edifice41 erected42 by the genius whom he had made his idol43 totter44 as if about to fall.
Certainly, he felt intense chagrin45 at this fall, but he was heart-broken at the sight of all the treason and cowardice46 which followed it. He was indignant and horrified47 at the rising en masse of the avaricious48, who hastened to gorge49 themselves with the spoil.
Under these circumstances, exile from Paris seemed an actual blessing50.
“Besides,” as he remarked to the baroness51, “we shall soon be forgotten here.”
But even while he said this he felt many misgivings52. Still, by his side, his noble wife presented a tranquil53 face, even while she trembled for the safety of her adored husband.
On this first Sunday in August, M. d’Escorval and his wife had been unusually sad. A vague presentiment54 of approaching misfortune weighed heavily upon their hearts.
At the same hour that Lacheneur presented himself at the house of the Abbe Midon, they were seated upon the terrace in front of the house, gazing anxiously at the two roads leading from Escorval to the chateau, and to the village of Sairmeuse.
Warned, that same morning, by his friends in Montaignac of the arrival of the duke, the baron had sent his son to inform M. Lacheneur.
He had requested him to be absent as short a time as possible; but in spite of this fact, the hours were rolling by, and Maurice had not returned.
“What if something has happened to him!” both father and mother were thinking.
No; nothing had happened to him. Only a word from Mlle. Lacheneur had sufficed to make him forget his usual deference55 to his father’s wishes.
“This evening,” she had said, “I shall certainly know your heart.”
What could this mean? Could she doubt him?
Tortured by the most cruel anxieties, the poor youth could not resolve to go away without an explanation, and he hung around the chateau hoping that Marie-Anne would reappear.
She did reappear at last, but leaning upon the arm of her father.
Young d’Escorval followed them at a distance, and soon saw them enter the parsonage. What were they going to do there? He knew that the duke and his son were within.
The time that they remained there, and which he passed in the public square, seemed more than a century long.
They emerged at last, however, and he was about to join them when he was prevented by the appearance of Martial, whose promises he overheard.
Maurice knew nothing of life; he was as innocent as a child, but he could not mistake the intentions that dictated56 this step on the part of the Marquis de Sairmeuse.
At the thought that a libertine’s caprice should dare rest for an instant upon the pure and beautiful girl whom he loved with all the strength of his being — whom he had sworn should be his wife — all his blood mounted madly to his brain.
He felt a wild longing57 to chastise58 the insolent59 wretch60.
Fortunately — unfortunately, perhaps — his hand was arrested by the recollection of a phrase which he had heard his father repeat a thousand times:
“Calmness and irony61 are the only weapons worthy62 of the strong.”
And he possessed63 sufficient strength of will to appear calm, while, in reality, he was beside himself with passion. It was Martial who lost his self-control, and who threatened him.
“Ah! yes, I will find you again, upstart!” repeated Maurice, through his set teeth as he watched his enemy move away.
For Martial had turned and discovered that Marie-Anne and her father had left him. He saw them standing64 about a hundred paces from him. Although he was surprised at their indifference65, he made haste to join them, and addressed M. Lacheneur.
“We are just going to your father’s house,” was the response he received, in an almost ferocious66 tone.
A glance from Marie-Anne commanded silence. He obeyed, and walked a few steps behind them, with his head bowed upon his breast, terribly anxious, and seeking vainly to explain what had passed.
His attitude betrayed such intense sorrow that his mother divined it as soon as she caught sight of him.
All the anguish67 which this courageous68 woman had hidden for a month, found utterance69 in a single cry.
“Ah! here is misfortune!” said she, “we shall not escape it.”
It was, indeed, misfortune. One could not doubt it when one saw M. Lacheneur enter the drawing-room.
He advanced with the heavy, uncertain step of a drunken man, his eye void of expression, his features distorted, his lips pale and trembling.
“What has happened?” asked the baron, eagerly.
But the other did not seem to hear him.
“Ah! I warned her,” he murmured, continuing a monologue70 which had begun before he entered the room. “I told my daughter so.”
Mme. d’Escorval, after kissing Marie-Anne, drew the girl toward her.
“What has happened? For God’s sake, tell me what has happened!” she exclaimed.
With a gesture expressive71 of the most sorrowful resignation, the girl motioned her to look and to listen to M. Lacheneur.
He had recovered from that stupor72 — that gift of God — which follows cries that are too terrible for human endurance. Like a sleeper73 who, on waking, finds his miseries74 forgotten during his slumber75, lying in wait for him, he regained76 with consciousness the capacity to suffer.
“It is only this, Monsieur le Baron,” replied the unfortunate man in a harsh, unnatural77 voice: “I rose this morning the richest proprietor78 in the country, and I shall lay down to-night poorer than the poorest beggar in this commune. I had everything; I no longer have anything — nothing but my two hands. They earned me my bread for twenty-five years; they will earn it for me now until the day of my death. I had a beautiful dream; it is ended.”
Before this outburst of despair, M. d’Escorval turned pale.
“You must exaggerate your misfortune,” he faltered79; “explain what has happened.”
Unconscious of what he was doing, M. Lacheneur threw his hat upon a chair, and flinging back his long, gray hair, he said:
“To you I will tell all. I came here for that purpose. I know you; I know your heart. And have you not done me the honor to call me your friend?”
Then, with the cruel exactness of the living, breathing truth, he related the scene which had just taken place at the presbytery.
The baron listened petrified80 with astonishment81, almost doubting the evidence of his own senses. Mme. d’Escorval’s indignant and sorrowful exclamations82 showed that every noble sentiment in her soul revolted against such injustice83.
But there was one auditor84, whom Marie-Anne alone observed, who was moved to his very entrails by this recital85. This auditor was Maurice.
Leaning against the door, pale as death, he tried most energetically, but in vain, to repress the tears of rage and of sorrow which swelled86 up in his eyes.
To insult Lacheneur was to insult Marie-Anne — that is to say, to injure, to strike, to outrage87 him in all that he held most dear in the world.
Ah! it is certain that Martial, had he been within his reach, would have paid dearly for these insults to the father of the girl Maurice loved.
But he swore that this chastisement88 was only deferred89 — that it should surely come.
And it was not mere90 angry boasting. This young man, though so modest and so gentle in manner, had a heart that was inaccessible91 to fear. His beautiful, dark eyes, which had the trembling timidity of the eyes of a young girl, met the gaze of an enemy without flinching92.
When M. Lacheneur had repeated the last words which he had addressed to the Duc de Sairmeuse, M. d’Escorval offered him his hand.
“I have told you already that I was your friend,” he said, in a voice faltering93 with emotion; “but I must tell you to-day that I am proud of having such a friend as you.”
The unfortunate man trembled at the touch of that loyal hand which clasped his so warmly, and his face betrayed an ineffable94 satisfaction.
“If my father had not returned it,” murmured the obstinate95 Marie-Anne, “my father would have been an unfaithful guardian96 — a thief. He has done only his duty.”
M. d’Escorval turned to the young girl, a little surprised.
“You speak the truth, Mademoiselle,” he said, reproachfully; “but when you are as old as I am, and have had my experience, you will know that the accomplishment36 of a duty is, under certain circumstances, a heroism97 of which few persons are capable.”
M. Lacheneur turned to his friend.
“Ah! your words do me good, Monsieur,” said he. “Now, I am content with what I have done.”
The baroness rose, too much the woman to know how to resist the generous dictates98 of her heart.
“And I, also, Monsieur Lacheneur,” she said, “desire to press your hand. I wish to tell you that I esteem99 you as much as I despise the ingrates who have sought to humiliate100 you, when they should have fallen at your feet. They are heartless monsters, the like of whom certainly cannot be found upon the earth.”
“Alas!” sighed the baron, “the allies have brought back others who, like these men, think the world created exclusively for their benefit.”
“And these people wish to be our masters,” growled101 Lacheneur.
By some strange fatality102 no one chanced to hear the remark made by M. Lacheneur. Had they overheard and questioned him, he would probably have disclosed some of the projects which were as yet in embryo103 in his own mind; and in that case what disastrous104 consequences might have been averted105.
M. d’Escorval had regained his usual coolness.
“Now, my dear friend,” he inquired, “what course do you propose to pursue with these members of the Sairmeuse family?”
“They will hear nothing more from me — for some time, at least.”
“What! Shall you not claim the ten thousand francs that they owe you?”
“I shall ask them for nothing.”
“You will be compelled to do so. Since you have alluded106 to the legacy107, your own honor will demand that you insist upon its payment by all legal methods. There are still judges in France.”
M. Lacheneur shook his head.
“The judges will not accord me the justice I desire. I shall not apply to them.”
“But ——”
“No, Monsieur, no. I wish to have nothing to do with these men. I shall not even go to the chateau to remove my clothing nor that of my daughter. If they send it to us — very well. If it pleases them to keep it, so much the better. The more shameful108, infamous109 and odious110 their conduct appears, the better I shall be satisfied.”
The baron made no reply; but his wife spoke111, believing she had a sure means of conquering this incomprehensible obstinacy112.
“I should understand your determination if you were alone in the world,” said she, “but you have children.”
“My son is eighteen, Madame; he possesses good health and an excellent education. He can make his own way in Paris, if he chooses to remain there.”
“But your daughter?”
“Marie-Anne will remain with me.”
M. d’Escorval thought it his duty to interfere113.
“Take care, my dear friend, that your grief does not overthrow your reason,” said he. “Reflect! What will become of you — your daughter and yourself?”
The wretched man smiled sadly.
“Oh,” he replied, “we are not as destitute as I said. I exaggerated our misfortune. We are still landed proprietors114. Last year an old cousin, whom I could never induce to come and live at Sairmeuse, died, bequeathing all her property to Marie-Anne. This property consisted of a poor little cottage near the Reche, with a little garden and a few acres of sterile115 land. In compliance116 with my daughter’s entreaties117, I repaired the cottage, and sent there a few articles of furniture — a table, some chairs, and a couple of beds. My daughter designed it as a home for old Father Guvat and his wife. And I, surrounded by wealth and luxury, said to myself: ‘How comfortable those two old people will be there. They will live as snug118 as a bug119 in a rug!’ Well, what I thought so comfortable for others, will be good enough for me. I will raise vegetables, and Marie-Anne shall sell them.”
Was he speaking seriously?
Maurice must have supposed so, for he sprang forward.
“This shall not be, Monsieur Lacheneur!” he exclaimed.
“Oh ——”
“No, this shall not be, for I love Marie-Anne, and I ask you to give her to me for my wife.”
收听单词发音 |
1
abode
|
|
| n.住处，住所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
baron
|
|
| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
chateau
|
|
| n.城堡，别墅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
appellation
|
|
| n.名称，称呼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
amassed
|
|
| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
imposing
|
|
| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
diplomats
|
|
| n.外交官( diplomat的名词复数 )；有手腕的人，善于交际的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
laden
|
|
| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
patrimony
|
|
| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
situated
|
|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
savings
|
|
| n.存款，储蓄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
proscribed
|
|
| v.正式宣布（某事物）有危险或被禁止( proscribe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
virtuous
|
|
| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
martial
|
|
| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
serenity
|
|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
arduous
|
|
| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
furrowed
|
|
| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
austere
|
|
| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
swerve
|
|
| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
verge
|
|
| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
celestial
|
|
| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
bloodiest
|
|
| adj.血污的( bloody的最高级 )；流血的；屠杀的；残忍的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
epoch
|
|
| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
wrested
|
|
| （用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
orphan
|
|
| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
destitute
|
|
| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
splendors
|
|
| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
accomplishments
|
|
| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
accomplishment
|
|
| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
adornment
|
|
| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
labors
|
|
| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
overthrow
|
|
| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
prodigious
|
|
| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
edifice
|
|
| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
ERECTED
|
|
| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
idol
|
|
| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
totter
|
|
| v.蹒跚， 摇摇欲坠；n.蹒跚的步子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
chagrin
|
|
| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
cowardice
|
|
| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
horrified
|
|
| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
avaricious
|
|
| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
gorge
|
|
| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
baroness
|
|
| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
misgivings
|
|
| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
tranquil
|
|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
presentiment
|
|
| n.预感，预觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
deference
|
|
| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
dictated
|
|
| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
chastise
|
|
| vt.责骂，严惩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
insolent
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
irony
|
|
| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
ferocious
|
|
| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
courageous
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
monologue
|
|
| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
stupor
|
|
| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
sleeper
|
|
| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
miseries
|
|
| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
slumber
|
|
| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
regained
|
|
| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
proprietor
|
|
| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
faltered
|
|
| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
petrified
|
|
| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
exclamations
|
|
| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
injustice
|
|
| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
auditor
|
|
| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
recital
|
|
| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
swelled
|
|
| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
outrage
|
|
| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
chastisement
|
|
| n.惩罚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
deferred
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
inaccessible
|
|
| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
flinching
|
|
| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
faltering
|
|
| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
ineffable
|
|
| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
obstinate
|
|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
guardian
|
|
| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
heroism
|
|
| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
dictates
|
|
| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
humiliate
|
|
| v.使羞辱，使丢脸[同]disgrace | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
growled
|
|
| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
fatality
|
|
| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
embryo
|
|
| n.胚胎，萌芽的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
disastrous
|
|
| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
alluded
|
|
| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
legacy
|
|
| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
shameful
|
|
| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
infamous
|
|
| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
odious
|
|
| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
obstinacy
|
|
| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
proprietors
|
|
| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
sterile
|
|
| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
compliance
|
|
| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
entreaties
|
|
| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
snug
|
|
| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
bug
|
|
| n.虫子；故障；窃听器；vt.纠缠；装窃听器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |