The Marquis de Courtornieu idolized his daughter. Everyone spoke1 of that as an incontestable and uncontested fact.
When persons spoke to him of his daughter, they always said:
“You, who adore your daughter ——”
And when he spoke of himself, he said:
“I who adore Blanche.”
The truth was, that he would have given a good deal, even a third of his fortune, to be rid of her.
This smiling young girl, who seemed such an artless child, had gained an absolute control over him. She forced him to bow like a reed to her every caprice — and Heaven knows she had enough of them!
In the hope of making his escape, he had thrown her Aunt Medea; but in less than three months that poor woman had been completely subjugated2, and did not serve to divert his daughter’s attention from him, even for a moment.
Sometimes the marquis revolted, but nine times out of ten he paid dearly for his attempts at rebellion. When Mlle. Blanche turned her cold and steel-like eyes upon him with a certain peculiar3 expression, his courage evaporated. Her weapon was irony4; and knowing his weak points, she struck with wonderful precision.
It is easy to understand how devoutly5 he prayed and hoped that some honest young man, by speedily marrying his daughter, would free him from this cruel bondage6.
But where was he to find this liberator7?
The marquis had announced everywhere his intention of bestowing8 a dowry of a million upon his daughter. Of course this had brought a host of eager suitors, not only from the immediate9 neighborhood, but from parts remote.
But, unfortunately, though many of them would have suited M. de Courtornieu well enough, not a single one had been so fortunate as to please Mlle. Blanche.
Her father presented some suitor; she received him graciously, lavished10 all her charms upon him; but as soon as his back was turned, she disappointed all her father’s hopes by rejecting him.
“He is too small,” she said, “or too large. His rank is not equal to ours. I think him stupid. He is a fool — his nose is so ugly.”
From these summary decisions there was no appeal. Arguments and persuasions11 were useless. The condemned12 man no longer existed.
Still, as this view of aspirants13 to her hand amused her, she encouraged her father in his efforts. He was beginning to despair, when fate dropped the Duc de Sairmeuse and son at his very door. When he saw Martial14, he had a presentiment15 of his approaching release.
“He will be my son-in-law,” he thought.
The marquis believed it best to strike the iron while it was hot. So, the very next day, he broached16 the subject to the duke.
His overtures17 were favorably received.
Possessed18 with the desire of transforming Sairmeuse into a little principality, the duke could not fail to be delighted with an alliance with one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the neighborhood.
The conference was short.
“Martial, my son, possesses, in his own right, an income of at least six hundred thousand francs,” said the duke.
“I shall give my daughter at least — yes, at least fifteen hundred thousand francs as her marriage portion,” declared the marquis.
“His Majesty19 is favorably disposed toward me. I can obtain any important diplomatic position for Martial.”
“In case of trouble, I have many friends among the opposition20.”
The treaty was thus concluded; but M. de Courtornieu took good care not to speak of it to his daughter. If he told her how much he desired the match, she would be sure to oppose it. Non-interference seemed advisable.
The correctness of his judgment21 was fully22 demonstrated. One morning Mlle. Blanche made her appearance in his cabinet.
“Your capricious daughter has decided23, papa, that she would like to become the Marquise de Sairmeuse,” said she, peremptorily24.
It cost M. de Courtornieu quite an effort to conceal25 his delight; but he feared if she discovered his satisfaction that the game would be lost.
He presented several objections; they were quickly disposed of; and, at last, he ventured to say:
“Then the marriage is half decided; one of the parties consents. It only remains26 to ascertain27 if ——”
“The other will consent,” declared the vain heiress.
And, in fact, for several days Mlle. Blanche had been applying herself assiduously and quite successfully to the work of fascination28 which was to bring Martial to her feet.
After having made an advance, with studied frankness and simplicity29, sure of the effect she had produced, she now proceeded to beat a retreat — a manoeuvre30 so simple that it was almost sure to succeed.
Until now she had been gay, spirituette, and coquettish; gradually, she became quiet and reserved. The giddy school-girl had given place to the shrinking virgin31.
With what perfection she played her part in the divine comedy of first love! Martial could not fail to be fascinated by the modest artlessness and chaste32 fears of the heart which seemed to be waking for him. When he appeared, Mlle. Blanche blushed and was silent. At a word from him she became confused. He could only occasionally catch a glimpse of her beautiful eyes through the shelter of their long lashes33.
Who had taught her this refinement34 of coquetry? They say that the convent is an excellent teacher.
But what she had not learned was that the most clever often become the dupes of their own imagination; and that great comediennes generally conclude by shedding real tears.
She learned this one evening, when a laughing remark made by the Duc de Sairmeuse revealed the fact that Martial was in the habit of going to Lacheneur’s house every day.
What she experienced now could not be compared with the jealousy35, or rather anger, which had previously36 agitated37 her.
This was an acute, bitter, and intolerable sorrow. Before, she had been able to retain her composure; now, it was impossible.
That she might not betray herself, she left the drawing-room precipitately38 and hastened to her own room, where she burst into a fit of passionate39 sobbing40.
“Can it be that he does not love me?” she murmured.
This thought made her cold with terror. For the first time this haughty41 heiress distrusted her own power.
She reflected that Martial’s position was so exalted42 that he could afford to despise rank; that he was so rich that wealth had no attractions for him; and that she herself might not be so pretty and so charming as flatterers had led her to suppose.
Still Martial’s conduct during the past week — and Heaven knows with what fidelity43 her memory recalled each incident — was well calculated to reassure44 her.
He had not, it is true, formally declared himself, but it was evident that he was paying his addresses to her. His manner was that of the most respectful, but the most infatuated of lovers.
Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of her maid, bringing a large bouquet45 of roses which had just been sent by Martial.
She took the flowers, and while arranging them in a large Japanese vase, she bedewed them with the first real sincere tears she had shed since her entrance into the world.
She was so pale and sad, so unlike herself when she appeared the next morning at breakfast, that Aunt Medea was alarmed.
Mlle. Blanche had prepared an excuse, and she uttered it in such sweet tones that the poor lady was as much amazed as if she had witnessed a miracle.
M. de Courtornieu was no less astonished.
“Of what new freak is this doleful face the preface?” he wondered.
He was still more alarmed when, immediately after breakfast, his daughter asked a moment’s conversation with him.
She followed him into his study, and as soon as they were alone, without giving her father time to seat himself, Mlle. Blanche entreated46 him to tell her all that had passed between the Duc de Sairmeuse and himself, and asked if Martial had been informed of the intended alliance, and what he had replied.
Her voice was meek47, her eyes tearful; her manner indicated the most intense anxiety.
The marquis was delighted.
“My wilful48 daughter has been playing with fire,” he thought, stroking his chin caressingly49; “and upon my word, she has burned herself.”
“Yesterday, my child,” he replied, “the Duc de Sairmeuse formally demanded your hand on behalf of his son; your consent is all that is lacking. So rest easy, my beautiful, lovelorn damsel — you will be a duchess.”
She hid her face in her hands to conceal her blushes.
“You know my decision, father,” she faltered50, in an almost inaudible voice; “we must make haste.”
He started back, thinking he had not heard her words aright.
“Make haste!” he repeated.
“Yes, father. I have fears.”
“What fears, in Heaven’s name?”
“I will tell you when everything is settled,” she replied, as she made her escape from the room.
She did not doubt the reports which had reached her ears, of Martial’s frequent visits to Marie-Anne, but she wished to see for herself.
So, as soon as she left her father, she obliged Aunt Medea to dress herself, and without vouchsafing51 a single word of explanation, took her with her to the Reche, and stationed herself where she could command a view of M. Lacheneur’s house.
It chanced to be the very day on which M. d’Escorval came to ask an explanation from his friend. She saw him come; then, after a little, Martial made his appearance.
She had not been mistaken — now she could go home satisfied.
But no. She resolved to count the seconds which Martial passed with Marie-Anne.
M. d’Escorval did not remain long; she saw Martial hasten out after him, and speak to him.
She breathed again. His visit had not lasted a half hour, and doubtless he was going away. Not at all. After a moment’s conversation with the baron52, he returned to the house.
“What are we doing here?” demanded Aunt Medea.
“Let me alone!” replied Mlle. Blanche, angrily; “hold your tongue!”
She heard the sound of wheels, the tramp of horses’ hoofs53, blows of the whip, and oaths.
The wagons54 bearing the furniture and clothing belonging to M. Lacheneur were coming. This noise Martial must have heard within the house, for he came out, and after him came M. Lacheneur, Jean, Chanlouineau, and Marie-Anne.
Everyone was soon busy in unloading the wagons, and positively56, from the movements of the young Marquis de Sairmeuse, one would have sworn that he was giving orders; he came and went, hurrying to and fro, talking to everybody, not even disdaining57 to lend a hand occasionally.
“He, a nobleman, makes himself at home in that wretched hovel!” Mlle. Blanche said to herself. “How horrible! Ah! this dangerous creature will do with him whatever she desires.”
All this was nothing compared with what was to come. A third wagon55 appeared, drawn59 by a single horse, and laden60 with pots of flowers and shrubs61.
This sight drew a cry of rage from Mlle. de Courtornieu which must have carried terror to Aunt Medea’s heart.
“Flowers!” she exclaimed, in a voice hoarse62 with passion. “He sends flowers to her as he does to me — only he sends me a bouquet, while for her he despoils63 the gardens of Sairmeuse.”
“What are you saying about flowers?” inquired the impoverished64 relative.
Mlle. Blanche replied that she had not made the slightest allusion65 to flowers. She was suffocating66 — and yet she compelled herself to remain there three mortal hours — all the time that was required to unload the furniture.
The wagons had been gone some time, when Martial again appeared upon the threshold.
Marie-Anne had accompanied him to the door, and they were talking together. It seemed impossible for him to make up his mind to depart.
He did so, at last, however; but he left slowly and with evident reluctance67. Marie-Anne, remaining in the door, gave him a friendly gesture of farewell.
“I wish to speak to this creature!” exclaimed Mlle. Blanche. “Come, aunt, at once!”
Had Marie-Anne, at that moment, been within the reach of Mlle. de Courtornieu’s voice, she would certainly have learned the secret of her former friend’s anger and hatred68.
But fate willed it otherwise. At least three hundred yards of rough ground separated the place where Mlle. Blanche had stationed herself, from the Lacheneur cottage.
It required a moment to cross this space; and that was time enough to change all the girl’s intentions.
She had not traversed a quarter of the distance before she bitterly regretted having shown herself at all. But to retrace69 her steps now was impossible, for Marie-Anne, who was still standing70 upon the threshold, had seen her approaching.
There remained barely time to regain71 her self-control, and to compose her features. She profited by it.
She had her sweetest smile upon her lips as she greeted Marie-Anne. Still she was embarrassed; she did not know what excuse to give for her visit, and to gain time she pretended to be quite out of breath.
“Ah! it is not very easy to reach you, dear Marie-Anne,” she said, at last; “you live upon the summit of a veritable mountain.”
Mlle. Lacheneur said not a word. She was greatly surprised, and she did not attempt to conceal the fact.
“Aunt Medea pretended to know the road,” continued Mlle. Blanche, “but she led me astray; did you not, aunt?”
As usual, the impecunious72 relative assented73, and her niece resumed:
“But at last we are here. I could not, my dearest, resign myself to hearing nothing from you, especially after all your misfortunes. What have you been doing? Did my recommendation procure74 for you the work you desired?”
Marie-Anne could not fail to be deeply touched by this kindly75 interest on the part of her former friend. So, with perfect frankness, and without any false shame, she confessed that all her efforts had been fruitless. It had even seemed to her that several ladies had taken pleasure in treating her unkindly.
But Mlle. Blanche was not listening. A few steps from her stood the flowers brought from Sairmeuse; and their perfume rekindled76 her anger.
“At least,” she interrupted, “you have here what will almost make you forget the gardens of Sairmeuse. Who sent you these beautiful flowers?”
Marie-Anne turned crimson77. She did not speak for a moment, but at last she replied, or rather stammered78:
“It is — an attention from the Marquis de Sairmeuse.”
“So she confesses it!” thought Mlle. de Courtornieu, amazed at what she was pleased to consider an outrageous79 piece of impudence80.
But she succeeded in concealing81 her rage beneath a loud burst of laughter; and it was in a tone of raillery that she said:
“Take care, my dear friend; I am going to call you to account. It is from my fiance that you are accepting flowers.”
“What! the Marquis de Sairmeuse?”
“Has demanded the hand of your friend. Yes, my darling; and my father has given it to him. It is a secret as yet; but I see no danger in confiding82 in your friendship.”
She believed that she had inflicted83 a mortal wound upon Marie-Anne’s heart; but though she watched her closely, she failed to detect the slightest trace of emotion upon her face.
“What dissimulation84!” she thought. Then aloud, and with affected85 gayety, she resumed:
“And the country folks will see two weddings at about the same time, since you, also, are going to be married, my dear.”
“I!”
“Yes, you, you little deceiver! Everybody knows that you are engaged to a young man in the neighborhood, named — wait — I know — Chanlouineau.”
Thus the report that annoyed Marie-Anne so much reached her from every side.
“Everybody is for once mistaken,” said she, energetically. “I shall never be that young man’s wife.”
“But why? They speak well of him, personally, and he is quite rich.”
“Because,” faltered Marie-Anne, “because ——”
Maurice d’Escorval’s name trembled upon her lips; but unfortunately she did not utter it, prevented by a strange expression on the face of her friend. How often one’s destiny depends upon a circumstance apparently86 as trivial as this!
“Impudent, worthless creature!” thought Mlle. Blanche.
Then, in cold and sneering87 tones, that betrayed her hatred unmistakably, she said:
“You are wrong, believe me, to refuse this offer. This Chanlouineau will, at all events, save you from the painful necessity of laboring88 with your own hands, and of going from door to door in quest of work which is refused you. But, no matter; I”— she laid great stress upon this word —“I will be more generous than your old acquaintances. I have a great deal of embroidery89 to be done. I shall send it to you by my maid, and you two may agree upon the price. We must go. Good-by, my dear. Come, Aunt Medea.”
She departed, leaving Marie-Anne petrified90 with surprise, sorrow, and indignation.
Although less experienced than Mlle. Blanche, she comprehended that this strange visit concealed91 some mystery — but what?
For more than a minute she stood motionless, gazing after her departing guests; then she started suddenly as a hand was laid gently upon her shoulder.
She trembled, and, turning quickly, found herself face to face with her father.
Lacheneur’s face was whiter than his linen92, and a sinister93 light glittered in his eye.
“I was there,” said he, pointing to the door, “and — I heard all.”
“Father!”
“What! would you try to defend her after she came here to crush you with her insolent94 good fortune — after she overwhelmed you with her ironical95 pity and with her scorn? I tell you they are all like this — these girls, whose heads have been turned by flattery, and who believe that in their veins96 flows a different blood from ours. But patience! The day of reckoning is near at hand!”
Those whom he threatened would have shuddered97 had they seen him at that moment, so terrible was the rage revealed by his accent, so formidable did he appear.
“And you, my beloved daughter, my poor Marie-Anne, you did not understand the insults she heaped upon you. You are wondering why she should have treated you with such disdain58. Ah, well! I will tell you: she imagines that the Marquis de Sairmeuse is your lover.”
Marie-Anne tottered98 beneath the terrible blow, and a nervous spasm99 shook her from head to foot.
“Can this be possible?” she exclaimed. “Great God! what shame! what humiliation100!”
“And why should this astonish you?” said Lacheneur, coldly. “Have you not expected this ever since the day when you, my devoted101 daughter, consented, for the sake of my plans, to submit to the attentions of this marquis, whom you loathe102 as much as I despise?”
“But Maurice! Maurice will despise me! I can bear anything, yes, everything but that.”
M. Lacheneur made no reply. Marie-Anne’s despair was heart-breaking; he felt that he could not bear to witness it, that it would shake his resolution, and he re-entered the house.
But his penetration103 was not at fault. While waiting to find a revenge which would be worthy104 of her, Mlle. Blanche armed herself with a weapon of which jealousy and hatred so often avail themselves — calumny105.
Two or three abominable106 stories which she concocted107, and which she forced Aunt Medea to circulate everywhere, did not produce the desired effect.
Marie-Anne’s reputation was, of course, ruined by them; but Martial’s visits, instead of ceasing, became longer and more frequent. Dissatisfied with his progress, and fearful that he was being duped, he even watched the house.
So it happened that, one evening, when he was quite sure that Lacheneur, his son, and Chanlouineau were absent, Martial saw a man leave the house and hasten across the fields.
He rushed after him, but the man escaped him.
He believed, however, that he recognized Maurice d’Escorval.
收听单词发音 |
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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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subjugated
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| v.征服，降伏( subjugate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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liberator
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| 解放者 | |
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bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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persuasions
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| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
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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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aspirants
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| n.有志向或渴望获得…的人( aspirant的名词复数 )v.渴望的，有抱负的，追求名誉或地位的( aspirant的第三人称单数 )；有志向或渴望获得…的人 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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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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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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caressingly
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| 爱抚地，亲切地 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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51
vouchsafing
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的现在分词 )；允诺 | |
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52
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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53
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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55
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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56
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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57
disdaining
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| 鄙视( disdain的现在分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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58
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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59
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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60
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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61
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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62
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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63
despoils
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的第三人称单数 ) | |
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64
impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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65
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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66
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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67
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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68
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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69
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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70
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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71
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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72
impecunious
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| adj.不名一文的，贫穷的 | |
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73
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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75
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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76
rekindled
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| v.使再燃( rekindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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78
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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80
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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81
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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82
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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83
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
dissimulation
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| n.掩饰，虚伪，装糊涂 | |
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85
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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86
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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87
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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88
laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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89
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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90
petrified
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| 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) | |
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91
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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92
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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93
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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94
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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95
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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96
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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97
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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98
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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99
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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100
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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101
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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102
loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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103
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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104
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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105
calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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106
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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107
concocted
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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